1 Mother 2 Another

The other night Brian and I revived
argument #27 from our Greatest Hits list, entitled “My Life
Is Harder Than Yours”. To be fair, I’m usually the one
to start said revival, when I can’t take another long day
with the two girls and feel (usually wrongly) underappreciated. You
can probably write the script yourself, so I won’t bore you
with the details; what I wanted to bring up here was actually the
point at which we got into a good, earnest discussion – the
point after all the acrimony and accusations and martyrdom (mostly
on my part).


We were lying in bed and I was trying to put myself in
Brian’s shoes, and understand how his day truly is stressful.
The weight of responsibility for this big family is heavy on his
shoulders, especially in light of our last year and its eight
income-free months. So he’s constantly working while looking
over his shoulder, fearing the axe. Then add in the usual anxieties
– job deadlines, co-workers that he doesn’t get along
with, and so on – and he really does have a stressful job. I
get that.


But I know that my job stress is different, and I struggled to put
it into words. Aside from the obvious – that he gets two days
a week off from said stress, even if those days are spent doing his
other job, which is full-time dad – I knew there was
something unique about my job stress.

When we were house-hunting here in Texas
last fall, our realtor made an executive decision for us: she
wouldn’t allow us to look at any houses in neighborhoods
where there weren’t community pools. “Because,”
she said, “Your kids are going to live at the pool during the
summer, won’t they? It’s the best place for a mommy on
a hot summer day.” I thought she was a little over-the-top
with the decision, but we had so many great places to choose from
that fit the criterion that I went along with it. Consequently, our
new home here is located near not one, but two neighborhood pools.


And boy, am I thanking my realtor now.

For Cora’s birthday, the
grandparents gave her one of those water activity tables you see in
so many back yards. We’d let it be known we were on the hunt
for used back yard toys, and so this showed up as an answer to
prayer.


In fact, I’d almost put the water table on Cora’s
official list, but the neat freak in me made me hold back. Once
both girls got a look at the box, though, I knew there was no going
back, and truthfully I was glad the decision had been made for me;
both girls love the water, and our little inflatable pool takes so
long to heat up we hardly ever get it out!

We’ve made it: Cora turned one. All
around us, friends are reminding us she’s finally a toddler.
We are officially a baby-free household now, filled only with
toddlers and tired parents. Now I can say, “As a mommy of two
toddlers . . .” or maybe, “I’ve got two toddlers
at home, and let me tell you . . .”


Because isn’t parenthood all about bragging rights? Even if
it’s simply bragging about how exhausted you are?

We’ve had almost a week of sullen
grey skies here in Texas, with air so thick you could almost roll
up in it like a soggy sleeping bag from camp days. Every day the
cloudy and overcast skies bluster threateningly, with nothing
coming from it by the end of the day but more mosquitos and the
feeling you’re in some kind of languid Tennessee Williams
play, so droopy and filled with ennui are you.


Which is why, when I left home this morning for a play date a few
blocks away, I didn’t bring an umbrella.

As part of my mommy guilt for raising Cora
in her sister’s shadow, I worry that Cora won’t grow up
loving books as much as Maddie does because I simply haven’t
has as much time to read to her as I did to Maddie.


Brian began reading two books a night to Maddie while she was still
in my tummy. When I was only taking care of one kid at a time, I
had hours to snuggle on the couch reading kids’ books with
Madeleine, so she was in love with picture books from the newborn
stage on. As I tried to wean Maddie naturally, I began reading to
her while she nursed for nap or bedtime, eventually reading instead
of nursing, with the result being that Maddie reads several books a
day and considers her book time a vital part of her evening and nap
routine. When Cora was born, we kept a basket of new books next to
my nursing chair, and Maddie would settle into her own stuffed
chair and listen to me read while I nursed. Even now, if I need to
close the door and put Cora to sleep, I’ll come out ten
minutes later to see Maddie has climbed up on the couch, pulled a
throw around herself, and is happily browsing through her favorite
books.

Warning: This article is all about poop.


So Maddie’s been constipated for about two weeks now.


Figured out the title yet?


