1 Mother 2 Another

Wait a minute - I have to do the
kindergarten thing all over again this week?


I don't think I can take this any more. I'm exhausted and worn
out, and it's only the second week.


Maddie had a colossal meltdown Friday night, with the stress of the
entire week finally catching up with her. She lost it on something
totally unrelated, screamed for about ten minutes, and then out of
the blue said, "I hate kindergarten and I'm not going back any
more!" I held her, sobbing, for half an hour, simply rocking her
and stroking her hair, before she calmed down. She said
kindergarten was too hard, and she wanted it to be like preschool
was, and preschool is plenty of school for Madeleine. Exhausted,
she crawled into bed without brushing her teeth and promptly
crashed.


Saturday morning she slept an extra hour, then proceeded to tear
the house apart. Within thirty minutes of her waking, every single
toy was out and played with. Maddie reveled in her freedom,
wallowing in the unstructuredness of her time. The house looked
like a Toys R Us exploded, and my wild child would not be stopped.
We spent the entire day doing whatever she wanted - ice skating,
sandwiches, hanging around the house, and going out for a salad for
dinner. I found myself clutching her to me on the flimsiest excuse,
stroking her hair when I didn't think she was looking.


Sunday night I realized my vacation was at an end - time to pack
snacks and lunches and make sure forms were signed and school
picture money in the folder. We picked out school outfits for
Monday AND Tuesday (school picture day - have to be ready in plenty
of time!) and discussed Maddie's motivation for going to school
tomorrow: to hold the hand of a friend who specifically asked
Maddie to walk in with her, since she's still nervous. I'm hoping
it'll be enough to get her to school tomorrow.


Seriously - when's Thanksgiving break?

Maddie has entered the school by herself.
And she has survived.


Yesterday, as I mentioned, was the first day parents were not
allowed to walk children to their classroom. Instead, we got to
hover around the front door while our babies walked in unescorted,
dwarfed by their backpacks too big for their slender shoulders,
marching off to seven hours of hard labor – that is, of
course, unless they got permanently lost on the way to the
classroom, or kidnapped by a hidden child molester in B hall.


Ok, so I had a few concerns.

Yesterday morning I went in at 6:30 to
wake Maddie for school. She blinked in the light, rolled over, and
said, “But it’s so EARLY!”


The kindergarten honeymoon is over.

Ok, so I said yesterday that the first day
of school went MOSTLY well, with one notable exception.


Here’s the exception.


Cora and I hit the pool after dropping Maddie off, which is just a
block or two away from the school. We swam for quite a while,
enjoying ourselves and the empty pool for much of the morning. When
we finally left, it was 11 a.m. and as I looked casually towards
the school, I saw that there were children playing at recess on the
playground. I knew they were too old to be Maddie’s class,
but it got me thinking.

Well, the big day finally came, and as the
days counted down towards yesterday I began to yearn for someone to
simply rip the band-aid off for me and start the school year,
already. The anticipation, the wallowing, just became harder and
harder to bear as the day drew closer.


I really didn’t think it would be so hard for me, but there
it was. I’ve spent Maddie’s whole life protecting her,
and yesterday morning I purposefully sent her out into the world of
bullies and disappointments and Columbine massacres, and called it
“for her own good”. And that’s just hard.


But I’m not here to wallow – I know I’ve done
that in spades. Here, then, is how the morning really went:

During the gold rush in Colorado, miners
there would head out feverishly trying to strike a vein - literally
hitting the mountain with their pick over and over again in random
places, hoping to knock something pretty and shiny loose. Hence the
term "strike it rich". Anyway, once they found a good vein they'd
work it straight down into the mountain, and lots of men spent
their entire lives digging deeper, hoping the vein continued,
praying just a little more gold would show its head. Working that
far down and in such confined spaces required nerves of steel, but
the men persevered, knowing the potential results would be worth
it, even though sometimes a man would find just a few nuggets here
and there, barely enough to pay for his equipment.


After a while, though, a man might tire of the nerve-racking work,
the black lung, the long hours with sometimes no payoff, and he'd
realize he'd had enough. At this point, they'd walk away and
declare "Deep enough". Men around him knew the nerves were shot,
the exhaustion had set in, and the man had nothing more to run on.
"Deep enough" became a general phrase for the community, a way of
saying someone was throwing in the towel, himself wrung out and
surrendering.


I went to kindergarten orientation last night, came home, and
poured a nice tall glass of something. And drank it all.


I really thought I was fine with this, and though I've joked with
friends the whole path of this journey about "my baby! Oh, no, I
can't believe it!" I've known it's an awesome step for my girl,
and I've been so happy for her. I adored school and can't wait
for her to have that experience, and I've spent the past several
months putting a positive aspect on every part of Maddie's
schooling - being away from us, having to deal with bullies, all of
it spun like a late-night mix-master.


But last night was just too hard. My baby's going to be gone seven
hours a day - the equivalent of a full-time job. I will become a
piece of her life, a slice of it, rather than the center of her
universe. Not so long from now, she'll have a Facebook page -
perhaps two, setting up a decoy page to trick her gullible parents
with. She'll think of me fleetingly, as a spectator in her life or
an annoyance to be appeased. But mostly, I'm just starting to lose
my baby girl.


We have a tradition in our family that I started when Maddie was
born. I bought each girl a charm bracelet, and every time a big
event occurs we add to it - a sort of 3-D diary. I sat down last
night to sort through the possibilities for school charms and could
not make a choice. Lots of cute charms, and I know I'll pick one
of them and look back at it sentimentally ten years from now. But
picking out that charm kind of seals the deal for me, and I'm just
not there.


I'm sure I'll soon pick myself back out of my rabbit hole and
smile and gush, but right now this girl is mined out.


I'm declaring deep enough.

For the past two years, Cora has stood at
the doorway and watched Maddie take ballet class: first, as a
beginner three-year-old in the pink leotard, and then as a
four-year-old in her lavender leotards. Every week, Cora would
bring her own shoes and give herself a class in the empty studio,
waiting longingly for the day she’d be old enough to take a
real class.


Last Tuesday was the day.

My whole life, I’ve been a night
person. People knew that to call me before 10 a.m. meant to risk
disinheritance – or even dismemberment. When I became a mom,
I didn’t understand why everyone got up so early in the
morning with kids. I swore I wouldn’t be that way, and put
Maddie to bed at 9 p.m. from infancy. When Cora was born and Maddie
was two, Maddie was still sleeping until 9 or 10 a.m. every
morning.


Cora, of course, is the Incredible Non-Sleeping Girl, but while
she’s kept me up many nights, she still had the decency to
not get up as early as some of my friends’ kids (5:30. In the
morning.) With Cora, I crabbed if she got up at 7:30, and when
Maddie started preschool and had to get up at 7:45 to be at school
at 9, I thought the world had turned inside out. Where was every
shred of human civility?

My baby's starting kindergarten next
Monday, and I can't believe it. How is that I've spent the last
several months anticipating this moment, and yet I feel so
dreadfully under-prepared?


I mean, we've got the back pack. We've got the lunch box - the
same one Maddie used last year. When I told her we needed to go buy
a lunch box she said blankly, "But I've already got one!" I'm so
happy she hasn't hit that must-be-new state yet. But I digress.


As I was saying, we've bought all the "stuff". Maddie went
clothing shopping and bought her first day of school outfit - more
on that later. Suffice it to say it's done and she's excited.
She's been wearing her new shoes, to make sure they don't give
her blisters. She's opening the countdown calendar the school gave
her. School supplies are purchased and already at the school. I've
combed the internet and found some really great lunchbox
alternatives that are eco-friendly - but more on that later, too.


In short, we're ready. But I'm looking at this week and freaking
out. What to do??? One last trip to the mall for a carousel ride?
One last time around the ice-skating rink? Every time we go to the
pool I worry it could be our last time.


Stupid, I know. Especially given how excited she is about next
week. But I don't want to waste these last few days.

When we hit Colorado for our big family
vacation, we were determined to do all things Coloradian
(Coloradious?). We hiked the Garden of the Gods, we fished in
hard-to-reach canyons, we rode the train up Pike’s Peak. And,
oh yes, we met horses.


