1 Mother 2 Another

Madeleine’s always had a fair amount
of self-confidence – it’s one of the things I love most
about her. I adore watching back video of her leaping and spinning
around the room at 2 ½ years old, yelling, “I’m
a very good dancer!” Or how about when Maddie went bowling
for the first time ever, and shouted over and over,
“I’m a champion bowler!” Getting to glimpse what
it feels like to be an uncensored kid, gloriously alive and
noncritical, is one of the great benefits of motherhood.


Over the past few weeks, though, Maddie’s taken an abrupt
turn into negativity and self-doubt. We’ll put on ballet
music and dance around for a few minutes until Maddie stops,
watches me speculatively, and says, “I can’t dance.
I’m not a very good dancer. I can’t do it. It
doesn’t look pretty.” “Oh, sweetheart,”
I’ll say, “you’re a beautiful dancer!”
“No!” she’ll cry in frustration. “I
can’t move like you do! I don’t know how to make myself
do it! I’m bad!” I’ll go on to explain that Mommy
spent several years learning how to dance like that, and that
there’s no right way to move your body joyfully. Sometimes
she’ll get back up, but more often than not the spell is
broken and the tutu comes off.

As I prepared to become a mother for the
first time, I read over and over again in books that you’re
supposed to talk constantly to your baby, even though they
don’t really understand you. When Maddie was first born and
we’d go for walks, I was very self-conscious about the whole
thing, walking down the street in New York City and talking like a
crazy lady. “Over here we have a fine example of prewar
architecture, and I understand they’ve got a 24-hour doorman
as well. And now we’re passing a bodega – that’s
where you’ll go to get milk and bread for mommy when
you’re older.”


It didn’t help that I didn’t really know how to talk to
kids.


Now, though, I jabber away constantly, pretty much completely
unaware of what I’m doing, with that refined Professional
Mommy patter down cold: “Can you stand up now like a big
girl? Look at who’s a big girl! What a great job! - Maddie,
put that down or you’re going to lose a book for naptime
– Did you see the pretty birdie outside the window?
That’s called a cardinal, and maybe it will come back so we
can see its coat! - Maddie, ok, I see, that’s fine, but keep
the water in the kitchen – Yes, Cora, a cardinal is red! What
else is red?” You get the picture.


Anyway, I’ve been talking away for over a year now to Cora,
and half of it is simply asking questions and answering them for
her. Except that over the past few weeks, something frightening has
happened.


Cora is showing signs of intelligent life.

So we’ve been wrestling with Maddie
and swim lessons all week long; we tried a group swim class a
couple times with disastrous results (see previous entries), and
I’ve begun thinking perhaps my kid’s going to be the
twelve-year-old with water wings and nose clips. In a last-ditch
effort to overcome Maddie’s fear of swim class (not to be
confused with a fear of the water, since she plays for hours on end
in our community pool) we set Maddie up for a few private swim
lessons.


The issue actually goes deeper than simply swim lessons: this is
Maddie’s first class of any kind, so her first time under
someone else’s authority, her first time in a group learning
situation, and so on. Add to that Madeleine’s reservations
about putting her face in the water, and we’ve got an
emotionally-charged half an hour on our hands. Truthfully,
we’d thought about chucking the whole thing in the garbage
and keeping Maddie out of any kind of lessons for the rest of the
summer; after the trauma she’d had the past few days, we
didn’t want to be making a bigger emotional mess than she
already was in. I mean c’mon, folks, she’s three!

I’ve spent a long time talking about
Maddie and her swimming issues, but the truth is that for all her
fear of the classes, she loves the pool. We probably end up there
six days a week, sometimes going twice a day (“I know we went
this morning, but Daddy needs to see my new trick so we have to go
after dinner Mommy!”). A perfect day for her would have the
morning spent wholly at the pool, a leisurely nap and book time, a
short video before dinner, then another hour or so at the pool
before bed.


But for as much as she enjoys swimming, there’s someone else
in our family who loves it even more – Cora.

Madeleine went to bed after her first swim
class (see yesterday’s entry) calmly declaring her preference
of not going to swim class the next day. We’d talked about
it, and she’d agreed that though she didn’t like it
she’d give it one more try. But she’d prefer not to.


We almost gave her what she requested, but in the end Brian and I
decided to have her try one more day, to see if it got any easier.


It didn’t.

Maddie’s feeling restless at three
years old – longing to be with the “big kids”, to
be doing “big-kid things” like “class” and
“school”. Ever since this spring, when she cried
bitterly on the playground because she wasn’t allowed to join
in the adjacent team soccer practices, I knew Maddie needed more
than I could give her: she needs group activities without Mommy,
just like the big kids. Her life is slowly starting to revolve
around her peers rather than Mommy, which is as it should be.


So as we looked at this summer, Brian and I decided to put Maddie
in some structured classes. We thought this would be a good
short-term way to expose Madeleine to classroom-type structure, to
listening and obeying adults other than her parents. We finally
narrowed the list down, and ended up with a summer of swim lessons,
ballet camp, and soccer camp. First up on the schedule: swim
lessons.

For those of you not up on your tot rock,
Justin Roberts has a new cd out – href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FPop-Fly-Justin-Roberts%2Fdp%2FB001543LOM%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dmusic%26qid%3D1214190245%26sr%3D8-1&tag=1mother2anoth-20&linkCode=ur2&camp=1789&creative=9325"
target="_blank">Pop Fly. Since Madeleine loves all
things Justin Roberts, she received a copy of the album for her
birthday a few weeks ago. The verdict?


Two enthusiastic toddler thumbs up.

Bonus points to all you parents who
recognized that title as a line from a Justin Roberts song –


We went to the doctor for the first time in Texas yesterday –
Maddie for her 3-year visit, and Cora for her 1-year. The
after-shocks of this visit will, I believe, be reverberating for
quite some time.