Right around the time we went strawberry picking, we spent several
days out-of-doors for extended periods of time, in ninety-degree
heat. We all got a bit dehydrated, and pooping got a little, um,
harder.

For the past few months I’ve been
getting rather more frequent migraines- hence the sporadic missed
blogs here – and since I am after all a mother, I immediately
assumed I had a tumor and my children would grow up motherless.


Sure, I made an appointment to get my eyes checked, but it was just
a formality. The spontaneous vertigo, the motion sickness for no
apparent reason, the piercing headaches I haven’t had for
several years now – what else could it be?


Apparently, it’s my vision.

First birthdays are funny things. In some
cultures, it’s a huge party, a celebration of reaching a
milestone in an uncertain world. Other people throw lavish parties
to show their status; they’re saying, “Sure my
kid’s too young to appreciate that I’ve hired the Three
Tenors to sing at her birthday party. But it’s not really
about her anyway.”


As for me, I figure, the kid’s never going to remember it, so
let’s call a spade a spade and have a nice party to celebrate
with all our friends. Plenty of time for tots and goody bags
on subsequent birthdays, after all, and as long as Cora gets her
gifts and has a nice, relaxed day (with all the requisite photos to
prove it) then we’re all winners.


So for Cora’s birthday we went to the Arboretum for a nice
picnic lunch. Cora adores the arboretum, since it combines two of
her favorite things: nature, and the opportunity to literally
deflower nature. Yes, my kid loves to run up to a lovely bed of
impatiens and begin ripping away. Good times.

Dear Cora:


I’m having a hard time believing it’s been over a year
already since I last wrote you a letter; that letter I wrote before
you were born has been safely tucked inside your baby book for
almost thirteen months now, and at the risk of sounding like a
cliché, where has the time all gone?


On the other hand, I look back over your first year of life and
can’t believe it’s been ONLY a year. Job loss,
unemployment, selling a house, leaving New York, buying a house in
Texas: how can all of this happen in just a short twelve months? I
feel as if you’ve been with us forever, even as I still
continue to struggle to find my groove with you. Your Nana said at
your birthday party, “I bet you can’t imagine life
without her now, can you?” And I replied, “Well, I
actually can – and it involves a lot more sleep!”


Yes, my darling girl, if I have one complaint about you, it’s
the whole sleep thing. What’s the deal, kiddo?! You still
wake up whimpering a few times a night, and your attitude towards
naptime is way too insouciant. Can we work on that please?
I’d love to look back on this letter next year and say in
disbelief, “Cora wasn’t a good sleeper? I’d
totally forgotten that! She sleeps thirteen hours in a row
now!” I think it’s partly the separation anxiety
– you’ve got that thing down pat, and practice it
endlessly lest you lose your touch with it. So can we work on that,
too?


And thus endeth my complaint list. Now for the plus side:

Thursday night is usually leftovers in our
house; I do a decent amount of cooking the first few days of the
week, coast on Thursdays, and eat pizza on Fridays. And last
night’s leftovers included a great href="http://www.marthastewart.com/favorite-tortilla-and-black-bean-pie?autonomy_kw=tortilla%20and%20black%20bean%20pie&rsc=header_3"
target="_blank">Tortilla and Black-Bean Pie I made for
Tuesday, which held up so well for leftovers I thought I’d
pass the recipe on to you.


There are a few things I love about this recipe: first, it’s
vegetarian, and so is a good option to keep in your back pocket.
Second, it calls for ingredients I almost always have in my kitchen
-flour tortillas, a couple cans of black beans, a bag of frozen
corn. And if you’re like me and habitually make Tex-Mex
anyway, you’ll have those lying around as leftovers. I can
easily fudge and throw in that bit of black beans I’d already
cooked as a side two nights ago, or some such thing. Third on my
list of things I love about this recipe is that you can make it
ahead of time, leave it assembled in the fridge, and pop it in the
oven last-minute.


And finally and most importantly, the recipe’s kid-friendly.
Maddie, who hates corn, can fastidiously pick the kernels out of
her share, while Cora crams all the black beans in her mouth at
once. And what kid doesn’t like tortillas and cheese?
Maddie's happy when I mention the dish, simply because she is
going to eat pie for dinner! And in case you're worried, go ahead
and use the beer - all the alcohol cooks off and it adds a very
mild flavor.