At ages 3 and 5, the girls are both too young to do any sort of
trail ride, which is hard for me since horseback riding is one of
my favorite things to do, and one of the best ways to explore an
area on vacation. But the girls had heard a lot about Colorado
ranches and riding a horse was one of the two things Maddie HAD to
do (the other? Fishing) so I cast about until I found a place that
offered pony rides. The rides were contingent upon there being a
gentle horse left after all the tourists had headed out on trail
rides, so it was a sort of “show up and hope” kinda
thing. They advertised the rides were available between 10 and 2,
so we showed up at 9:45, hoping the early bird catches the worm. I
mean, horse.

I had a truly fantastic time on our
vacation last week, and was loathe to come home for many reasons.
But I can say that on one front, I breathed a sigh of relief when
we walked back through our own door –


The bathroom front.


Let’s start with Cora.

Before we headed out on our summer
vacation, Brian came to me requesting a serious conversation.
Concerned, I sat down with him apprehensively.


“Listen, we’re about to head out for a week of
fun,” he started, clearly nervous. “And I was wondering
– and I know this is your area and I’m not trying to
undermine it – but I thought maybe you’d consider
relaxing their dietary restrictions.”


I was indignant. “I can loosen up for vacation! I’ve
already packed Annie’s Organic Cocoa Bunnies cereal, and some
organic fruit-flavored Cheerios.”


Brian looked at me. “Jen, just let them eat Fruit Loops
already.”

Many of you know that our recent trip to
Colorado was our first family car trip, and I was a bit nervous
about it, to say the least. I’m a pretty good packer, having
spent much of my adulthood traveling from city to city, so the
vacation portion didn’t worry me too much. But being ready
for the fourteen hours in the car – that was another story.


I did my research. I road-tested stuff. I polled other moms. And I
finally compiled several lines of defense to stave off boredom and
squabbles during our enforced family intimacy time.


And, I must confess, had a little freak out.

Yes, we've been gone on vacation, having
a fantastic time in Colorado and generating lots of material for
future blogs. We arrived back home around 5:30 p.m. Sunday night,
and the girls were so relieved to be back in familiar surroundings
that they promptly went into "check-out" mode and began playing
elaborate games by themselves, each in her own little corner. Life
is good.


As for me, I went crazy and unpacked the entire family, even
putting the suitcases away, last night. I couldn't bear the
thought of collapsing into bed and waking up to a messy house with
a list of chores waiting for me. Well, a longer list of chores,
anyway - today is all about grocery shopping and putting on my "get
my baby ready for school" hat.


I took notes all last week, don't worry - you'll hear plenty of
stories about the time we saw a mama bear and her bear cubs, five
feet from our bedroom window. Or about the time Cora danced around
on the peak of a 14,000-foot mountain with a lightening storm
rolling quickly in, singing at the top of her lungs: "I like to
move it move it!"


Many good stories, I promise. But right now, I gotta go get milk
for our cereal.

My children are driving me up the wall.


Seriously up the wall.


Both spent the entire day yesterday trading off meltdown times,
alternately weeping, whining, and walking around the house going,
"I'm bored! When are we going to Colorado?"


I'm pretty much packed, and thankful for that. I'm so ready to go
on vacation.


Just somewhere other than where my offspring are going.


Wish us luck over the next week - I can't guarantee how many of us
will be returning.

Cora's been throwing up all day.


How did I not see this coming?

Alas, I've no time right now for such
luxuries as blogging - too busy packing.


And when I say packing, I mean everything BUT packing:


Laundry

Printing maps (grown-up maps this time)

Charging the camera(s)

Sorting snacks for the car

Persuading Cora not to pack fifteen books


That sort of thing. Not sure when I'll get to the packing, to be
honest.


Wish me luck.

I’m in the midst of preparing for
our trip next week and the house is starting to look a bit like the
Container Store ran into a Children’s Place and exploded. The
dining room is turning into Central Control, and I’ve got
stacks and stacks of projects started. I’ve found the plastic
tub that fits EXACTLY between the girls’ seats and the seat
in front of them, and have begun filling these tubs with snack
food, first aid kits, and more. I have zip-loc bags labeled
“Chargers” to collect our large handful of cell phone,
iPod, and camera chargers; zip-loc bags labeled “car
chargers” for almost the same thing; and notebooks with my
master plan written out in twelve easy-to-read pages.


And then there’s my laminator.

Continuing on the theme I started with
Cora’s home-grown Ballet Camp a couple weeks ago – the
theme, that is, of
mommy-wants-to-work-her-tail-off-and-entertain-you-without-you-having-to-get-out-there-and-learn-how-to-interact-with-new-people
– we had another camp last Friday:


Art Camp.


Yes, I could do ballet camp because it’s my former
profession, and no, I have absolutely no art training (or,
let’s face it, talent) BUT I do have an ace-in-the-hole: the
girls’ Aunt Nikkie is a professional,
people-pay-her-to-teach-their-kids art teacher. So I begged, and
she kindly said yes, and I got to work.

Maddie and Cora went for their well-child
visits yesterday, and everything went fairly well.


With one scary exception.


Maddie breezed through her weigh-in, measuring, and vision test.
Then they moved to the hearing test. “Raise your hand when
you hear the beep, ok, hon?” the nurse said, singing the
‘beep’. Maddie nodded. She raised her hand once. And
only once. “Raise it every time, ok, hon?” the nurse
prompted. Maddie nodded. And the hand stayed down.


The nurse re-did the test, with no more luck. Then she said,
“You know, it’s crowded and noisy here, so let’s
move into a private room to re-take this test.” We all
shuffled into a room and Maddie started again. Same results. One
hand raise, and nothing else except nervous looks from Maddie.

Maddie woke up yesterday morning, came
sleepily into my room, crept into my bed and said, “Yeah!
Today’s the day we’re going to Colorado for
vacation!”


Startled, I replied, “No, hon, we’re not leaving until
next Saturday.”


At which point she promptly burst into tears.


I found out later that Maddie had just finished a wonderful dream
about going to Colorado, and so felt deeply letdown at the news
that reality was a bit different. But even if she hadn’t been
hard on the heels of a lovely dream, Maddie would have been
desperate to get to Colorado. Both girls, in fact, have started a
countdown until vacation time, and can’t wait to reach
blast-off.


What’s behind all this? Partly a desire to have undivided
adult attention, I’m sure. Partly that we’ve been
talking up Colorado and all the fun things we’ll do there.
When I asked Maddie what she is most looking forward to about
Colorado, she said, “Going horseback riding, going fishing
with Daddy, and eating colored Cheerios for breakfast.” Yes,
we had Fruit Loops for breakfast when on vacation visiting my
grandfather last fall, and now they’re irrevocably linked.
And apparently the highlight of any vacation.


So yes, they’re excited about exploring a whole new world.
But they’re also over the moon at the thought of (in their
minds) unlimited access to cane sugar and artificial dyes.


Both girls have now asked several times a day, “How much
longer until we get to Colorado?” until I want to have an LED
countdown clock to hold up for them.


And I thought I’d escape that question until we actually got
in the car.

Most of you know I moved to Texas about
two years ago from New York. I’ve gradually adjusted back to
life here in the South, but can still be caught off-guard by the
friendliness here sometimes. Several months ago, we set our trash
out for our weekly pick-up and for whatever reason, our can was the
only one on the block not emptied. Not knowing how we were supposed
to get through another week without a trash can for our garbage, I
called sanitation services, anticipating a big argument with at
least a, “Well, you must have done something wrong to deserve
this!” Bare minimum, I was expecting a service charge to have
to deal with this.


Instead, I got “Oh, I’m so sorry! We’ll send a
truck around today to get that!” I hung up, dumbfounded.

Cora wanted to start taking
“big-girl” camps this summer, and since she’d
just turned three, the world was her oyster. With Cora’s deep
love for ballet and longing to be just like her big sister, ballet
camp seemed like a natural first step, and we signed Cora up.


