1 Mother 2 Another

Yesterday afternoon I picked the girls up
from school, then rushed to get Maddie ready for ballet and an
appointment afterwards. I ran out of the door with Maddie in tow
just a half an hour after the girls had gotten home from school,
with only a quick kiss in Cora’s direction as she settled in
for an afternoon with Grandma.


By the time I got home a few hours later, Cora had done her
homework and eaten dinner and I felt like I’d just missed the
whole afternoon with her. So I scarfed down a quick bite and said,
“Hey, Cora, want to go for a bike ride?”


A smile split her face and she screamed, “Yeah! Just you and
me!”

Well, I thought we were finished with
saying goodbyes this year, but apparently the year’s not over
yet.


At least this time, it’s not a person, but a place.


One of the reasons we bought our house was its close proximity to a
neighborhood park – two short blocks. I spent nearly every
day those first few years walking those two blocks at least once a
day. Cora learned how to, well, everything on that playground, and
for the past five years it’s been the girls’ go-to
spot. As they’ve gotten older we’ve gone from me
scampering over the equipment with the girls, to a posse of kids
running wild together as parents sit on the sidelines. Just a few
weeks ago we met up there for one last hangout with a friend who
was moving, and Maddie and her friends sequestered themselves in a
secluded spot to giggle and sing away from the ‘rents. When
Maddie was in school and Cora was still home, Cora and I would walk
over there nearly every day after dropping Maddie off, and play on
it, just the two of us. Cora would beg Daddy to head to the
playground on the weekend, and they’d go crazy for a couple
hours at a time.


But yesterday, it was torn down.

This weekend we were having a time of
rather intense cleaning: I’d allowed the girls to have
several “games” running at the same time, and nearly
every room in the house was overrun with toys and story set-ups.
I’d warned the girls ahead of time, and they knew they were
in for a good hour of nonstop cleaning up. They weren’t
grumbling, but I could see they also weren’t thrilled.


So I provided incentive to my youngest, who was working on the
downstairs portion.


“Listen, Cora, you’ve only got an hour before we need
to head out of here. If you can get all the clean-up done in time
– and done WELL – you may clean the downstairs
bathroom.”


“All RIGHT!” Cora yelled, and began moving at top
speed.


And then from upstairs floated, “No FAIR! Cora gets to clean
the bathroom! If I finish fast enough, can I clean the upstairs
bathroom?”


“Oh, I supposed,” I said.


Not kidding. This is what makes them happy.


Wanna borrow my kids for an afternoon?

Recently I spent a few quiet moments
downstairs one weekend afternoon, blissfully working away at
getting a headstart on the upcoming week. Daddy was taking a
well-earned nap, and as I plowed through the menu planning and
grocery list, I gradually became aware that I hadn’t heard
from the girls for a while.


At all.


Not one peep. Or outraged scream.


So I went upstairs to investigate, and found Cora’s door
closed. Peaceful murmurs could be heard behind it, but since I was
there I decided to look further. I knocked on Cora’s door and
opened it.

Cora’s had a lot of milestones
recently, and you can see one of the results almost constantly:
she’s bursting at the seams with pride, and in her head is
practically a different person that she was two weeks ago.
We’ve joked that relatives won’t recognize Cora any
more, and that she’s so grown up that there’s nothing
left for her body to do now until high school. As we drove home
from church the other day, talking in this vein, I heard Maddie say
to herself quietly, “I haven’t done anything at all
recently. I’m not any bigger in anything.”


I started to think about this, going back over the last few weeks,
and realized that while she may not have had any spectacular
fireworks moments in her life recently, Maddie is indeed a
different person than she has been.

It seems the girls are moving ever-faster
towards adulthood; whereas they used to give me some breathing room
between developmental or physical milestones, now we seem to be
knocking one down before the last one’s even in our rearview
mirror.


Cora, for one thing, with her two front teeth last week. I started
the week with a sweet baby girl, a smile full of milky baby teeth,
and ended the week staring at a little girl with a crooked,
gap-toothed grin. Losing two teeth in a row has given Cora’s
face a completely different look, and even as I enjoy the sweetness
of her soft lisp now, I know it’s simply a sign that
she’s growing up. Friday afternoon I kept staring bemusedly
at her sweet smile, thinking of how much she’d accomplished
in one week.


But Cora decided she wasn’t done – and finished off the
week by learning, once and for all, how to ride without training
wheels.

Last week the girls played an elaborate
game over several days, involving a trip around the world. Cora was
a girl and Maddie was her cat, and they packed a car and went for a
global drive. Included in the car was a very comfy carrier/bed for
the cat, copious snacks, a reading corner in the back seat
(apparently the cat was going to take a shift driving so the girl
could read), and some changes of clothing.


And a first-aid kit.


At first I didn’t realize what was in the shoe box
they’d packed in the “rear window” of the car,
until it came time to finally break the game down and put
everything away. When I grabbed the box I said, “What’s
this?”


Cora replied, “It’s our first aid kit –
everything we need for if we get hurt!”


And I looked in the box.

Cora lost another tooth yesterday.


Two teeth, two days in a row. She’s got a missing top and
bottom tooth on the same side of her mouth – a big gap right
there in the middle of her smile.


As Cora went back to bed after yanking it out herself, she smiled
and giggled, “I’m a little embarrathed at how I thound
when I thpeak.”


The lisp will clear itself up as she gets used to the crater. But
Mama’s heart will take a little longer to heal – those
dominos are falling like crazy.

Sorry about the absence – been
dealing with a head cold and doing the bare minimum for the past
few days. But I have to let you know what happened yesterday,
because it’s big.


To me, at least.


Cora lost her first tooth.


She’s had a wiggly bottom tooth for several months now, and
we went through that stage over the summer (if you remember) of
frantic notes back-and-forth with the tooth fairy as she begged for
help getting it out, or at least a little advance on the cash owed
her. But in spite of her vigorous efforts, the tooth stayed firmly
in.


Then Cora’s best friend lost a tooth at lunch yesterday, and
Cora despaired of ever getting hers out. She forced her friend to
examine Cora’s own tooth, and was told “it’s
hanging by a thread!”


So Cora got back in there, and according to her teacher, was
working that thing the rest of the day.


When I picked Cora up her tooth was, indeed, hanging by a thread. I
tried to help it come out when we got home, giving it a firm yank,
but it didn’t. So I went off to work, came home after dinner
– and there was my baby, MINUS ONE TOOTH.


Yep, Daddy got it out.


Without me.


My baby lost her first tooth.


She’s so darn excited, I have to do my grieving in private.
And of course, I totally ignore the fact that I was trying to pull
the tooth out that afternoon while Brian was still at work. But
still.


Sigh. The first domino’s fallen. Her growing up will just
accelerate from here.


Dang it.

The other day Cora and I were walking home
from school together, chatting about this and that. Cora asked how
her kitten had been during the day, and I replied,
“She’s as happy as a clam!”


“Do you know why clams are happy?” Cora asked
seriously.


I looked at her. “No, hon, why are they happy?”


“Because they go around eating the ocean’s trash,
keeping the water clean. And sometimes they like a piece of trash
and keep it for themselves, and hold onto it in their tummy and
turn it into a pearl. And then someone takes the pearl and drills a
hole into it for a necklace, and since the pearl’s had a hole
drilled into it the clam can never have any more babies.”


And Cora skipped on ahead.