So if you’re stuck in a rut, give the recipe a try, and let
me know what you think!

Maddie has what I consider to be a pretty
good grasp of the concept of time; she’s got the days of the
week memorized, and has learned to place them in her daily context
to understand how much time is passing or needs to pass for a
special date to come up. Saturday, for example, is Waffle Day, when
Daddy makes waffles for breakfast; Sunday is Church Day; and Monday
is Playgroup Day. If Madeleine’s trying to figure out how
long it will be until, say, her birthday, we’ll tell her that
she has five more Waffle Days until her birthday. So far this seems
to be working well, and Maddie loves to recite through the days of
the week until she arrives at something fun.


And invariably, that Something Fun is Wednesday – Gym Day!
Gym Day is Maddie’s raison d’etre, that activity which
makes all other life worthwhile. At random points in the week,
she’ll stop whatever she’s doing and say, “What
day is it today? And then what day is it tomorrow? And the day
after that?” and so on, until we hit Wednesday, at which
point Maddie says, “And that’s the day we go to the
gym!”

Cora wants to be just like her big sister in all she does, and eating is no exception. Cora cries and kicks when she sees Maddie eating strawberries but I’ve held fast, determined to wait until her birthday as suggested by doctors for allergy reasons. Strawberries are just coming into season in New York, and I’d anticipated finding a pick-your-own-strawberries farm here right after Cora’s birthday and turning her loose in the fields – a sort of coming-of-age amongst the strawberry patch thing.

Then I found out last Thursday that the growing season in Texas is a wee bit different than New York’s, and last weekend was pretty much the last hurrah for strawberries here.

So on Friday, I packed the girls in the car, threw the allergy wait-list out the window, said a small prayer, and drove to the strawberry farm.

Maddie was, of course, ecstatic about getting a chance to pick her own strawberries, and chatted the whole way down about how many she was going to pick, then eat, and bring home to show Daddy. She speculated about what sort of bucket she’d be given to use and how fast she was going to pick. Cora was, of course, clueless that her life was about to change.

When the subject of Mother’s Day
came up a few weeks ago, I told Brian I had three requests: I
wanted time to go to my favorite used bookstore – ALONE; I
wanted to take a nap; and I wanted a day off from feeding the kids
– all the dicing, shredding, steaming, cajoling, spooning,
snack preparing, the whole thing.


And the visit to the bookstore was negotiable.


So for Mother’s Day weekend we came up with a plan. Since
taking an entire day to yourself simply isn’t practical when
you’ve got a nursing child, we split my “day” up
into two days and I went to my bookstore on Saturday while the
girls were napping. And yes, they were napping when I left, but no,
they didn’t stay that way for long, so that definitely counts
as a gift.


That left Sunday for my napping and break from food duties.

You know the separation anxiety is getting
bad when your daughter cries because you’re going to the
grocery store.


Your older daughter, that is.


Since we’ve moved to Texas, both girls have become only more
clingy, more anxious when away from me. I expected it a bit when we
first moved – new environment, no friends, and so on. And
when we moved in January Cora was 8 months old and four months into
her official separation anxiety stage, so I was trying to grit my
teeth and deal with that as well. I kept thinking it would get
better – that gradually Cora would begin to become more
confident without me, let me go to the bathroom by myself, for
pete’s sake!

Maddie loves playing games, and makes up
half a dozen new ones every day: “Now we’re going to
play the Baby Game.” “Now let’s play the
Telescope Game!” “And now this is the Balloon Kite
Game.” She’ll spy an everyday object – say, the
blinds cord in a window- and be off. Her favorite games involve
someone (usually Mommy) making up rules or chores or tasks to be
accomplished, and giving them to Maddie to complete one by one.


Combine this with Maddie’s innate love of movement, dance,
and exercise, and you’ve got one hundred different versions
of Simon Says meets Imagination. So when Maddie discovered our
Twister game sitting in a pile of board games, she was immediately
intrigued.