Alas, Cora was apparently the only three-year-old in the area who
longed to spend a week immersed in the Prokofiev ballet
“Cinderella”, and the camp was canceled for lack of
enrollment. Cora was so crushed that I promised her I’d make
her own ballet camp for her, and last Friday I delivered.

We’ve been singing a Dave Crowder
song in church a lot recently – “How He Loves
Us”. It’s a favorite of mine, and Cora loves it as
well. She’s been singing it out lustily on Sundays, and one
recent morning I heard her singing under her breath.


Thinking she was singing that song, I asked her what she was
singing. “My favorite song,” she said shyly. “Can
you sing it out for Mommy to hear?” Cora stood back, threw up
her head, and belted out:


“Oh, Pow! He loves us! Oh, Pow! He loves us!”


Trying hard not to laugh, I said, “Honey, that’s
awesome, but the actual words are, “Oh, how he loves us! Oh,
how he loves us!”


Cora looked at me as if I were missing a few marbles.
“Nuh-uh, that’s not how it goes. It’s 'Oh, Pow!
He loves us!' God knocks you over with his love!”


I can’t argue with that.

Maddie and Cora have become a bit, um slow
in getting ready to head out somewhere: shoes can never be located,
Silkies can never be found quickly, must have one more drink of
water, must finish game, and so on. I’ve been working on
finding a way to help them hustle a bit faster, and with a happy
heart. I’ve also been trying to plan a little more
spontaneity (hah!) into our daily lives, and I finally hit upon
something that seems to cover both bases.


“Listen up, folks, I’ve got a family
announcement,” I said at dinner last night. Everyone stared
at me apprehensively.

I went to my women’s Bible study
last night and came home after the girls had gone to bed. Yep,
missing bed time is just one of the perks of digging into the Good
Book! Anyway, I made my rounds of the rooms, knowing the girls were
“waiting up” for me. Maddie was awake and hyper and
ready to chat, so it took a few minutes to get myself out an into
Cora’s room.


I found Cora huddled almost completely under the blankets –
including the down comforter. Only the tip of her nose and part of
her eyes were showing; everything else was covered up. She was, of
course, drenched in sweat, and I could tell by the amount of sweat
on her ringlets that she was less than half an hour away from
waking herself up from being so hot, crying for a few minutes, then
going back to sleep, covers flung back.


This is a thing of Cora’s, obviously. She won’t go to
sleep unless the blankets are pulled up, and even if I go easy with
them she scrunches down. Then she gets unbearably hot, natch, and
wakes up, sweating profusely and calling for mommy.

A friend of mine had a baby last week (hi
baby Ben!) and while she was in the hospital recovering I took her
two boys for the day. I love the boys, who are wonderful, and who
love my girls. They’re well-mannered, kind, are raised
similarly to mine, and a joy to have around.


But still – four kids under the age of 5 could be hard. I
felt up to it, but was a bit worried how I’d fill a ten-hour
day. I couldn’t take the kids to the pool –
there’s no way I can watch Cora and two-year-old Nate at the
same time. But I figured out a few fun things, planned as well as I
could, and picked them up.


Everything went incredibly well the entire morning. We headed to
our outdoor nature museum and had a great time. The four kids
stayed together, were respectful and kind towards each other, and
stayed away from the poison ivy. We ate a picnic outside, examined
coyote poop on the trail, walked through the butterfly garden, and
got nice and exhausted.


Things went so well that I have to confess I got a little cocky.
All four children are blonde, and it was clear most people thought
they were all mine, and I could feel the admiring glances –
look how well this woman handles four kids! What poise! What
relaxed confidence! I fully acknowledge, by the way, that the main
reason it was so easy is that Nate and Sam have been raised
excellently, with outstanding obedience skills and great manners.
But I was more than happy to take the credit, and as I drove home
for nap time I felt a bit like Super Mom.


And then things didn’t go so well.

Cora’s quite the sensory girl:
we’ve already figured out that she is incredibly tactile,
touching and rubbing against everything in an effort to get to know
it better. Just think about my blogs describing the way she rubs my
hair over her face in ecstasy. And she’s quite a
super-taster, too – she put many more things in her mouth
(unfortunately) as a baby than Maddie ever did. And her hearing is
extraordinary –she’ll hear Brian come home late at
night, hours past her bedtime, when our door alarm chimes softly
(across the house, on another floor, through her closed door, with
her air purifier and night-night music on) and immediately begin
chanting, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”


But nothing beats that kid’s sense of smell.

A girl uses the potty, and feels big and
grown-up. A girl understands there will be other people around,
watching, crowded into the bathroom to “help”. A girl
suffers this in silence for a while, thinking it’s necessary
and thinking, frankly, that it’s a bit safer that way. But
then there comes a time when a girl just wants to use the potty by
herself, without anyone else in the room. A girl wants some
privacy.


I’m speaking, of course, of me.

I’ve done many things over the 4th
of July. In our nation’s capitol, I took a private cruise up
the Potomac and watched the Mall fireworks from there. In historic
Boston, I camped out on the Charles River along with tens of
thousands of other people. In New York, we threw a picnic blanket
down on our floor, turned off all the lights, and watched the
famous fireworks out of our big front picture window. I’ve
definitely had some good Independence Days.


But Sunday was hands down the best.

When Maddie turned a year old, I began
searching in earnest for friends for her. She had built-in friends
with my own friends; we’d all begun having children around
the same time, and Maddie had three or four children only a year or
so older than her. But I also started trolling the park, eventually
finding Maddie the first big love of her life – Naomi. They
bonded, and were BFFs until we left New York for Texas.


Once we hit Texas, I was blessed enough to fall into a mom’s
group in our neighborhood with children all roughly Maddie’s
age. She was on the youngest end of the scale, but she’s
always been happiest that way, and she’s had playmates within
walking distance ever since. Preschool has simply widened
Maddie’s circle, and she’s entering kindergarten with a
good half dozen great friends under her belt, going in with her.


And then there’s Cora.

I know I’ve written before about
both girls’ love for collecting and organizing things,
whether it be in purses or boxes or little piles on the floor.
I’m used to one girl or the other starting a collection of
something random – shoes that all have black in them, or
rocks with an uneven number of sides, for example. But
Maddie’s latest obsession leaves even me scratching my head.


Maddie has a small stuffed dog – I mean almost dollhouse
small, like three inches tall tops. And even though she’s got
a Fisher Price dollhouse crammed with rooms full of furniture and
accessories, she’s on a mission to collect as many
“useful” things as she can for her dog.

Both Cora and Maddie are avid gardeners.
They come by their green thumbs honestly on both sides of their
family tree: my family has a long history of tending to the earth,
and Brian absolutely adores working outside and seeing things grow.
So we’ve spent the spring growing things from seeds,
transplanting them to outside, and watching them grow into flowers.
Cora especially enjoys puttering in our side garden many mornings;
our side garden is our herb and vegetable space, and she loves
sniffing the rosemary or checking on the basil or watching our
raspberry bush (which alas succumbed to Texas heat last week). She
and Maddie both can spend an hour out there, arranging rocks or
checking the rain gauge or checking out the hummingbird feeder. And
just last week, we got a new addition to the side garden
that’s got them all atwitter:


We got a rain barrel.

My articles on sunscreen from last week
have prompted some posts and emails with further questions, asking
about other chemicals or “what if . . .” or “what
about . . .” and I see that the sunscreen thing is just the
tip of the ice berg.


Now I know I’m way more hippie or crunchy or whatever-y than
a lot of you, and I’m not going to preach at you to get rid
of your air conditioners and dryers and go back to wood-burning
stoves (they emit too many pollutants to be a viable main cook
source anyway). But I am getting questions from girlfriends and
readers, and thought I’d direct you to a couple different
articles to get you started.

I’m sure you’ve all see the
waves of crib recalls going on for the past couple of years.
Drop-side cribs, which are in nearly every baby home I’ve
been in, are being demonstrated to be risky to say the least.
Unclear directions, drop-side mechanisms that can wear down and
fail, poor construction, and more have led several watchdog
agencies to press for the ban of drop-side cribs.


Yesterday another wave of recalls was announced – a total of
nine manufacturers, I believe, recalling cribs made within the past
ten years – and the total number of cribs recalled now totals
9 million.