I think that Cora is mixing some recent mythology she’s read
with her eco-friendliness, touched more than a bit by her
kitten’s recent neutering surgery.


And I decided – I’m going to let this one go. I just
don’t have the energy to fix it. Sure, I’ll pay for it
in a few years when we have The Talk and she realizes birth control
has nothing to do with making a shiny necklace, but for now, I just
don’t have the energy.


So if your kid comes home with some skewed version of the birds and
the bees from my school, sorry ‘bout that. That one's on
me.

Dear Cora:


I’m so sorry getting to school was hard a couple mornings
ago. Realizing you were going to be the only one riding, and
anticipating a fun, quiet journey with plenty of alone time as you
rode at the head of the group, only to have Maddie begin running to
get ahead of you, must have been very hard and disappointing.


But you handled it so well, baby, and I’m very proud of you
for that. You didn’t throw your scooter down and refuse to
move for ten minutes. You didn’t hit your sister and yell at
her. You spoke to her calmly and explained you wanted alone time,
and continued on your way to school. You didn’t hold anger
against your sister, but cheerfully forgave her at school. You will
not always have things go your way in this world – you simply
cannot control other people, even as you can’t always control
yourself! But you can choose how you respond to these situations,
and choose to not let them affect you.


I wish I’d had a chance to chat with you on the way to school
– I do love our few minutes together in the morning, to check
in with each other before beginning our busy days! But I’m so
glad I got to witness your choices and how you handled a hard
situation. I think you really lived this scripture out:
“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving
each other, just as in Christ, God forgave you.”
(Ephesians 4:32)


I love you, li’l bit!


Love,


Mommy

Maddie:


Yesterday morning was a very hard morning for getting to school,
wasn’t it? You decided to walk, and when Cora opted to ride
her scooter and you realized Cora would be (gasp!) ahead of you,
well, you didn’t like that. You took off running, trying
– and succeeding, for a block – to be even with/ahead
of Cora, even as she tried her hardest to get out in front for
once. When I saw you running so hard ahead of your sister, after
you’d just said your legs were too tired to ride a bike, my
heart broke a little bit. It broke for Cora, certainly, who looks
up to you so much, and feels the weight of being the youngest in
the family – which means she’s never as fast as you,
never knows as much math, never reads books as big as yours –
and who just wanted to be first down the path to school. For once.
Every other time she’s ridden her scooter, she’s had to
ride behind you on your bike – and be reminded once again
that she can’t ride a bike, can’t keep up with you.
Even if she starts out first on the sidewalk, you come up behind
her, ringing your bell and saying, “Excuse me, Cora,
you’re going too slow.” Today was Cora’s chance
to be the leader, to know what it feels like to have some quiet
time and get to the stop sign first, and when I saw you press
insistently ahead of her in the alley I felt so bad for Cora.


But my heart also broke a bit for you, to see you make that choice
–or, perhaps, to not even make a choice at all, and simply
think “I can go fast so I will.” In which
case you didn’t consider your sister at all. When I saw you
do that, I became angry – angry that my two girls were going
to have a rough start to the day, angry that this choice
you’d made would define the rest of the trip to school, angry
that there was no consideration for your sister in your choices.


And I let those feelings out when I spoke to you about it,
didn’t I? I pointed out every single thing you did wrong, and
why it was wrong, and how it hurt Cora. And while I may have spoken
the truth, I don’t think I did a good job speaking to you
with love, and for that I apologize. In the Bible, Paul tells us
we’re supposed to encourage each other, and build each other
up, and I tore you down.

Maddie and Cora absolutely love putting
together long’, involved games that are played out in the
house over a several-day time period. Whether it’s an
elaborate, four-act show or a long, detailed mystery to be solved
by the Butterfly Woman and Whisker Girl spies, the games often
involve several rooms in the house, multiple costumes/disguises,
and a proliferation of props.


A week ago the girls spent a good afternoon putting together their
latest game – Pioneers. In our library they built a covered
wagon like no other I’ve seen. There was a baby doll cradle
and dolly – that’s Baby, who’s just been born but
needs to travel with the family anyway, because Pa says it’s
time to move. They had pillows standing up to outline the wagon,
with two chairs towards the front as the bench to sit on; a
freestanding drawer as their storage/kitchen table; and the love
seat as the back end of the wagon, padded down with blankets so the
girls could “sleep on the end of the wagon and see the
stars”.

I teach a few different things –
ballet, musical theatre dance, acting, pilates, and improv.
Improvisation, or learning how to make up funny scenes on the spot,
is one of my favorite classes, and whenever the girls come along
while I teach, they watch and listen and ask lots of questions.


Since improv is a passion of mine, I don’t give the girls the
“short answer”, but take the time to really explain the
rules of comedy, teach them comic timing, and describe some of the
great comedy scenes out there. Brian’s showed the girls Abbot
and Costello’s original “Who’s on First”,
and we’ve taught them a few of the best Saturday Night Live
and Monty Python sketches (some censored, of course.)


I do believe Cora’s one of the few six-year-olds out there
who knows the Land Shark/Candygram sketch from Saturday Night
Live.

Dear Maddie:


Life’s gotten a bit more demanding on you this year; now that
you’re in third grade, you’re responsible for a lot
more of your daily world, like making sure your ballet shoes are in
your dance bag twice a week, or being more independent with your
allowance.


Or being in charge of packing your school bag every day.


Yesterday you started to pack your back pack for the day: daily
folder, snack, water bottle, lunch bag, and a good book to read in
independent study time. As you went to load your bag, you
discovered the book you’d left in there over the weekend.
“Oh, this is where I left it! It’s such a good
book!” you said, and promptly opened it and read a chapter.


After a moment I looked up and saw you, still engrossed in your
novel. “C’mon, honey, finish up because we need to
go,” I pushed, and you put the book in, zipped up your bag,
and walked out the door.


And left your snack, water bottle, and lunch on the counter.

Sunday marked another milestone for Cora:
she began receiving allowance. Maddie’s been quietly getting
it for two years now, and with Cora in first grade it was time to
give her more responsibility.


So I sat down with the girls and explained how the system works
here. They each get a dollar a week, which we give them at the
first of the month and calculate by Sundays. With five Sundays in
September, they got five dollars for the month.


You should have seen Cora’s eyes pop out of her head at all
the bounty.

Last night the girls were getting ready
for bed, and it wasn’t super easy. We’re at the end of
the first week of school, and tears are close to the surface and
tempers are frayed and everyone’s tired. But bedtime was
going relatively smoothly and I was in Cora’s room helping
her pick out clothes for the next day when Maddie came in and said
formally, “Mommy, when I’m finished with my bedtime
routine I’d like to lie in bed and talk to you about my day a
bit.”


Hmm. That doesn’t sound good. Bedtime is the time of day
Maddie’s most likely to talk about her day. When I pick her
up from school, pretty much every day is a “good” day
and she talks about the stuff that went right; but a few hours
later, when she’s had time to sit with her day a bit,
she’s willing to talk about whatever might have been a bit
harder.


So we finished up with the teeth brushing and cat feeding and all
the other nightly chores, I snuggled Cora and read books, then
headed into Maddie’s room. I climbed into her bed, snuggled
up, and said lightly, “Ok, cutie, whatcha want to talk about
from today?”


Maddie rolled on her side and faced me. “Mommy, today was a
really hard day.”