I make this one tea periodically –
it’s a yogi tea, tastes like the chai tea lattes you buy at
Starbucks minus the sugar and milk. Anyway, I like it because
there’s no caffeine and it’s mildly sweet on its own,
so I make a few quarts at a time to keep in the fridge, adding
honey and milk as needed.


At any rate, a friend of mine is in her first trimester and having
a hard time with it nausea-wise. I gave her a quart of the tea
– one of the primary ingredients is ginger, and I thought
it’d settle her stomach. The result? Two enthusiastic thumbs
up, and a request for more tea. Kindly enough, she refrained from
calling me at 2 a.m. when she actually ran out, and waited until
the next day to make the request.

My grandmother Gypsy (about whom you’ve heard a great deal in these blogs, I know) loved nature – being outdoors, gardening, growing things, bird-watching, the whole she-bang. So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when her great-granddaughter is the same way.

Maddie’s always loved being outside, and walks were a big part of her day from the very beginning. We’d stop and look at flowers growing in front of apartments and talk about what type they were, smell the blooms, stroke the soft petals. And Maddie has a serious thing about rocks: she can’t resist picking them up. In New York, we had a collection underneath our shoe bench of tiny rocks –sometimes just cement chips – that she’d pick up on all our walks. She’d keep the bigger ones in the back yard and exclaim over them periodically, pointing out their interesting aspects. Since we moved to Texas she’s been an even bigger fan of the outdoors, and revels in the birdfeeders we’ve got hanging by our breakfast window. Just yesterday she heard a bird cry and said, “I think that’s a morning dove! I bet he’s saying good morning to me!” (She was right, by the way!) And of course, gardening with Daddy is one of her favorite things to do. Which means I can see her great-grandmother in her on almost a daily basis.

But this article isn’t about Maddie – it’s about Cora. And if I thought I saw Gypsy in Maddie, she’s doubly magnified in Cora.

I did my final drawing over the weekend
for a free copy of the href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FHealthy-Child-World-Creating-Cleaner%2Fdp%2F0525950478%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks%26qid%3D1209357069%26sr%3D1-1&tag=1mother2anoth-20&linkCode=ur2&camp=1789&creative=9325"
target="_blank">Healthy Child, Healthy World: Creating A Cleaner,
Greener, Safer World courtesy of the Healthy Child
organization, and the winner is:


Kari Valliere! Kari, you should be getting your free copy of the
book in a couple weeks – congratulations! I’m still
loving the copy I bought myself a few weeks back.


I’ve gotten a lot of feedback still from Earth Week, and I
have to confess the research I did has made me more conscious of
the choices I make. We went to the zoo over the weekend, and the
drinks they sell come in plastic cups that have an explanation on
the side: the cups are made from sustainable corn, and are
completely compostable. While this was exciting, I couldn’t
help but notice that there was nowhere to put these compostable
cups but in the trash can, wrapped up in a plastic bag! I find
myself looking down the chain of events a little further than I
used to.

There’s this television show
Maddie’s addicted to: “Davey and Goliath”.
It’s a 1970’s claymation show about a boy (Davey) and
his dog (Goliath) that the Lutherans put out as a healthy choice in
kid’s programming. It’s surprisingly progressive for
its time – Davey in 1975 has way more many multi-ethnic
friends than Maddie unfortunately does now – and with its
great gospel lessons is one of the few shows Maddie can pick from
for her daily “video”.


One particular episode has fascinated Maddie for months: Davey
learns to bowl. Of course, the show isn’t about the bowling,
it’s about learning to enjoy what you do and not have to be
perfect at everything, but Madeleine’s fixated on the
bowling. She’s nagged me endlessly about wanting to go
bowling, and I’ve put her off by telling her she’s too
young, that the balls are too big and heavy for her. But I read in
a local magazine about a 3-year-old bowling league (!!!) and,
feeling guilty, called a local alley and discovered that, indeed,
Maddie could bowl any time. I stuck the information in my back
Mommy pocket for a blah day.


Yesterday dawned sullen and blustery, with 30-mile-an-hour winds
whipping through our back yard, and I decided it was Bowling
Day.