For the past three years, we’ve seen
slow but steady progress in Maddie’s relationship with the
water: she loves being in it, but is fearful of new experiences, so
progresses very slowly on the swimming front. She’s been
taking swim lessons since she was three, but even this year has had
significant meltdowns and mental walls that she’s run into.
We seem to hit that wall, stay there, inch our way forward, then
have a lovely breakthrough.


I’m happy to say that right now we’re in the
breakthrough stage.

Yesterday evening I was taking out the
trash in our driveway when I discovered, upon moving the trash can,
a very large, fat, fuzzy black caterpillar. Without even thinking,
I yelled, “Cora, Maddie! Come and look, quick!” The
girls came scrambling out and stopped, awestruck, at the sight of
the fat guy. My mom came out with them and wrapped him around a
stick to move him out of harm’s way; the girls followed like
puppies and watched contemplatively as he worked his way down into
some vegetation. They debated where he was in the “Hungry
Caterpillar” timeline – Monday or Saturday? – and
then began digging through the dirt, happily collecting small bits
of flora for their own stuffed animals to eat for supper. And
suddenly we’d gone from two girls sitting desultorily around
the house after dinner to two intrepid nature explorers, busy at
work.

My last entry was an introduction to
sunscreen – so if you haven’t read that, please read it
first.


Today we’re getting into the nitty-gritty: specific
ingredients to watch out for, all the sunscreens I’ve tested
so you don’t have to, and my top picks.


Hey, no fair trying to skip to the end.

It’s summertime, which in my
household means extended periods – and I’m talking
three or four hours at a pop – at our neighborhood pool.
Being the pasty white girl that I am, I worry about skin protection
– and with good reason. We’re burning faster than ever
before, and those freckles suddenly aren’t as cute as they
were when we were nine.


There’s a lot of confusing information out there about
sunscreen, and I’ve spent hours digging through internet
research trying to find out what’s best for my family. I
already make the girls wear the long SPF-material swimsuits that
cover their arms and legs – I call them the Amish Sporty look
– when we go during the day, but we’ve still got faces
and forearms and legs to cover. And while I often wear a rash guard
myself, I don’t particularly want the farmer tan that brings
two-tone biceps with it, so I want the absolute best sunscreen I
can find. Add to all of this my concerns about chemical absorption
in the girls and trying to use eco-friendly options, and suddenly
picking the right sunscreen seems a pretty tall order.

After a few months in a holding pattern,
Cora’s begun showing a renewed interest in potty training.
And I can’t decide if it’s simply maturity – or
devious cunning.


Cora’s been doing most of her pooping in the potty for a
while now. She’s discovered that a poopy diaper is rather
uncomfortable, and nine times out of ten she’ll tell me when
she needs to poop so as to avoid having that happen. Sometimes
she’ll be in the middle of a game or a social situation and
not want to stop and simply use her diaper, but by and large
she’s got the pooping down.

Almost a year ago, Maddie started asking
me when she’d be old enough to wear glasses. Not sunglasses,
just regular glasses. Since I, my husband, and my mother all wear
glasses, she sees all the grownups in her house with them and
assumes it’s a level of adulthood to be sought after and
attained.


Maddie was so wistful about them that I bought her a pair of
clear-glass stylish frames from Claire’s in the mall for
Christmas. Maddie ended up revising her list at the last minute
(see: Necklace Crisis) and I tucked them away for another time,
thinking she’d forget about them.


My friend, she did not forget. For the past six months
they’ve come up off and on, and I finally gave in and pulled
the trigger for her birthday last week. Maddie unwrapped her bright
pink, rectangular frames and squealed with delight.


And has worn them pretty much non-stop.

It’s time once again to start making
that list and checking it twice.


The list for ways to entertain the kids during long summer days,
that is.


And in case you’ve forgotten, href="http://www.kidsbowlfree.com" target="_blank">Kids Bowl
Free is a national program, so give it a look. Head to
their website and see if there’s a participating bowling
alley near you. If there is, simply sign up each child and once
registered, your child will get two free games a day for the summer
to bowl. And for a mere twenty-five bucks, you can purchase a
family pass that allows the grown-ups to bowl all summer as well.


Now, strictly speaking, it’s not totally free. You’ve
got to rent the shoes each time (unless you’ve got your own
and you’re hard-core). But it does cut down on the cost, and
provides you an air-conditioned, fun place to head that’s not
covered in Disney princesses or Thomas stuff on a hot summer day.


For me, having an alternative to yet another six hours at the pool
is always a good thing.

Maddie had a fantastic birthday and I
didn’t shed a single tear. I did watch, misty-eyed, a few
times. I’m telling you, this kid grows like a weed and it
seems only last week that she was trying to run, stumbling on her
coltish legs and skinning her knee on the sidewalk.


Oh, wait, that was last week.

Dear Maddie:


The clock’s really starting to fly now, kiddo, and I’m
afraid we’ve got a big birthday here.


So you’re turning five. Wow. At this point, I can no longer
pretend that you’re anywhere near the babyhood stage.
You’ve passed babyhood, toddlerhood, even pre-schoolerhood,
and are firmly entrenched in kid land now. At five years old,
you’re moving to big-kid school in a few months and are truly
becoming your own person. Yikes.

I consider myself to be fairly
knowledgeable about clothing. I used to be a personal shopper, and
am definitely expert in that area. And while I do enjoy dressing
nicely and putting together a good outfit, I’m not a
clotheshorse, following those youtube clothing bloggers religiously
or waxing lyrical about a Prada shoe sale.


So I’m not quite sure where Cora gets this positive passion
for changing her clothes. Several times a day. And having complete
artistic control over the outfit.


I’ve always known she’s concerned about her look and
interested in clothing. When I’ll go shopping with her in
tow, I usually have a list in hand – jeans for Maddie, dress
for Cora, and so on. Cora will begin “shopping” on her
own, fingering materials and holding up outfits, frowning: does
that shirt really match those pants? Will that bubble suit be
flattering on me? By the time I’ve found a few necessaries,
Cora’s got an armful of “necessaries” of her own,
and it’s quite a process to talk her down off that ledge.

Maddie started out enjoying her swim
lessons, but last week they went right into the crapper. Come
Wednesday, the instructor tried to push Maddie too far outside her
comfort zone, and Maddie hit a wall. Thinking a little tough love
was in order, the instructor lovingly tried to push Maddie on. She
gave Madeleine two options, neither of which was appealing, and
stood firm on it until Maddie chose the lesser of two
“evils”.


The instructor thought this would be a break-through for Maddie;
she thought Maddie would see she survived the “ordeal”
and not be fearful any more. Instead, Madeleine was so overcome
with fear and worry that she cried uncontrollably the rest of the
lesson, even as she went through the motions of trying to please
the teacher.


For the next two days, Maddie worried almost hourly about her final
lesson on Friday. Thursday night she couldn’t go to sleep, so
concerned was she about the lesson the next day. She cried and
begged to not have to go, and I went to bed with a heavy heart.
Should I allow her to stay home, and not end the swim lessons on a
sour note? Should I give in to her, and avoid a life-long scarring?
Or should I force her to go even though she was scared, and not
allow her fear to overcome her?

Our family reads a lot, and we’re
always bringing home a bag full of books from the library. You want
to watch the girls go crazy? Give them a gift card to Half-Price
Books and stand back as they agonize over which book to pick. I
guess I’m saying we go through a lot of books.


I have a long list of go-to favorites that I’d gladly give
out as birthday or Christmas presents, and we just recently added a
new one to the list – href="http://www.amazon.com/Memoirs-Goldfish-Devin-Scillian/dp/1585365076/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1275530719&sr=8-1"
target="_blank">Memoirs of a Goldfish.

Could someone please tell me exactly what
I was smoking when I agreed yesterday to allow Maddie to bring home
a cartoon biography DVD about Helen Keller from the library.


I didn’t think much of it, except to make sure it
wasn’t too long. I vaguely remember thinking, “Well,
it’s inspirational, and it’s better than Bob the
Builder!” And that was the extent of my Mommy Alarm sounding.