Yesterday morning as the girls were
getting ready for school, Maddie said, “Hey, Cora, after
school do you want to go bike riding out in the front
circle?”


This is a complicated question to deal with, because Cora would
LOVE to go bike riding, but is a wee bit afraid of her bike. She
took the training wheels off in the spring and isn’t as
proficient on two wheels as she’d like, so avoids the bike to
keep from getting frustrated.


As I expected, Cora said grumpily, “No, I don’t really
want to ride my bike. I fall off too much. I’m no good at
it.”


Maddie didn’t give up. “Please?” she asked
sweetly. “If you come out front with me, I promise I’ll
hold your bike for you. Please, may I help you not be afraid of
your bike? You’ll have so much fun once you get past
that.”


Cora was silent for a moment, and then said rather ungraciously,
“I suppose so. I suppose I’ll let you help
me.”

Well, yesterday went about as well as
could be expected. There was the standard difficulty getting out of
bed, and more than a modicum of early-morning grouchiness, plus
more than a few tears at drop-off.


The kids, on the other hand, did pretty well.


Yeah, as crabby as I was about the whole thing, the girls were
remarkably ready for school. Sure, it’s easy to get them out
of bed when you’ve got fresh bacon and homemade cinnamon
rolls waiting for them downstairs, and fresh new outfits and shiny
new shoes to wear to school. But they were still pretty happy about
the whole thing, so I sucked it up and pretended to be so as well.


And didn’t cry until I’d dropped them off.


I thought we were doing pretty well: Cora gave me a fierce hug then
went happily to her classroom, and Maddie was well ahead of me down
the hall, so intense was her conversation with her school chum. But
when we got to her classroom she turned to me, looked me dead in
the eye, and said, “You know, I AM going to miss you a lot. I
love you!” and then went into her classroom.


Sigh.


It’ll get better, I’m sure.

I don’t want to talk about it.


Let’s just say that we had one last, glorious Pajama Day as a
family yesterday, and the only bad parts of the day were all the
times I had to stop and let that pesky Real World intrude as we
packed backpacks and laid out clothes for today.


I anticipate a long, crabby year.


Speaking for myself, of course.

My daughter Maddie is a bit of a pack rat.
She can have a hard time letting go of things – well,
ANYTHING, really, and will easily attach sentimental value to the
Kleenex she used to mark the spot in her book as she read it for
the seventh time. So her room can get a bit cluttered, and
let’s face it, so does Cora’s. Cora actually does a
pretty good job of keeping things picked up, but neither of them
offer to just “get rid of stuff” on a whim.


A few times of year, the gradual creep of junk – small happy
meal toys (and I swear, we don’t do happy meals – they
win these pieces of crap at school or whatever), a billion pencils,
birthday party grab-bag goodies – the detritus gradually
seeps into their rooms until I can’t stand it any more and I
snap.


I wait until they’re in school, then I go through and
“clean up” their rooms for them. And in addition to
organizing and vacuuming and such, I get rid of junk. I admit it. I
sneak stuff out behind their backs. But just in case they go
looking for some plastic necklace I didn’t know had been made
by a BFF, I stash all the junk from the most recent clean-out into
a box, and it lives in our garage for six months. If, at the end of
the six months, they haven’t asked for any of the stuff in
the box, I freecycle it.


Yes, this is underhanded. No, they’ve never noticed. And I
really need the junk gone.

We’re into our last week before
school starts, and frankly, I’m pissed.


For whatever reason, this summer has seemed too darn short and too
$#@ing emotional. I don’t feel like I’ve had my fair
share of long, lazy days by the pool with the girls, eating
pb&js and spooning out frozen smoothies while we laze on our
towels. I haven’t hit that stage of “please, God, can
school start up so these kids will stop driving me crazy!!”


We all seem to be reeling with emotional hangovers right now,
coming off a weekend of back-to-back farewells: Thursday night was
a very sad culmination to a whirlwind summer shocker as some of our
best friends suddenly planned a move all the way across the
country. I lost a good friend, and Cora and Maddie both lost sweet
girls who were part of their inner circles. Then Friday we said
farewell to another family, this time moving to Austin and taking
their daughter, Cora’s best friend, with them.


So we’re walking around with holes in our hearts right now,
knowing that we’re supposed to be Moving On but incredibly
unwilling to do so. Which means I just haven’t found it in me
to crank up the School Machine yet.

"How lucky I am to have something that
makes saying goodbye so hard."

-Winnie the Pooh


One of our closest friends moves across the country today. The
girls both lose friends, and I lose a big one.


And judging by how hard it was to say goodbye, we've been
exceedingly lucky.

The past few days have been quite
friend-heavy for us: we’ve had a dozen kids in the house for
face painting; an afternoon with cousins; sleepovers; a morning
helping church friends; an afternoon double play date; and ballet
class. By dinner time yesterday, the girls were still forging
vainly forward, but getting that glazed look in their eyes.


I called an audible.


We had dinner while watching a movie.


Yes, I said MOVIE! In the middle of the week!


Within minutes the girls were happily imitating stalks of asparagus
and vegging out. The chomped absentmindedly through their pulled
pork quesadillas, strawberries, and carrots, and barely lifted
their eyes from the screen to ask for more strawberries.


See? I’m cool! I’m spontaneous!

Yesterday a friend came out to do some
free face-painting. Yes, FREE! I invited a dozen kids to my house,
my friend painted their faces for free, and got to take pictures
for her look book.


Did I mention the kids got free face painting?


Maddie and Cora were in hog heaven, running wild in the house with
all their friends – a pre-cursor to school days to come. Add
fanciful face painting, and we had a dozen kids with a dozen wild
stories running through the house.

The girls have gotten into a bit of a rut
fights-wise: Cora gets frustrated and storms to her room, and
Maddie doesn’t want to let (fill in the blank) go and tries
to push open Cora’s door, forcing the door open or running
over Cora in the process.


In retaliation, Cora’s begun locking her door – mostly
as a defense mechanism against Maddie. It’s her last card to
play against the sheer superior strength that Maddie has. So
it’s a smart move, except that locking doors is illegal in
our house.


Yes, even in the bathroom.


Yesterday things came to a head once again, and the fighting
escalated so quickly that by the time I made it upstairs tempers
were quite high and I had to pick Maddie up and carry her to her
room. Both girls had right on their sides in one form or another;
both girls had wronged the other. Both girls were sobbing.


It was time to make a change.

Cora woke up Tuesday complaining of an
achy ear. She had no fever and didn’t act like a typical ear
infection, so I figured she’d slept on it funny and thought
no more of it.


Throughout the day, though, she’d mention it again, and I
finally got her to pinpoint the pain – all right towards the
outside of the ear. “Does it feel like an ear
infection” I asked. “Does it hurt anywhere inside,
where you can’t touch?”


“No, and no,” she said, obviously as flummoxed as I
was. So we simply kept going with her day.


But when she woke on Wednesday and her first words were,
“Mommy, it STILL hurts!” I gave the doctor a call.

href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sL8-l3nCFGA&feature=youtu.be"
target="_blank">This? Is how my children empty the
dishwasher on an average day.


And no, they didn’t know I was recording; after they got
going I sneaked the camera in and sat it on a corner of the
counter.


I’m telling you, I cannot make this stuff up.