Maddie’s been very prepared for the doctor trip –
we’ve talked about it all week. She knew she needed to go for
a well visit, that there would be weighing and measuring and poking
and prodding, and possibly a shot. I wasn’t sure if a shot
was on the menu, since there are no shots at the 3-year visit in
New York, but I know policies vary by state so didn’t want to
rule it out.


And boy am I glad I left that door open.

For whatever reason, Cora had one of those
super-clingy days yesterday: the kind where you have to take her in
while you pee, and even then she screams for the thirty seconds you
have to set her on the floor while you wipe and pull your pants up.
And don’t tell me you’ve never had a day like that.


Please.


At any rate, by the end of the day Maddie was in serious need of
some Mommy time. I’d left the dishes half-washed and was
snuggling Cora AGAIN on the couch, reading “Bear Snores
On” AGAIN, when Maddie walked in and said, “Mommy,
could you find some time to throw the beach ball with
me?”

As we get ready for our summer vacations
(or would, if we could afford the gas it takes to get there), the
last thing we want to think about is losing a child. But the truth
is that seven out of ten kids get lost at least once, so the odds
are that we’re going to experience that heart-stopping panic
of not being able to find your child in the crowd. Even if the kids
are only missing for a few minutes, those few minutes will be
forever etched in your mind, and you’d do anything to find
your child again as quickly as possible.


So I’ve been scouring the Internet trying to find some tips
to pass along to you. I keep thinking Maddie’s too young to
need the “Stranger Danger” talk, but the truth is that
as soon as your child is mobile he needs to be learning family
safety procedures. Maddie is fearless, and the sight of her plowing
blithely ahead in the middle of Times Square, with no thought for
cars or crazy people or even the occasional “Where’s
Mommy?” check-in, brings reality down hard. Here are some
ways you can try to keep the whole family “found”, and
tips you can pass on to your toddler in case she does become
lost.

When we moved to Texas from New York, we
traded our old refrigerator with its do-it-yourself ice cube trays
for a brand new fridge with an automatic ice machine in it.
Doesn’t sound like much of anything, but I’ve noticed
everyone in the family uses ice more now that we don’t have
to refill the trays or wait for the water to freeze. And even
better, our new fridge has the freezer on the bottom, with a handy
pull-out drawer that contains the ice machine. And that means the
ice machine is at the ideal tot level.


And no one loves that more than Cora.

I often look back at the end of the day
and wonder how, when both girls go through the exact same day
together, one can be in a cheerful, upbeat mood while the other is
crying and whining nonstop. I mean, they eat the same food, play
with the same toys, snuggle with the same mommy. How can it affect
them so differently?


Then I stopped and took a hard look at one day recently, and
realized what a difference perspective makes. And a couple extra
years’ experience to help you get through the difficult
parts. So I give you a side-by-side comparison of Maddie’s
day and Cora’s day. And unfortunately, this did indeed
happen, all in one day this week:

Maddie’s received a few gifts from
her friends that have revealed some rather large holes in her pop
culture literacy.


At her birthday party, Maddie received a lovely gift bag that
revealed a small stuffed dog inside a carrier purse, a la Paris
Hilton. The dog was zipped entirely inside, with just its face and
front paws peeking out. “Mommy, what is it?” Maddie
asked. “Well, honey, it’s a dog, and it’s inside
a kind of purse.” “But why would you put a dog in a
purse?” she asked worriedly. “Well, some people think
it’s cute.” A pause, while she thinks.


“Get it out, Mommy! Get it out now! Doggies don’t go in
purses! It wants to get out!”

It’s 7:45 a.m. Saturday morning. The
phone rings, and because Cora got me up an hour ago, I answer it on
the first ring. “Hello, ma’am? I’m from the Acme
Party Supply Company. We spoke last night?”


“Yes,” I reply jubilantly. “I remember
you.”


“Well, I’ve got some bad news. For some reason, the box
never left the warehouse last night, so it’s still there.
Which means it won’t be making the Saturday delivery we
promised you.”


Which is the moment I collapse over my desk, weeping.


What brought me to this state? Try a three-year-old’s
birthday party.

I'm chest-deep in birthday preparations
and the girls are not cooperating and giving me any time to do so
during the day, so I've less than ten seconds here to reassure
everyone I'm still alive, and will be sending dispatches from the
Birthday Front shortly!

Maddie’s third birthday party is
coming up, and I have to confess I’m getting a tiny bit
stressed about it.


For her first birthday, we skipped the party thing: after all,
first birthday parties are for the parents (hey! I survived the
first year!) rather than the kid. And we played her second birthday
low-key as well: all our friends had zoo memberships, and so we all
gathered at the zoo (her favorite place on earth) for a birthday
celebration. No fancy plans, no big decorations, no theme, no
snazzy goody bags to give out.


Now, though, Maddie’s been to a few parties and knows
it’s a rather big deal. In addition to being the day she gets
to eat cake and have presents, Maddie understands that birthdays
are for fun parties with her friends, and she’s looking
forward to her birthday party this weekend almost as much as she is
her actual birthday next week.

My apologies to the Beatles and
“Abby Road” . . .


Yes, it’s time once again for that smell of fake coconut oil
and the white streaks of zinc oxide on all your clothing. Crack
open a bottle of sunscreen, and slather up.


Of course, if you’re like us, you’ve already been
wearing it for several months now – I’m obsessive about
sunscreen and hats when the weather turns mildly warm – but
even the most die-hard tanners know this is not the friendly sun we
grew up with, and it’s time to get serious and protect the
kiddos (and ourselves!) from those dangerous rays.

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!