I’ve got to get the batteries in that thing checked.

Maddie had her ballet recital over the
weekend – her second one, since she did one last year with
the three-year-old class. Last year was Madeleine’s first
time on stage, as well as her first time away from Mommy while she
waited backstage, and both were big milestones for her. She was
quite nervous and didn’t think she’d make it through
the waiting (or even go on, for that matter) but afterwards she was
glowing and proud.


This year, Maddie considered herself an old pro at the recital
thing. She was quite excited all week, and checked with me
repeatedly to make sure I’d gotten everything – new
tights, hair net, and so forth. During a local consignment sale
this spring I’d stumbled across a Princess plastic storage
case, and I set it aside for Maddie’s recital. The night
before the show, Brian and I gave it to her, filled with the old
makeup I use for her, Kleenex, tic-tacs, hair nets, and everything
else a budding ballerina needs in her makeup case. Maddie fingered
through everything reverentially, and could barely sleep.

I mentioned about a month ago that I was
looking for ideas for car trip entertainment; Maddie and Cora have
birthdays close to each other and I wanted to get them some toys
and such we can use in our upcoming family vacation this summer.
Several of you responded with great ideas, and I’ve learned a
lot.

Cora’s had a rough week so far, and
my heart’s breaking for her. I’m afraid it’s one
of those bad congruences of lots of big events going on with a
significant change in routine, and I’m not sure how
we’ll we’re going to come out of this.


First and foremost, Cora’s been taking swim lessons. This may
not seem like a big life change, but it’s the first time
Cora’s taken instruction from anyone other than me.
She’s just begun tolerating babysitters (that she knows
REALLY well) for the last few months, but since she’s only
recently turned three, she’s never taken solo ballet or
gymnastics or soccer or whatever. So these sessions exhaust Cora,
mostly because she will play happily in the water until the
instructor turns to her – at which point she’ll begin
crying furiously.

The pool is officially open here in our
house, which means summer’s truly begun. And I have to
confess – the pool’s been open since early May, but
I’ve kept that fact hidden from Maddie because the
water’s too darn cold right now. But since the girls started
swim classes on Monday, I felt like the pool needed to open so we
could reinforce their lessons. So yesterday we hit the water.


Yes, the water was cold. Not too bad, but cold enough, trust me.
But what I’d forgotten was how much freakin’ gear a
trip to the pool requires in our household.

It was the best of times, it was the worst
of times.


All within the span of five minutes.


Yesterday was a packed day for Maddie and Cora: the first summer
swim lesson EARLY in the morning; several hours at several
different stores, including a mall, running errands with Mommy; a
truncated nap so we could have an afternoon play date at a
sprinkler park; and a picnic dinner in the park with friends for a
free outdoor concert.


Halfway through the day I began waffling on the evening concert;
both girls were looking tired, I was exhausted, and I feared a
colossal meltdown if we were out doing stimulating things at a
relatively late hour. But the girls perked up considerably and were
well-behaved for the afternoon play date, so I decided to push my
luck and hit the concert.

Yep, Maddie’s officially a grad now.
She’s got the whole summer to hang out with her friends, go
to the mall, and get ready for school in the fall.


Wait, didn’t I just describe my senior year summer?

Yep, I’ve apparently bought into the
entire preschool graduation, hook, line, and sinker. I’ve
spent the whole week in a funk, dreading the moment at 11 a.m.
today when she walks across the stage with her stupid fake diploma
and I try unsuccessfully not to dissolve into tears.


Honestly, who dreamt this thing up?


Check back tomorrow –I’m sure there will be some
syrupy, sappy, over-emotional, bad-Hallmark-card entry about the
beauty of the ceremony and the fleetingness of my child’s
babyhood.


Crabby Mommy on board. Stand back – she’s about to
blow.

Your third birthday is fast approaching,
and I feel like you don’t ever slow down enough for me to
tell you how much I love you. You do realize, I hope, how much I
love you.


This past year has been an incredible one with you. Maddie’s
been in school for the first time, and you and I have had some
truly wonderful one-on-one time together. I’ve never seen a
girl enjoy the outdoors and nature as much as you do, and some of
our best days have been spent at the duck pond near our house,
packing a picnic lunch and lazing around on the blanket, snuggling
or reading books together or watching the ducks.

The girls were healthy, the sun was
shining – in short, the perfect day for a birthday party.


Listen, my girl barely went to sleep that night, she was so excited
about her birthday party. For whatever reason, Cora’s been
fixating on her upcoming third birthday as a “big-girl”
birthday. Perhaps because three is the age at which Maddie began to
take swimming and ballet and gymnastics and such – I’m
not sure. But she knew she was getting a “big-girl”
party and couldn’t wait.

Yep, Cora got sick too. She’s
twenty-four hours behind Maddie, and as is Cora’s standard
operating procedure for any virus, she threw up. Many times. That
girl could have gout in her leg, and her main symptom would be
vomiting.


Of course, Cora came down with her croup the day I was supposed to
take Maddie out for a special day to make up for missing her school
outdoor carnival, so I left a wan and puking Cora with my mom as I
took a mostly-recovered Maddie out for ice cream and a wander
around the mall.


Things looked good until after naptime, when Maddie again spiked a
fever. Wednesday night was not pretty, with both girls up
complaining many times. Cora stopped vomiting relatively early on
Wednesday, so at least that wasn’t part of the picture. But I
was nervous about how they’d be when they woke up on
Thursday.


Cora was up singing at her usual early hour, much to my
sleep-deprived chagrin. Maddie slept until after 9 a.m., but both
girls were fever-free all day. Some crabbiness, and easy tears, but
they seem (knock on wood) to be pretty mended. We’ve got
Cora’s birthday party coming up on Saturday and I’m
praying hard that the girls are completely mended today so I
don’t have to make any hard calls.


Wish us luck.

Maddie’s preschool is winding down
with a variety of fun activities, including a carnival-like field
day today. The entire morning Maddie’s class gets to spend
the time outside, with bounce houses and face painters and splash
parks and more. Then they head inside for lunch and a movie to
finish off the day.


Unfortunately, Maddie is not a part of it.

Both of my girls have this tendency to
gather things – anything, really, but preferably small and/or
sparkly – into bags, and then leave them all over the house.
Heaven help us if we try to unpack them and put the items away, and
heaven help us even more if we actually need one of the items in
one of the ten bags currently in use.

Is this a childhood thing? Or is it just
my kids? Their play kitchen has a cloth lunch sack, packed to the
gills on a daily basis with what are mostly – but not
exclusively – food items. Then you open their play fridge and
find another small grocery sack, also dearly packed, whose contents
are memorized and which must stay JUST LIKE THAT in case some
long-forgotten game needs to be resumed with the bag.

First, a little background:


You probably know that Maddie loves all things Ariel. She knows
more about that little mermaid than Hans Christian Anderson ever
did, and has three or four of the Ariel Barbie-type dolls that she
loves to dress up. They’ve got a variety of different
clothing – fins, wedding gowns, pink dress – but they
all have the standard purple-shell-bra-and-green-fin/skirt
ensemble.


Ok, so now to the story.

Yep, it’s that time of year again!
Flowers are blooming, and everything’s coming ripe. What
better way to spend an afternoon than picking strawberries?


This year I had to take Maddie out of school to go: the
farm’s only open Wednesdays and Saturdays, and since I teach
most Saturdays we sacrificed some school. Which, if you know
Maddie, actually was a sacrifice on her part. But at lunch time
yesterday we picked Maddie up and headed off on our adventure.

Both girls have birthdays coming up in the
next month or so, and as I work on their birthday wish lists I've
got one eye on our summer family vacation - we'll be driving
cross-country for the first time as a family, and I'm, um, a bit
nervous. So I'm looking at toys and games that will be good for
the car.


I'm thinking about the Leapster 2, but it seems to have pros and
cons: Cora's about to be 3, and will have some years with it, but
I worry that with Maddie about to be 5 she'll soon outgrow it.
Anyone have any strong opinions on it?


I've also been looking at trays that fit onto car seats and think
I've found a decent one, but since it's catalog there's no way
to know until we put it into practice. Does anyone have one they
just love?