Maddie and Cora both get monthly magazines
– “Highlights” or “High 5” –
that carry “easy” recipes kids can make. Every month
the girls sit down with their magazines and devour them eagerly,
arriving at the end of the magazine and oohing and aahing over
whatever recipe’s been listed in there for that particular
month: pumpkin bread pudding; corn chowder; watermelon pizza
– you name it, the thing looks good to the girls, who both
like to cook and who can clearly see themselves gracing the page of
said magazine in the future, merrily waving a whisk or wielding a
plastic knife.


Since school’s gotten out the girls have begun to dream big,
and Cora’s written a list of foods she wants to make for the
family at some point in the near future. The list is solely for me,
so that I might purchase the necessary ingredients for her;
Cora’s got the list memorized and the pages are well-thumbed.


Yesterday, while the adults lazed/dozed on the couch, the
girls’ dreams got even bigger, apparently.

A couple weeks ago Maddie fell off her
horse during lessons for the first time. She was shaken, but
basically unhurt, and I led her out of the ring and immediately
helped her get back on. She was a bit apprehensive but fine to go
back to it, and when we left I was so proud of her for getting
right up and getting back on.


Then came the next week’s lesson, where everything fell
apart.


Last weekend Maddie tried to ride, and spent the entire lesson with
tears streaming down her face. She was so afraid of the other
horses – she’d fallen off when another horse spitefully
came over and kicked her own horse, who then shied away –
that she had a death grip on the reins and jumped in fear every
time she got close to another horse. Maddie came home that day
ready to quit horseback riding, one of her passions.


I persuaded Maddie to take a private lesson this week, to give her
a chance to work in the ring without other horses threatening her,
to take time to work through her fears. She agreed and we went
yesterday morning.

How is it August already?


Where did summer go?


And why is it that the girls aren't in school, I'm not working,
and yet I'm still exhausted and feel like I'm constantly running?


What summer vacation?

So in response to last week’s plea
to the tooth fairy from Cora for a toy for her cat, she found this
on Friday –


Dear Cora:


Thanks for yesterday’s note; what an exciting day you had!
How scary to have lost Satin’s tooth, but how wonderful that
your AMAZING mother found it again!


It sounds like you’ve got quite a playful kitten there, who
likes to nibble and scratch at her toys – even if her
“toys” are your toes! Unfortunately, a tooth fairy only
has gold coins to give out, and I don’t think Satin would be
very entertained by those. But I bet you have everything you need
to make an awesome cat toy right in your own home!


Ask your mom to let you go outside and cut some catnip from your
herb garden. Then tear it up into tiny pieces and stuff it into one
of your old, too-small socks. Tie it shut and throw it to Satin and
watch her totally forget about your toesies!


Good luck – I’ll see you soon, when you lose a tooth!


Sincerely,


Your tooth fairy


I didn’t mention the note to Cora, but later in the morning I
went outside to do some pruning in the herb garden, and walked in
with an armful of herbs to dry.


Including catnip.


“Hey, guys, I had to cut the catnip back, so I brought some
extra in to dry. Do you think we’ll find a use for it?”


Cora looked at me, startled. “Oh, that reminds me! I got a
note from the tooth fairy and she said -“


And we were off and making a cat toy.


Not my first rodeo, kid.

So at bedtime last night Cora asked Maddie
to come into her room after books had been read for some
“help on a little note”.


Yep, Cora wrote a note back to the tooth fairy.


Here’s what I read when I sneaked in to read it last night:


Dear tooth fairy,


Today we lost my kitten’s tooth and my mom found it. My
kitten’s name is Satin. Satin is very playful and it wou8ld
please me and Satin very much if I received a toy that Satin could
play with instead of my feet. Whenever I get cold I put my feet
under the covers only to wake up in the morning and find my feet
with scratches on them.


Thanks,


Cora

p.s. Did you print your recent letter?


Do you see what my child did there? Who would deny a sweet kitten a
little toy, especially when that toy would keep the sweet little
kitten from tearing up the darling child’s tender toesies?
And is I did deny said child the toy, she will end up SHIVERING AND
COLD at night, afraid to use her blanket lest it make her toes an
alluring child.


In other words, I’d be depriving my child of basic shelter.


Oh, she’s good. She’s very good.


It’s on.

So yesterday morning Cora found this note
stuck into her tooth pillow:


Dear Cora:


I understand you recently grew another tooth –
congratulations! You must feel like a very big girl now


And I hear that your kitten has lost a baby tooth – wow! What
a lot to go on in one household at once!


I’ve heard that you’re hoping for some money from me,
and I want you to know that while it would be a lot of fun for me
to do, I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.


Don’t get me wrong – I think every new tooth is
something to be celebrated! But what do you think would happen if I
start giving out money every time you get a new tooth in your
mouth?


Just think about it. You’ve got a ton of teeth in your mouth
right now- and if I had to give you at least a dollar for each one,
then another dollar to replace them all with grown-up teeth,
I’d be broke! I’d have given away all my money years
ago to other kids, and have none saved up for terrific girls like
you.


Right now I’m saving up for your first tooth, which I feel
confident I will see within the next school year. And when I do see
it, there’s FIVE gold coins waiting for you – yours to
keep! I can’t wait.


So just know that I’m so happy about your new tooth, and that
your kitten’s lost one of her own; that’s lots of
exciting changes going on there that can only mean one thing
– you’re growing bigger and bigger! Keep up the good
work, and make sure you brush those new teeth really well so
they’ll be in good shape when I get them.


Sincerely,


Your tooth fairy

p.s. no use trying to pull out a perfectly good baby tooth before
it’s ready to come out – they’re no good to me
and will hurt an awful lot. No cash for cheaters! I promise,
I’ll be back soon enough.


Cora found the note and read it in silence. I casually said,
“So, I see you’ve gotten a note! What do you
think?”


Cora was silent for a minute. Then she said, “I have some
thoughts.”


Then at bedtime last night, I heard her say to Maddie, "Maddie will
you come into my room after you read books with Mommy? I need you
to help me spell some words for a letter I'm writing to the tooth
fairy."


Bring it, kid.

Several nights ago, Cora came into our
room in the middle of the night complaining that part of her mouth
hurt. Now, ever since we’d gotten back from New York,
middle-of-the-night visits are not uncommon; we spent a week
sleeping everyone in one room, and it’s natural for the girls
to, shall we say, elaborate on issues to make them visit-worthy.


So when Cora told me in the middle of the night that her mouth
hurt, I assumed it was a canker sore –she’ll get them
occasionally when her diet goes to crap (thank you, vacation!)- and
told her we’d look at it in the morning.


When morning came, Cora brought it up immediately, and imagine my
surprise when I looked in her mouth and saw that she was teething!
Yes, her six-year molars were coming in, and apparently this one
was particularly painful.


I explained the situation to Cora, who immediately became delighted
and spent the rest of the day constantly checking on her “new
tooth”. She asked for popsicles constantly, which I provided
by making her a strawberry/spinach smoothie (don’t judge,
it’s delicious) and freezing it into pops. She gnawed away
happily, and all seemed well.


Until bedtime.

I do love summer – the pace is
slower, expectations are lower, the schedule is lighter. You can
cruise along, coming up with fun things to do or simply lounging
all Saturday in your pajamas.


Or, you can have our weekend.


Which, let me say here, was not really bad – just not what
we’d thought it would be when we went to bed Friday night.