Finally, I'm really open to books on CD, puzzles, that sort of
thing which are car-appropriate. I've got a Seuss collection on CD
done by Hollywood actors like Robin Williams, a few Little Mermaid
stories, and the entire Beauty and the Beast story on CD. I also
have an interesting collection of Bible radio plays on CD, but am
always looking for more of that sort of thing.


Oh road-seasoned parents, please spill your secrets!

I feel like I have no time to even blog
about this!


I know I’m somewhat obsessive compulsive and a bit of a
perfectionist (I see all my friends laughing out there) but I do
try to set boundaries and keep my priorities straight. Sometimes,
though, everything seems to come together at one time and I’m
left scrambling to get it all done with no casualties.

Bad news, all you mommies who depend on
Motrin and Tylenol to get your teething toddler through the night -


Big, big recall.


McNeil Products announced a recall of all Infant and Children's
liquid Motrin, Tylenol, Zyrtec, and Benedryl. Yep, it's true.
I've got seven bottles of liquid I've got to dispose of and the
recycler in me is freaking out.


To find out if your medicine cabinet is affected, check out their
press release target="_blank">here with a list of lot numbers. Note that
this doesn't include chewable Tylenol, just liquid, and it's only
name-brand. I had to search the website, but I finally found that
if you contact them with all the lot numbers on your bottles
they'll either send you a refund check for the average price of a
bottle, or a coupon for a free one in the future. Take the coupon,
I say.

When we moved to Texas a couple years ago,
we moved into a much bigger space than our New York apartment had
been. Everything about the house is bigger than NYC, and the master
bathroom is no exception – I think our bathroom and closet
combined equal roughly the square footage of our first New York
apartment. Sadly, I’m not exaggerating.


Last year, we discovered wood rot in our bathroom and had to re-do
most of it, and took advantage of the tear-down to build it exactly
the way we’d want it. Our shower is, um, really nice- not
Donald Trump nice, but roomy - and with the little bench space and
such, our walk-in shower is the size of our New York bathroom.
Sadly, I’m not exaggerating.


I have a point here, I promise, and it’s not to brag. My
point is that we’ve got a really nice shower with a really
big shower head, and though I’ve been trying for years to get
the girls to enjoy showers instead of baths, it’s been only
in the last month or so that they’ve discovered the beauty of
our shower.

One of my parenting discipline choices
I’ve made is to say “no” as little as possible. I
try to give in to any reasonable request, so that when I do finally
say “no” the kids will respect that and accept it. At
the same time, sometimes I see the need to say “no”
just so they can practice their obedience and acceptance, so the
whole thing gets muddied. Add to that the fact that I desperately
try to never reverse myself, and so hold off saying
“no” until I’m sure I mean it and will stick to
it, and the whole “no” thing becomes a road fraught
with peril.


My kids, of course, have quickly learned that the word
“no” has many shades of meaning. For example, if one of
the girls asks me if we can go out for lunch as we head home from a
morning spent with friends, my mind will race through all the
ramifications even as my mouth opens. When was the last time we
went out to lunch? Do we seem to go out to lunch every time we have
a play date, and thus need to go home so it doesn’t become
taken for granted? What commitments do we have after lunch? How
much money do we have left this month?


What’s in the fridge that I can make lunch with, anyway?

Yesterday I was riding in the car with my
mom, Maddie, and Cora, and Maddie was asking Cora about the plates
she’s picked out for her upcoming birthday party. Cora said
enthusiastically, “It’s got Ariel, and Snow White, and
Belle, and Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty on it!”


“Does it have Melody on it?” Maddie asked, referring
(for all you poor schmucks who didn’t know) to Ariel’s
daughter in the Little Mermaid straight-to-video sequel.


“No, just the princesses,” Cora said definitively.

At the end of last week, Cora was playing
with a little friend, and I overheard the following conversation:


For whatever reason, the subject of chocolate came up. Cora,
standing, said something to the effect of, “Wouldn’t
you love some chocolate?” and her friend, sitting, answered,
“I’m not sure if I can have chocolate.”


At which point Cora dropped down to her friend’s eye level,
gazed intently into her eyes, and said, “We live in America.
No one can ever take chocolate away from you. Not even Obama.
That’s why this country was made – so no one can ever
tell you that you can’t have chocolate. Well,” she
amended, “except maybe your Mommy. She beats President
Obama.”


Ok, I may be responsible for this one.

Yesterday I got an email from our church,
stating that this Sunday’s topic is “gut-level
forgiveness: How do you forgive people when you’ve been
punched in the gut?”


It started me thinking about how well I am (or am not) teaching my
girls about forgiveness. I know they meant figuratively punched in
the gut, not literally, but certainly most of the forgiveness that
has to go on between me and the girls is on the physical level: I
can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been punched in
the eye by flailing arms; had my hair pulled out by an
over-enthusiastic toddler climbing all over me; been cracked with a
stinging blow on my nose, drawing tears and blood; or even actually
punched in the gut by a toddler unwilling to have her diaper
changed.

Yes, it's almost as exciting as Christmas
day for me. And sadly enough, I'm not exaggerating.


I don't know where to start! Earth Day's become so mainstream
that you can throw a rock and hit a store doing a giveaway. Many of
them are, unfortunately, just trying to cash in on Earth Day for
their own selfish purposed (shame on you, Disney!) so I won't tell
you about most, but I will tell you this one - Pottery Barn Kids is
giving away free plants, 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Take it home and enjoy
taking care of it - and eventually planting it in your back yard -
with your child.


Looking for ways to celebrate? Google "pick your own" and your
state, and find out if there's a place near you with some
strawberry picking or rhubarb picking or whatever available. Head
to your local Home Depot and spend a buck on a seed packet and
start some seeds in dixie cups and your kitchen window. Throw out
your stinky, icky cleaners and crack open a bottle of vinegar and a
box of baking soda. Ride bikes to school with your kids. Buy
organic for the day. Go out to dinner at a place that supports
local farmers.


DO SOMETHING!


And then tell me about it. I wanna know - how do you celebrate?

Maddie’s always had vivid dreams
– she spent part of her twos and threes battling bad dreams a
few times a week, and now has extraordinary, fanciful dreams with
some regularity. And feels the need to share them with us.


In excruciating, time-bending detail.


Here’s a recent sample from this morning's breakfast
table:

I think it’s no secret that Cora is,
um, rather attached to Mommy. She’s nearly three years old,
and is usually stuck to me like glue. If we drop Maddie off at her
classroom and I stay behind to talk to a teacher while Cora and my
mom walk on ahead down the hall, Cora will spy me back behind her
and run to me, embracing my leg and saying, “Mommy! I found
you! I was worried about you!”


To be fair, she’s gotten much better about my absences than
she used to be, and will take my working with fairly good grace as
long as she knows about it beforehand. If I park in front of the
house, where she’s got a window, and fail to tell her
I’m leaving during her quiet time, she’ll hear the
alarm chime as I go out the door, scramble to the window, and watch
me drive away, sobbing and beating against it with her fists.
“Mommy, no! Mommy, come back! COME BACK!” But if
I’m honest with her and tell her I will be leaving BUT I will
be back before bedtime, she’ll accept it pretty well.
Especially if I sneak out the back door and avoid a dramatic
exit.

A local ballet studio had a one-night-only
show this weekend. They invited other local dance companies to
perform, and it was, for them, a big deal. With general admission
at five bucks, I considered taking the girls.


And I have to be honest here – after reading about it, I
decided not to take them. The reason is purely selfish: I’m a
dance snob, and after spending my life doing it professionally and
with friends in some of the best companies in the world, the
thought of watching teenagers struggle through Don Quixote or Swan
Lake was, um, less than appealing. So I left it there.


But then a friend of ours brought it up, mentioning she was taking
her daughter, and I realized I needed to change my tune. It was one
night, cheap, and something the girls absolutely adore –
dancing. So I squished my snotty standards way down deep, and we
headed off for a night at the ballet.

We were driving somewhere yesterday when
Maddie asked out of the blue, “Mommy, are you going 35 miles
an hour?”


Startled, I glanced down and saw that, thankfully, I was going that
speed. “Yep, I sure am,” I answered. “How did you
know?”


“Because that’s what the sign says the speed limit is
here,” she said, pointing to another sign as we moved on.

Yesterday I helped a friend out, watching
her two children while she got some work done. I say I helped her
out, but it’s actually great for me as well – her two
girls are very close to Maddie and Cora’s ages, and everyone
plays together well. That morning I’d gotten an email from
another friend suggesting we hit the park for a play date, and I
told her I’d bring my foursome and we’d play with her
daughter.


Even as I said this I had misgivings – having three
almost-five-year-olds doesn’t always work, and someone was
bound to feel left out at some point. So before everything went
down, I had a long reminder talk with Maddie about how we
don’t exclude friends, and that she needed to make sure
everyone who wanted to play with her was able to.


Unfortunately, this just doesn’t happen at that age.

Maddie’s been loving her time in
pre-k, and this first year of school is really flying by fast. Her
class keeps a running count of how many days they’ve been in
school, and we’re over 80 by now, with less than six weeks to
go. She’s already lamenting the onset of summer and loss of
her precious school time.


Last week she brought home a form in her school folder for ordering
graduation pictures. Excuse me? Isn’t she four? Aren’t
we safe from that for another, oh, fourteen years??

I’ve mentioned in the past that
Cora’s somewhat enamored of my hair – it’s pretty
much her lovey, especially when she’s sad or sleepy or happy
or . . . well, whenever, really. She’ll throw her arms around
my neck, grab great fistfuls of my hair, and rub it all over her
face, making ecstatic noises and smiling.


It can be a little awkward around strangers.

I know Maddie’s learning lots of
things in her preschool, and frankly I’m grateful that
they’re doing the work that I probably should:
Madeleine’s come home with a prize she earned for knowing her
full address, her phone number – things I’d never
dreamed of drilling her on right now. I keep forgetting she’s
getting older and will need to start learning these things –
right now I still marvel at the fact that she can dress herself
every morning.


At any rate, they’ve clearly been covering how to use the
phone – which I admit, I should be teaching her. She’s
almost five, obviously capable of dialing 911 in an emergency,
should I ever bother to teach her how. I know I should be doing
this with her, but she’s such a worrier I’m afraid to
bring up the topic and watch her have nightmares for weeks about a
scenario in which Mommy’s so incapacitated that Maddie must
save them all by dialing for help.


But I digress.

A couple days ago, I was reading a
parenting magazine and Maddie asked me to read out loud to her. The
article was about ways to “green” your household
routine, and one of the suggestions was, “Turn off your water
while you brush your teeth.” Maddie looked at me, bewildered,
and said, “Why would anyone leave the water on while they
brush their teeth?”


Last week, I handed out scripts to my teenage acting class.
I’d copied them single-sided on purpose, to leave room for
them to take notes, and one of my students noticed this and said,
only half-teasing, “Way to mess up the environment, Miss Jen!
Don’t worry about the ecological inheritance you’re
leaving us!”

Strep.Throat.A.Gain.

Ah, Easter - gaily decorated eggs nestled
in the grass, sweet-faced cherubs laughing delightedly and playing
gaily in their beautiful dresses, a near-continuous stream of
chocolate and jelly beans practically guaranteed for the whole day.


But then comes the morning after, and it ain't pretty.


I tried to regulate the girls, I really did. A couple pieces before
church, a couple pieces after lunch, one piece after dinner - I
didn't think it was that much, at least compared to what I see
going on around me. But man oh man, those kids were monsters when
it was bedtime - a lethal combination of stumblingly tired and
strung out on chocolate, with a dash of manic "hey, my friends are
here! Let's jump on Mommy's back twenty times!" mixed in for good
measure.


We had our share of meltdowns, breaks, temper tantrums, hitting,
and kicking, that's for sure. And after they'd gone to bed I went
through their baskets and winnowed out over half of what they'd
received, muttering under my breath about "next year, it's going
to be all fruit and crackers in the eggs!"


Though if I do that, I can't eat the confiscated contraband, which
I use to help me get through the rest of the week.


What to do, what to do.

Cora went to a birthday party recently and
consumed only the frosting from one of those hyper-decorated cakes,
covered with sugared roses in every color of the rainbow. She was a
maniac, crabby and irritable to the nth degree the rest of the day,
and when she had a poop the next day that looked like seaweed or
spinach I thought, “Yuck! That just confirms that I want to
make my daughter’s own birthday cakes, with less artificial
frostings.”


A couple months ago, a friend of mine mentioned casually that every
time her daughter has a favorite sherbet, she’s hyper and
crazy the rest of the day – like, ten times crazier than
sugar-crazy. Her best guess was that her daughter was allergic to
the dye in the orange sherbet.


Turns out, she’s not so wrong.

We’ve had a death in our family
recently, and it’s the first time we’ve had to figure
out how to deal with the topic with the girls. It’s still
pretty recent, so I’m not ready to get into a big blog about
it, but I’d sure appreciate any advice anyone has on the
subject.


We sat the girls down the day it happened and discussed it plainly
and gently. Cora, at 2 ½, has almost no grasp of death, and
Maddie at 4 ½ isn’t so much further ahead of her. But
Maddie’s mulling it over in her mind, I can tell, and
it’s only a matter of days before she makes that “Hey,
if that relative can die, maybe Mommy or Daddy can too!”
connection. And my girl’s a worrier, so it’s not going
to be something she’ll let go of easily.


Maddie’s got a great relationship with God, and that helps.
But I’m not at my best here, since I’m grieving myself,
and it’s all I can do to keep from snapping and yelling at
them over – literally – spilt milk, so Mommy’s
not helping the situation.


Any suggestions?

I know I’ve mentioned before that
we’ve got two silkys for each girl – identical, and
rotated periodically to insure even wear and tear. We try to switch
them out every couple of weeks and wash the old one, but sometimes
we get behind and don’t notice it until the current silky is
practically standing on its own, it’s so dirty. And then
there’s trouble.

A few people wrote asking how the
kindergarten registration went on Thursday, and I’m sorry I
left you hanging. A medicinal glass of wine afterwards left me less
ready to blog than usual, but I’ve had the weekend to process
and I’m ready to (sob) talk about it.


Ok, I’m exaggerating a little bit. It wasn’t THAT bad.
But it was a little bad.

Don't talk to me right now - I'm getting
myself in the "kindergarten registration" zone.


Yes, in a few short hours I'll be stampeding the parking lot with
hundreds (yes, hundreds - this school has 4-5 kindergarten classes
each year, and registration's for K-6) of desperate and weepy-eyed
parents, clutching our manila folders and praying we've crossed
all our "t"s and dotted all our "i"s. There's rampant rumors that
they'll be taking the kids off for very brief testing to determine
which class is a good "fit" for the child - how the heck are we
supposed to cram for that? We're desperately hoping Maddie will be
in the same room as a good friend of hers, so the other mom and I
are wondering - should we use the same adjectives to describe our
daughters? Or different ones, if they're seeking diversity for
each class?


How can we best manipulate the situation to my daughter's
advantage?


I'll let you know tomorrow how it goes - unless I'm still
comatose from the trauma.

I’ve spent the last few days
Xeroxing and organizing and compiling and color-coding. No, not
taxes – nor are we closing on a house.


It’s time to register Maddie for kindergarten.


Registration is this Thursday afternoon as soon as the elementary
school lets out, and I have to tell you, I’m already
contemplating binge drinking for the day. Do they want to see
Maddie’s original birth certificate, or do they need a copy
for their records? Doesn’t matter, because I’ve got
both, ready to go, in separate piles. I’ve made copies of all
the forms I’ve filled out, with the originals separated
neatly. I’ve confirmed her “emergency contacts”
and filled in home phones, cell phones, and work phones for such an
emergency.


In short, I’m ready.


But I’m not ready.

Interested in free food?


How about free sugary food?