For starters, I’d arranged for our niece to come babysit
Saturday night, planning to surprise Brian with a date night.
Maddie had her horseback riding lesson at 9 a.m., but I could see
us sneaking out of the house while Brian and Cora slept, coming
home a couple hours later to find them still in their pjs, waffle
leftovers on the kitchen table. Then I pictured a whole day
lounging around the house, reading on the couch, playing games,
until Date Night arrived.


And I was mostly right.

“Mommy, I need you to help me make a
drawer for Cora to appear in at the top of a song,” Maddie
said the other day, and then turned away, expecting me to follow.


Which I did, unquestioningly.


And what’s worse, I knew exactly why she was asking for it.


Taking the girls to New York was something we did for several
reasons, and one of the things we wanted them to experience was the
world-class theatre. We’d originally bought tickets to
NEWSIES only, and then broke down halfway through the week and
bought tickets to ANNIE as well.


Let me tell you, watching the girls’ faces as NEWSIES started
was one of the best events of my life. The stage lights reflecting
off their shining faces, both girls watched awestruck the entire
show. Cora never sat back in her seat, not once. And when they got
to go backstage afterwards and walk on the set? They were in
seventh heaven.

So we spent last week in New York City,
giving our girls the chance to go back to their birthplace for the
first time since we moved from there five and a half years ago.
Both girls have been clamoring to go, and at one point we even
offered them the choice between Disneyworld and New York –
and New York won.


There was not, of course, time enough to cram everything we wanted
them to experience into one trip. But we surely did try, hitting
museums, a couple different zoos, multiple city parks, many trips
into Central Park, two Broadway shows, some free events, LOTS of
great time with friends, and of course, a ton of excellent food.


In fact, I consider it one of my crowning victories that we did not
eat at a chain restaurant one single time all week.


New York is a lot for anyone to take in, and when you’re
under four feet tall I imagine it’s even more intimidating.
We walked somewhere between six and eight miles EACH day, and Cora
gamely kept up with us, though she did ask for frequent rest stops.
And once she discovered the ubiquitous ice cream truck that’s
parked at every New York street corner, she asked for even more
frequent ice cream stops “because I need to cool off and get
my energy up!”

We're back safe and sound from New York
City - at least physically.


Lots to tell here, but for now laundry and bills and empty
refrigerators call! Soon, I promise.

Tomorrow morning we leave for New York,
and I suppose I’m as prepared as I can be.


It’s not like we haven’t traveled as a family before
– we try to take a family vacation every year. But every
other year it’s been some place warm and sunny and beach-y
and slow; this is our first venture into an urban vacation. And as
much as I love New York City, I’ve never been there with kids
you can’t strap into a stroller and pin down.


So this will be an adventure.


Wish us luck – and see you in a week!

The girls are getting excited about our
upcoming trip to New York; we’ve bought tickets to one show
and they’ve watched the TONY Awards and seen clips of all the
kid-friendly shows out there right now. In Maddie’s words,
she can’t wait to see some “real theatre”.


They spent an hour last night working on “It’s A
Hard-Knock Life” for a small upcoming performance (tickets go
on sale soon!). With lyric sheets in hand, they divided up parts,
discussed characterization, worked through props, and sang through
it several times. Apparently they’re going to add costumes
and staging today and perform it for anyone they can pin down.


Whose idea was it to let them watch the new The Making of
ANNIE documentary yesterday?

This article’s been going around the
internet, and I’m sure most of you have read it, so I almost
didn’t post it here thinking it’s overkill.


But it’s also incredibly important, so I’m posting it
anyway.


The article is href="http://www.rolereboot.org/life/details/2013-06-when-your-mother-says-shes-fat#.Uc3E_ln-tHk.facebook"
target="_blank">When Your Mother Says She’s Fat
and you can imagine the content. The truth is that the disparaging
remarks we make about ourselves every day absolutely shape how our
daughters see us – and themselves.


I haven’t always had the best self-image (shocking for a
ballet dancer, I know), and this is one of the things I can
honestly say I’m doing right with my daughters –at
least most of the time. I want them to live better than me –
to be happier in their own skins than I was. And that’s why
when my daughters hear the word “diet” they think it
means simply “whatever foods you eat”. As in “She
eats a healthy diet,” or “Her diet includes lots of
vegetables and lean protein”.


My daughters have never heard me speak disparagingly about the way
I look – I don’t slam my freckles, or my (lack of)
height, or the roll around my stomach that shows up when my shorts
just come out of the dryer. If they see me working out and wonder
why, I tell them, “To keep my body healthy and strong so it
can keep up with you! Mommies don’t get gym class like you
do, you know!” Whatever angst I might have about my physical
appearance I save for my girlfriends, and let them help me through
that. It’s not my daughters’ job to reassure me, and
it’s not their right to learn how to dislike their looks from
me.


Just read the article – and then see if it changes how you
talk about yourself around your daughter.


And maybe even think about yourself.

Maddie’s spending the week at her
riding stables in a five-day horseback riding camp. It’s
all-day, every day, and it’s exhausting. 8 to 5 would wear
out any third grader; add to that the fact that she’s in
Texas heat, un-airconditioned, working and sweating outdoors the
whole time, and you’ve got one worn out child by the end of
the day.


She’s never been happier.


She gets a couple full lessons each day, of course, but she
doesn’t spend every minute horseback: she grooms the animals,
feeds and waters them, cleans their stalls, and so forth.


And then there’s the rest of the time, which is where I think
the real lessons are.

A friend of mine has a chronic illness.
What, exactly, isn’t important. But think Lyme disease,
except the lows are much lower. So sometimes she’s on top of
the world, and sometimes she’s literally crippled and out of
commission for several days. Her life is incredibly inconstant and
hard to predict, and has been so for a couple of years. And
I’ve learned a lot about grace and a sense of humor and
humility from watching her battle this thing.


The past couple of years have been incredibly hard on her child, of
course, and living in constant uncertainty – Is Mommy having
a Good Day, or a Bad Day? – has taken its toll on the girl.
But it’s also shaping the child into what I think will be a
very strong, unshakeable adult who knows that Something Bad
happening is not the end of the world.


One of the things I’ve grown to admire most about my friend
is how she approaches each and every Good Day determined to drink
every drop from it, and it’s definitely influenced my
parenting. When it’s a Good Day, nothing is off the table,
and my friend is the epitome of Yes Parenting. Long bike rides with
her daughter, exploring through the neighborhood
“jungle”, making sand castles in their flower beds
– everything’s fair game and nothing’s off
limits. There’s never a time when she rolls her eyes and
thinks, “Hey, Kid, I just want ten minutes by myself to check
email. Go entertain yourself.” My friend is Present.


Every minute she can be.


There has to be boundaries, of course, and the child doesn’t
rule the roost. But thanks to my friend, I find myself giving a
reflexive “no” less and less often. For my girlfriend,
she literally has no idea when her Good Day will end and when her
child will be forced to entertain herself anyway. So she barrels
ahead, luxuriating furiously in every moment right up to the last
second.


Don’t you wonder – what would your family life be like
if you lived that way?


Messier, sure. Less down time, sure. Less television at night when
little voices call you back upstairs for “one more
snuggle” and you swallow your crabby sense of “But
I’m off-duty now!” and head up there to love on your
kid. Less of your to-do list crossed off, most likely.


But so much more of the good stuff, don’t you think?