We've got two giveaways today worth mentioning -


First, Starbucks is giving away a free pastry with any hand-crafted
(read: no bottled Frappucino) drink purchase. The only catch is
that you need the coupon you can find on the bottom of href="http://consumerist.com/2010/03/ben-jerrys-and-starbucks-both-giving-away-free-food-tomorrow.html"
target="_blank">this page - and that it has to be before
10:30 a.m.


Second, and even better, it's FREE CONE DAY at Ben and Jerry's! I
could've sworn they usually do this in April, but I am not one to
look at gift cone in the mouth. Go to any Ben and Jerry's store
between 12 p.m. and 8 p.m. today and get a free cone. No coupons,
no catches. Eat it up, run outside, and get back in line again if
you so desire.


I love me some Free Cone Day.


It's the perfect day - caffeine and a scone for you in the
morning, then a run to Ben and Jerry's after dinner for the
family.


Or, if you're like me, a run to Ben and Jerry's during the kids'
naptime for you, then a return trip after dinner for the whole
family.

Since Brian was out of town part of spring
break last week (yeah, I’ll forgive him for that one some
day) he took the rest of the week off when he got back, and on
Friday we went out of town for a little day trip. We didn’t
go far – only a couple hours out of the city – but it
was definitely the longest the girls have been in the car at one
stretch (that they remember) and we were both a bit apprehensive
about it when we set out.


Being the over-organized, must-control-everything person that I am,
I spent the night before in a frenzy of preparation. We were
heading to an outdoor wildlife conservation park, where you can
drive through the park and feed the wild animals from your car.
Giraffes and zebras walk right up to your car to say hi, and
knowing the girls’ love of animals we thought it’d be a
good fit. I’d ordered seats on the guided tour beforehand,
and simply had to plan for the time in the car.

This week the Consumer Product Safety
Commission, that helpful government agency which issues recalls on
unsafe products, sent out a press release this week on baby slings.
They’ve been researching infant deaths related to baby slings
over the past twenty years, and have found that an overwhelming
percentage of infant deaths – including three last year alone
– have been in babies under four months of age.

Precisely who is this "spring break" thing
considered a "break" for?


I haven't been this busy with entertainment programming and meal
planning since I worked on a cruise ship, calling bingo and
organizing costume masquerades for bored tanned tourists during
their "at sea" days. And at least then they were distracted by the
twelve-course buffets set out for them every two hours, with
absolutely no effort on my part.


We've been bowling. We've had play dates. We've gone out to
lunch. We've dressed up and put on full-length productions, put
together every puzzle in the house - three times, and baked copious
amounts of baked goods. When does school start up again?


Gotta run - time to pack a picnic lunch. And organize a quick bingo
game.

We went out to lunch yesterday to
celebrate Maddie’s second-ever hair-cut, and when I asked her
where she wanted to go she led us to Which Wich, the quick
restaurant that sells the exact same menu - pb&j and
ham-n-cheese- that I make, but at three times the cost. When I
asked Maddie why she wanted to go there, Maddie said,
“Because they have good chips.” Cora added,
“Yeah, and good cheese!”

I think I’ve probably got a
half-dozen blogs with that title – denial seems to be an
integral tactic in my parenting arsenal. In denial about
baby’s first birthday; about the first time she didn’t
look back when she walked away to play with a friend; about
starting preschool.


About starting kindergarten.

A few days ago, Baby Fish (Cora’s
current moniker) and I were at the outlet mall, finishing up our
spring shopping. We walked into the Children’s Place store
and Cora immediately set to work –this girl is a first-class
shopper. She’ll grab handfuls of clothing, coordinate outfits
together, the whole thing, and be astonished when I don’t buy
everything she’s got. I have to admit, she’s usually
got a good eye.


This day Cora seemed on a mission, and she was so busy that she
soon had quite a pile. She’d pick a shirt up, eye it
critically, and either put it back where she found it or add it to
her heap. A few minutes later she came over with her huge armful.
“Mommy Fish (my current moniker), I’ve got all my
clothes here.”

As I mentioned earlier in the week, I read
a few interesting articles recently about children’s health.
And I know I’m about to open up a ginormous can of worms
here, but I think these findings are important enough to bring to
your attention.


I know that autism is more prevalent today than ever, and that
there are a lot of worried parents out there. I also know that I
have two healthy girls and do not have to walk a mile in your
shoes, so I’m saying that right off the bat. But if I were a
parent with an autistic child, I know I’d be reading
everything I could get my hands on to figure out how to make my
child’s life better.


And I know that there are many people out there who choose not to
vaccinate their children, at least in part because of a concern
that vaccinations might trigger or directly cause autism in a
child. One of my best friends does not vaccinate, and we have to
agree to disagree even as I struggle to keep myself from kidnapping
her child and taking him or her to the doctor for some shots, just
because of the firsthand stories I’ve witnessed of
kindergarteners nearly dying of the mumps or adults suffering a
debilitating case of shingles because they had chicken pox as a
child. I’ve read probably more than most parents of
non-autistic children on the subject, simply out of a desire to
know, and I can understand the fear – there are a lot of
studies out there, especially in Great Britain, citing a link
between vaccinations and autism.

I blogged a few weeks ago about how Cora
likes to become someone else – say, Thomas the Tank Engine
– and will answer to no other name than that for the entire
day. It’s been cute but I have to tell you, this trend is
starting to wear out its welcome.


Last Friday Cora was “The Jazz Girl”. It’s a long
story about how she got the name, but she used it the whole day. As
in, “The Jazz Girl likes to ride in cars”, or
“Jazz Girl wants a snack”. Yesterday Cora was
Cinderella, and took it even one step further by insisting I was
the fairy godmother and only speaking to me on those terms.
“Cinderella wants the Fairy Godmother to push her on the
swings.” “Cinderella hopes the Fairy Godmother will
pick her up soon.”

I mentioned yesterday that I’d been
reading some interesting child-related articles recently. One such
article was target="_blank">Healthy Child, Healthy World’s recent
blog entitled, href="http://healthychild.org/blog/comments/the_top_10_toxic_products_you_dont_need/"
target="_blank">“The Top Ten Toxic Products You Don’t
Need”.


I’m going to highly recommend that you read this article
yourself – it’s short, easy, and filled with ideas for
substitutes for supposed can’t-live-withouts like oven
cleaner (which I have never in my adult life used, and as you know
I’m quite the baker). And you know that I’m probably on
the left side of the earth-friendly, tree-hugging,
make-your-own-everything spectrum. But these things aren’t
all difficult to give up, I promise, and the benefits are
enormous.

I feel like I spend every Monday
apologizing for clocking out of the blog thing while my family
dealt with yet another cold the week before. Last week Cora and I
both came down with another cold on Tuesday night – while I
was STILL suffering symptoms of the last cold! It’s
completely insane, I tell you. And Cora had a double ear infection
while I only had a single one – I swear we’re identical
twins when it comes to illness.


We spent a couple days feeling like death warmed over, and were
back in the swing of things a bit by Friday. Sunday night found me
with a new tickle at the back of my throat which I’m
steadfastly refusing to acknowledge. And yes, I know it’s at
least partly allergies, but I’m already on allergy medication
every day of my life so I’m not sure what more can be done.


If that weren’t enough, the weather’s turned cold and
rainy after a few teasing days of glorious sunshine and balmy
temperatures. I’ve been cleaning out closets and updating
wardrobes and have swimsuits and shorts on the brain, not sweaters
and fleece.


Wherefore art thou, good weather and good health??


I spent part of last week reading a couple really interesting
child-related health articles – I’ll fill you all in on
that over the next few days. Really interesting stuff, I
promise.

During Christmas break, the family took a
trip to the GapKids outlet to get a few necessities. Big mistake,
of course, because we were still in “heck, it’s
Christmas, let’s spoil ‘em!” mode, and what I had
thought would be a ten dollar visit for socks ended up costing us
almost eighty bucks. The girls found a whole line of spring rain
gear, put on the rain jacket and rubber boots, and danced around
the store twirling their matching umbrellas. They looked so darn
cute in the yellow-with-green outfits, like big sunny daisies, that
we put up only a token fight. I reasoned weakly that they’d
need SOME sort of rain gear here, so it might as well be matching.
With bonnets. And umbrellas.