Our kids need to learn that they’re just one part of a big
picture – that they aren’t the center of the universe.
I’m not denying that. But perhaps we need to learn that there
are more important things than updating our Facebook status one
more time.


Like making sand castles in the flower beds, for example.

Yes, there’s no surprise endings
with a title like that, eh?


Friday morning Maddie was apprehensive about heading to Invention
Camp – still nervous about her group’s duck launcher
not working – but was trying hard to be strong in her
decision not to forfeit. When I dropped her off, I pulled the
counselor aside and said, “Listen, if the duck-launching
thing doesn’t go well and Maddie asks to go to the bathroom,
can you please let her go? Quickly?” and filled her in on the
rest. The girl was sympathetic and promised to not give Maddie any
grief should tears overtake her.


Throughout the day I sent up a quick prayer for my daughter –
not that she’d win, or even score a point, with her invention
– just that she’d have the courage to try it, and the
strength to face the results. By the time I went to pick her up for
the parental showcase and dismissal, I was a nervous wreck.


As I walked towards Maddie’s table the counselor spotted me
and beamed. “Guess who didn’t need a bathroom
break?” she fairly shouted.


I looked at Maddie, who tried unsuccessfully to mask a smile and
finally gave up the attempt altogether. “Baby? How’d it
go?” I prodded.


Maddie jumped up and down. “We won! We won!”


Yep, her group won her level’s challenge.

Last night I lay snuggling with Maddie as
we do every night, talking through the day behind us and looking
forward to the one to come. Maddie’s been in Invention Camp
all week, and today is the culmination of all their hard work,
getting to test inventions they’ve been working on all week,
and showing off their projects to enthusiastic parents.


“So are you happy camp is almost over, or sad?” I
asked.


“Well, mostly sad, but also a lot stressed about
tomorrow,” Maddie said, surprising me.


“Why are you stressed about it?” I asked, and Maddie
gave a huge sigh, and spilled it all.


The camp asks every student to bring in some sort of machine they
can take apart – an old computer tower, an electric drill, a
popcorn maker, whatever. They were then broken into small groups
and given the task of taking each item apart, and then using those
parts to build a duck launcher – something that would launch
a rubber duck so many feet to land it in the bathtub. There are
rules, of course, and what you brought is what you get to use.


Maddie’s group has her computer tower, a coffeemaker, a dvd
player, and a couple other items, and for the first part of the
week Maddie’s enjoyed this part of the day. But apparently
Thursday brought on more than a small amount of panic as my
daughter’s group tested their contraption over and over again
and nine times out of ten, failed to make it work.

Maddie’s eight now, and we’ve
long seen some Serious Talks coming down our pike at this house.
It’s commonly touted that girls mature faster than they did
when I was growing up, for a variety of reasons.


I’m not trying to discuss the theories behind
“why” – growth hormones in dairy products,
over-explicit and age-inappropriate media exposure, there’s
quite a list of common theories out there. But I am hearing so much
of the “fourteen is the new eighteen”, and “nine
is the new twelve”, and I can’t deny that I’m now
within shouting distance of age nine.


So I do what I always do in situations like this – I start
reading.

So we’ve been out of school for one
full week and change, and it’s like we never left summer at
all. We’re staying up late, we’re sleeping in,
we’re eating when we feel like it and making a lunch out of
smoothies (with spinach and avocado, don’t freak out) and
tortilla chips (organic, but still, you got me on that one).


Then, after one glorious week out of school, we turn the corner
into a couple weeks of back-to-back camps. Yesterday Maddie started
her Invention Camp, one week of 9-4 daily geeking out with other
friends who like to make rubber duck-launchers out of taken-apart
coffee-makers. My kid LOVES her some Invention Camp, so she was
signed up and ready to go.


Which meant that Sunday night I had to drag out her lunch bag from
where I’d gleefully stuffed it mere days before, and pack her
a $@#% lunch.


I disdainfully picked up the lunch bag (which, I am sure, is
perfectly nice and with which, I am sure, I’d have been
friends in different circumstances. Circumstances like, say, a
world where I was not a slave to that freakin’ thing five
days a week. And a world where people can be friends with lunch
boxes.


But I digress.)


So I disdainfully picked up the lunch bag and set it on the counter
with barely-concealed contempt. Or, perhaps, not concealed at all,
since I swear it sneered at me and said, “Listen,
you’re not my favorite person either.”


Sigh.


I’m fighting a very strong urge to buy a week’s worth
of pre-packaged yogurt and those Uncrustable things and just be
done with it.


It’s not easy being green.

The other day Maddie and I were listening
to music in the car, jamming out and singing along.
“Mommy?” Maddie said. “I like singing pop
music.”


“I do too, honey!” I replied, smiling. “What are
some of your favorite pop songs to sing, and why?”


“Well,” she said pensively, “There’s that
Justin Beaver, of course. He has a lot of popular songs.
Unfortunately,” she continued, “they’re not very
good.”


“Well,” she amended, “a couple of them are
well-written and would be nice to listen to if someone else sang
them.”


And this? Is why I love my daughter.

3:30 a.m. last night, there was a knock on
our bedroom door. “Come in,” Brian groggily said.


Cora came tiptoeing through the door. “Mommy, I . . .”
but I was already out of bed and stumbling towards the door before
she even finished her sentence, knowing from the past four nights
what was going on.


We’ve got a new baby in the house, and no one’s
sleeping.


Cora adopted a four-month-old kitten the day after school got out;
it was her promised sixth birthday gift, and we’d made her
wait until school was over so she’d be home to bond with it.
And as fun as that kitten is, around 3:30 a.m. we all wish (just a
teensy bit) that Kitten was back at the animal shelter.

I just read href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/christine-grossloh/the-milestones-that-matter-most_b_3195567.html"
target="_blank">an interesting piece on the Huffington
Post from the end of May – yes, I’m behind –
on parents in America versus other cultures, and how we mark
different sorts of milestones than parents in, say, Sweden.


The article points out that while we as a culture raise
spectacularly verbal kids – children here can bargain and
negotiate like trial-room lawyers while still in kindergarten
– we sometimes lose sight of other values that would be
worthwhile to foster.


The author lists such values as thinking about others, and being
more independent at an earlier age. On taking care of younger
siblings, she writes:


In our country, we worry that asking siblings to care for each
other puts an undue burden on their individual potential. The
opposite is true: when we ask our kids to care for one another, it
unleashes their potential as nurturing, socially responsible human
beings.


I know I find myself sometimes putting on my eight-year-old’s
shoes still, partly out of habit and partly out of a desire to
hurry the whole process along; this is probably an anathema to a
culture that has five-year-olds out herding the family livestock
for hours at a time.


What do you guys think? And if we’re losing sight of some
important social values here, what’s the best way to go about
teaching them?

Dear Maddie:


This weekend we celebrated your eighth birthday for what seemed
like days: we spent a fun morning with friends horseback riding and
eating ice cream at the stables; we went for a huge long family
swim with more friends; we at ice cream and cake and pizza and your
favorite meal: smoked ham, baked beans, and steamed broccoli. And
of course we took lots of breaks for opening gifts.


The weekend was a revolving door of friends and family stopping by
to drop off a birthday present, and I can’t help but rejoice
at what a close community you’ve got in your own right here.
Friends came by with a book of poetry about animals (how well does
she know you???), or with gift cards to a favorite store, or even
an original poem written by a sick friend when she had to miss your
birthday party. You, my friend, are well loved.

Yes, today is the last day of school, and
everyone in the world is rejoicing.


Except Cora.


Every time we talk about the “summer” or the last day
of school, she growls at us. Sometimes she cries. She can’t
believe her teacher won’t be her teacher any more, and
there’s no WAY she can imagine first grade will be anywhere
near as good as kindergarten.


My poor kiddo.


Yesterday all her workbooks were sent home from school, and at
bedtime she gleefully got out her mathbook and did math problems
before lights out.


Yeah, there’s no hope for her.

Yesterday was Cora’s kindergarten
revue, followed by her end-of-year party, then Maddie’s
end-of-year party – for which I am a party mom.


What does that mean?


It means that we spent an hour being assaulted by ridiculously
sweet kindergarteners singing “What A Wonderful World”
(I DARE you not to cry at that!), followed by 80 kindergarteners
eating pizza and playing games in the Texas sun, followed by me
being partially responsible for 80 second-graders playing games and
eating ice cream in the Texas sun.


Followed by me going to teach for several hours.


I? Am tired.


Just keep swimming . . . just keep swimming . . .

href="http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/05/30/worst-end-of-school-year-mom-ever"
target="_blank">This?


Is me.


I am d-u-n DONE with school.

This week is not shaping up to be a good
one.


Yesterday we had our handyman out to fix a few things on the
outside of the house – rotten boards, leaky spots, and so on.
A few hundred bucks later, and our house looks – exactly the
same. But less leaky, I guess.


Then our refrigerator started not refrigerating so well. This has
been going on for a few weeks – the freezer conked out a
while ago – and we decided to just live with it and not buy a
new one, as the repair, we’ve been told, is not fool-proof
and costs as much as a new fridge. So we’ve been limping
along, but apparently now must get a new one.


The warranty, in case you were wondering, expired two months ago.


Did I mention that both caterpillars cleaned out our dill –
AGAIN – and left, never to be seen again?


Can we just call this week and be done with it?

You know, when you have a
three-day-weekend just a couple weeks before school gets out, going
back to school that next Tuesday feels a little bit like trying to
put on your skinny-girl jeans after you’ve spent a week on an
all-you-can-eat cruise. You can barely fit into them, and it makes
you crabby and oh-so-aware of how quickly you spread out.


We spent the past three days wasting no time spreading out; the
girls woke up around nine (NINE!) a.m. on Monday. We began moving
slower, taking our time, puttering desultorily around the house.
Now comes Tuesday morning with its alarm clocks and quick time
schedules and errands and lunches to pack and forms to sign and . .
.


Bleh.


We can sQUEEze back into our usual routine. Barely.


We are SO ready for summer break to be here.

Apparently our dill has grown back enough
to become a nursery. Yet again.


Yep, that's right, we currently have two new caterpillars munching
their way through the baby new growth in our dill. Fortunately for
us, there's only two of them. Unfortunately for them, they're
tiny and it'll be a while before they cocoon. I don't think
there's going to be enough dill.


Again.


Oh, God, hope springs eternal, doesn't it, you crazy Guy?

A couple days ago, Cora asked me why I
haven’t bought Pirate Booty recently; that and Veggie Booty
have been regular snack treats in our house, and it was a fair
question.


I explained to Cora that one of the main ingredients in Booty is
corn, and over 85% of corn in the USA is genetically modified.
I’d called Robert’s Snacks, combed their websites, sent
emails – and been told explicitly that yes, they use
genetically altered crops. And while our diet may not be 100%
GMO-free, it’s rather close, and that’s on purpose.


I’m not trying to get into a conversation on GMO foods here
– that’s a much longer post, believe me, and I’ve
made it a couple times. But this did lead us to a child-level
version of that conversation, and I spent a few painful minutes
talking through GMO crops and why we choose not to eat them with
the girls.

Yesterday was dominated by a bad weather
threat all over north Texas; after the events in Oklahoma on Monday
I spent the entire morning working on turning my fear over to God
and leaving Him in control of my girls. Not an easy task when
you’re a mama, but I tried. As I saw the weather forecast
predicting that the bad storm would hit right around school pick-up
time, I decided to play it safe and had the girls come home from
school after lunch.


In other words, Early Release Day.


In other words, Extra Play Day.

Yesterday afternoon Maddie came out of
school distinctly subdued. She had a couple papers in her hand and
immediately handed me her backpack, keeping the loose papers to
herself. “Do you want me to put those papers in your
backpack?” I asked.


Maddie handed me one, and as she did I caught a glimpse of the
other, retained paper – a math test with the score written in
red. “You can have this one,” she said, handing me her
vocabulary test. “But not this one,” and she waved the
math test.


“Baby, is it because of the grade on the math test?” I
asked.


She nodded.


“Honey, it’s ok, we all miss some sometimes.”


So Maddie handed me her math test and burst into tears.


She made an 89.

As you can’t help but be aware, I
got an awesome new blender about a week ago. I’m lucky
there’s a seven-year warranty on this thing, because
I’m certainly going to wear the motor out before then.


Cora’s favorite smoothie right now is: one whole orange
(peeled); one pint of whole strawberries; one banana; one cup of
homemade plain yogurt; and, unbeknownst to her, a handful of fresh
spinach leaves.


I made this smoothie for her last night with dinner, and I had to
make three full batches of it. That’s three pints of
strawberries, folks. Suddenly the sixty-eight pounds we picked a
few weeks ago doesn’t look as big in the freezer any more.


I’ve started experimenting more with what’s going in
them, and quite like a green smoothie I make for myself every
morning now. A friend of mine told me she puts half an avocado in
any fruit smoothie – it doesn’t add any taste, but adds
a creaminess and some healthy fat to help with the blood sugar
spike from all the fruit. So I’m starting to do that, too.


The upshot is that the poor blender’s been working overtime,
and I’ve made copious trips back to the grocery store for
more produce.


This fresh, healthy eating thing is getting expensive.

Dear Cora:


Every morning provided the weather holds, you scooter to school.
About a block and a half into it, you arrive at your friend
Lily’s house, and invariably you pause there, lingering in
the hope that she’ll come walking out the door at that moment
and you two can continue on to school together.


When I catch up with you, you’ll always say that your leg is
“tired and needs to rest”. One day I teasingly pointed
out that your leg always seems to get tired at the same spot on our
journey; you shrugged and said matter-of-factly, “My leg
always wants to rest with my friends.”


Well, I don’t know about your leg, kiddo, but I know for
certain that your heart rests with your friends. You spent the past
few years essentially “borrowing” friends from your
older sister, but this year you’ve truly come into your own
and have spent kindergarten developing your own sweet little gang.
You are always begging me for a play date with Lily, or Maggie, or
Logan or Rawan – always wanting to spend more time with your
friends. And it’s not that you’re not comfortable in
your own skin: you can easily entertain yourself in your room for
hours at a time. No, you simply love your friends. You have an easy
confidence with them that, frankly, I envy: I can’t imagine
being that comfortable with myself and open with so many others at
your age.

Monday afternoons always feel a little
hectic for me; Mondays are my “errands” day, full of
grocery stores and the cleaners and the drugstore and taking care
of returns and all the other million things your children HATE to
do with you. Then I come home for about ten minutes to eat and
switch mental gears as I get ready for the second half of my day:
pick the girls up from school, spend a few precious minutes with
them, then rush off to teach for the rest of the day.


I try hard not to be flustered and tired when I see the girls, so I
can be focused on them and enjoy them for however brief a time.
This past Monday my teaching started a bit later than usual, so I
was looking forward to having a good hour with the girls before
heading out the door.


Then Cora was invited over to a friend’s house – a
house she’s never been to before. I couldn’t say no. So
as I prepared for this past Monday afternoon, I pictured the
quality time Maddie and I would spend together, chatting about the
day and having deep talks while cuddling on the couch. I headed off
to the school to give Cora a quick hug in passing and pick Maddie
up for the day.


But when I got to school, Maddie ran at me bursting with
excitement. “Mom! Marina invited me over to her house to
play! Can I go? Please???” I looked at Marina’s mom,
who nodded that yes, this was a sanctioned invitation.

On Sunday morning, my plan was to sleep
until I absolutely had to wake up, jump in the shower and get ready
for church. I’d heard Brian get up a bit earlier and was
snuggled down under the covers, half-asleep and enjoying the fact
that it was almost 8 a.m. and I was still in bed.


At which point I felt a tap on my shoulder and opened one eye to
see my husband looking at me sympathetically. “I’m so
sorry to wake you before your alarm, but this is just too darn cute
so you need to roll over to see it.”


I obligingly rolled over and opened the other eye, and there was my
five-year-old with a huge grin on her face, holding a breakfast
tray.

Yes, I’m writing about my blender
– one more time, I promise.


Yesterday I threw in three oranges (only the outer skin removed),
two frozen peeled bananas, a bit of honey, some vanilla and some
whole milk and made Orange Julius drinks for everyone.


Me likey.

In an extravagant fit of sheer
awesomeness, my mother just gave me a Vita-Mix blender as an early
Mother’s Day gift. I’ve been eyeing one for a couple of
years and we really thought this was the year, but a few household
repairs came up and . . . you know how it goes.


But I suddenly find myself with this Lamborghini of blenders at my
disposal, and there is no stopping me now.


My first day with Frieda (my highly efficient new friend, on
constant call, ready to whip up any drink I might want with
Teutonic efficiency) I used it Five. Times. Yes, five. For one
round with the girls, I peeled four clementines and threw them in
there –seeds and pith and all – with a peeled banana
and some yogurt and some vanilla extract. Sheer heaven. Frieda (my
new best friend) will take any fruit and pulverize it to a smooth,
un-pulp-y liquid. I have high hopes that she will help me get more
whole fruits and veggies down Cora’s throat – Cora is
my Texture Nazi.


So far I’m sticking with classics – mango, strawberries
(we’ve got a few of those around), bananas, oranges, that
sort of thing – with a bit of plain yogurt. I’ve
learned that if I put in frozen fruit it makes a drink the
consistency of a milkshake.


A milkshake.

Last Friday I pulled the girls out of
school early to go strawberry picking, an annual event we always
look forward to. We’re lucky to have an organic strawberry
farm just north of us here, and we pack a picnic and make a day of
it. The strawberries are EXCELLENT and the prices below grocery
store, so we always pick plenty to bring home and freeze for
canning and smoothies.


This year we may have over-reached a bit.


Maddie and Cora were able to really participate this year and did a
great job filling up a few buckets with very ripe strawberries,
while my mom and I worked diligently to pick as much as we could. I
kept remembering how we ran out of the thirty pounds we picked last
May by mid-July, and I was determined to pick more this year. I
sent the girls back to the farmer for extra buckets a few times,
and we ended with quite a haul.


Sixty-eight pounds, to be exact.

Total number of caterpillars we started
with in our garden ten days ago:


Ten.


Total number of caterpillars now in residence in our garden:


Zero.


Yes, we have managed to lose every. Single. One.


In a related story, my dill is miraculously growing back from
one-inch stubs.


Not that it makes me feel better.

We're down to one caterpillar out there.


One caterpillar, and five people all hovering anxiously around it,
our hopes and dreams for it and its nine former friends all poured
into this one stupid larva.


I swear, God's creation will drive me to drink this week.

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.

Saturday afternoon the girls and I were
enjoying glorious spring weather playing outside on the street of
our cul de sac. Maddie was zooming around on her bike while Cora
scootered happily along, me admiring various tricks and
occasionally pulling weeds from the front lawn.


After a while Maddie became restless and asked if she could bike by
herself for a while. Now, I have never let Maddie go off for a bike
ride before: she doesn’t even walk the half-mile to school
alone. Mama’s not quite ready, I guess.


But I could see in her eyes her longing to stretch her legs, so I
said, “Tell you what. You can ride the two blocks to the
park, ride around the blacktop a few times, then come back,
ok?”

Maddie’s eyes lit up.

Yesterday was a gorgeous day outside and
the girls had a rare day of sibling amity for the entire day; we
played outside after school then came home and continued in the
back yard, pausing only briefly for dinner, until bedtime. Part of
the time I simply lay on the grass and watched them laughing and
giggling together, marveling that sometimes I get it right –
at least, right enough to be able to give them this small measure
of happiness in each other.


Anyway, their joy was overflowing and the funny things kept pouring
out of their mouths. At one point, Maddie was demonstrating how
she’s working on her front flip: she laid out several floor
pillows in a row (yes, we take them outside sometimes, and really,
the word “no” just didn’t fit in
yesterday’s vocabulary), ran at the pillows, flipped in
mid-air, and landed on her head – yes, head – and
continued smoothly into a forward roll.


I watched her do this and said, “Honey, I am really glad you
chose to use the pillows; practicing this on the hard ground would
not be good.”

Last night I taught until just after the
girls’ bedtime, and when I came home I immediately headed
upstairs for a last-minute snuggle, as is my habit. The girls read
books and say prayers with a grown-up, then are allowed a bit of
time by themselves with the light on to read some more or do
crosswords or puzzle books. Well, traditionally Maddie would read
and Cora, not yet a reader, would do some sort of maze book or
color.


But recently Cora’s been reading and I’ll occasionally
come in to snuggle her and find her working her way through a book.
Last night, I happened upon my daughter reading Shel
Silverstein’s The Giving Tree.


Now, this is one of my favorite books, and I can’t get
through it now that I’m a mom without weeping. So to see my
daughter reading it aloud to herself – well, you can
imagine.

This weekend, out of nowhere Maddie said,
“Ok, here’s something I don’t get.”


Uh oh.


“How is it that sometimes when people get married they
don’t have a baby right away, but sometimes people have
babies sooner?”


The adults at the table looked at each other.

A few weeks ago the girls’ school
began teaching soccer in gym class and for whatever reason Maddie
got bitten by the soccer bug. She’s managed to spend her
whole young life assiduously avoiding team sports, but this time
around a light’s switched on and she wants desperately to
play.


Of course, by the time she came to this realization all the spring
soccer leagues were already under way, so Brian stepped up and
offered to do a once-a-week practice at a nearby field for Maddie
and some friends. No games on Saturdays, no competition, just
getting together once a week to work on soccer skills and have fun.


Last night was the first practice.

Spring break is barely in our rearview
mirror at this household and I’m already feeling the pressure
to get our summer schedule figured out. You might think such a
schedule would look something like this: “Sleep in. Go to the
pool. Take a nap. Repeat.” And we’ll certainly have
many days like that, it’s true.


But that’s not the whole story.