1 Mother 2 Another

As I was posting yesterday (which was
actually late Tuesday night) I realized as I re-read my blog that
it could have been worse – the girls could have been sick
instead of just up a lot. I toyed briefly with deleting the post,
just so I wouldn’t upset the capricious gods of Malicious
Sleep-Deprivation.


Cue up Tuesday night’s marathon.


Maddie slept straight through the night – no worries –
but Cora more than made up for it. She was up EVERY HALF HOUR,
fretting and tossing and whimpering. When I went in (alternating
with Brian) she’d complain that her throat hurt.
“Huh,” I thought. “I’d think it’s
strep except she’s not throwing up.”


And then 5 a.m. came.


Yes, Cora began throwing up. Yes, I took her to the doctor. Yes,
she has strep.


I’ve actually come to relish the strep diagnosis –
it’s an easy, clearly definable fix, and I know that within
twelve or so hours my child will feel significantly better. I
simply have to survive the first few hours of begging for popsicles
and water, and having them thrown up repeatedly.


Now, though, she’s on antibiotics, so this next night must be
better.


Right?

Monday night I got home from rehearsal and
climbed into bed just past midnight. Wide awake with song lyrics
and dance steps running through my head, I didn’t fall asleep
until 1 a.m.


1:05 a.m., Cora woke up crying. I nudged Brian, who reluctantly
stirred and went in for a cuddle. Crawling back into bed a few
minutes later, he hissed, “That’s the third time
tonight I’ve had to go in to her.”


Uh-oh.

I started rehearsals yesterday for a show
I’m doing in a couple weeks. I haven’t done one (like,
a real one) for years and didn’t go looking for this one;
I’d sort of told myself I wouldn’t be seeking anything
like this until both girls were in school full-time. But this came
up, and it’s fast and easy, and most importantly, the theatre
is kid-friendly. The director has kids of his own, and when he
expressed a desire to do some daytime rehearsals I’d pointed
out I have Cora. “Bring her along!” he said.


Ok.

Friday evening Maddie’s school had a
fall festival, and we threw caution to the wind and went. They had
a chili cook-off, copious desserts, face painting, bounce houses, a
small train ride – I’m telling you, it was big time.
And since Maddie was deliriously happy running around with all her
school mates and the next day was a Saturday, we decided to let the
girls blow a bit past their bedtimes and stay up late.


Now, when I say “stay up late”, everything’s
relative: their usual bedtime is 6:30 p.m. – and even then, I
have to wake them both at 6:30 a.m. to get them up for the day.
We’ve missed family birthday celebrations and free tickets to
shows because of our adherence to this bedtime. But we were trying
an experiment – we’ve been derided by friends and
family as too strict on the bedtime, and thought it was a safe
place to see what would happen. So we didn’t start walking
home until 7:15, and the girls weren’t dressed and in bed
until 7:45.


Let’s just say we won’t be doing that again.

Yesterday afternoon Cora and I were
heading to school to pick Maddie up. Cora was walking, and I was
pulling a wagon loaded with water bottles, two scooters, and two
helmets. After half a block Cora said, “Mommy, I want to ride
in the wagon.”


Cora climbed in, crammed into an uncomfortable corner because of
all the gear. She took a few sips of her water, then said,
“Mommy, when I said ‘ride in the wagon’, what I
meant was ‘get my water’.” And then she climbed
back out.


Cora has an overwhelming need to win (don’t know where she
gets that) and has a terrible time admitting she’s wrong
(ditto). This has led her to her newest strategy, entitled
“What I Meant Was . . .”

We went to our duck pond last night after
dinner, hanging out and playing a bit with the girls’ friends
Paige and Becca. I spied our friend the heron over on the other
side, and we ambled over with some stale bread. The girls delighted
in throwing the bread to the ducks who came begging, and we were
careful to stand near the heron but not right in front of him,
being as nonthreatening as possible.

My poor Maddie is sick with an ear
infection. Up Sunday night complaining, she's been miserable ever
since. We hit the doctor Monday morning and, though she tried hard
to go back to school afterwards, I called and audible and turned
her around at the admission desk; she was so tired and in pain she
was weeping the whole time.


This is a doozy - every time the Motrin wears off a fairly decent
fever comes back up. Poor kiddo is clinging to me and miserable,
and I'm throwing video after video at her trying to get her mind
off the pain. We'll see how she wakes up today - I'm praying the
antibiotics have taken effect overnight.


Here's hoping she's up and around soon.

When Maddie started kindergarten, she
already knew a half-dozen kids in her school from our neighborhood
playgroup. She walked into school that first day part of a gang,
and knew that at recess she’d meet up with her friends and
have playmates ready-made, no awkward first-meeting stuff to deal
with. And when the kids had to go into the school by themselves for
the first time, with her posse all held hands to give each other
moral support, a string of kindergarteners stronger than their
individual parts.


I’ve got my own posse too – all the moms who stand
outside and anxiously watch their babies walk into school, away
from them. And I have to tell you, I don’t know what
I’d do without my homies.

Last night, Cora and I were cuddling
together in her bed at night-night time. Cora’s a very
physical person, and we were lying snuggled up facing each other,
so close our noses were touching. She loves being mashed into me,
and I could see contentment etched on her features.


“Oh, Mommy,” Cora sighed, breathing out slowly.
“What is it, baby?” I asked back, smiling lovingly.
Cora took my face in both her hands and gazed into my eyes.


“You’re on my pillow.”

Now that Maddie’s on the educational
grid, so to speak, we’re diving deep into the bureaucracy of
the public school system. Formal notes for sick days, homework
folders completed just so, weekly folders signed and returned
immediately, and so on.


And then, of course, there was Maddie’s first report
card.

Maddie had Monday off of school – to
the rest of the country it might have been Columbus Day, but here
in Texas it was state fair day. We have the coolest, biggest state
fair in the country (and I’m not being a sarcastic New Yorker
here, I really love it) and every school district gives students a
day off and a free ticket to go.


I knew Monday would be jam-packed, but I wanted to go to the fair
before it closes this weekend. And Maddie’s been handling
school so well, and is so tired, that I threw caution to the wind
and took Tuesday off to go instead, giving Maddie a four-day
weekend.

I’ve written a couple times about
Cora’s babysitting gig – she “helps” take
care of Paige, an 18-month-old toddler, occasionally as
Paige’s mom Allison helps me by taking care of Cora. Cora has
babysat Paige twice and has taken Paige on as her own personal
mission. Every time we walk to school drop-off or pick-up, Cora
wonders aloud if Paige will be there, or if she’ll be left at
home while her big sister Becca is dropped at school alone.


If Paige is at school, Cora will feed the child Cheerios one at a
time. Cora will find Paige’s pacifier. Or blankie. Or water
bottle. Or whatever Paige may (or may not) want. If Paige starts
wandering off, Cora will say, “Paige,” in a half
exasperated, half amused tone. And then she’ll chase after
her

Last Friday afternoon the weather was
gorgeous here and I wanted to figure out a way to enjoy the day
with Maddie after she got out of school. By Friday my child is a
walking zombie, so going to the park was absolutely no use at all.
But I finally came up with something.


Cora and I walk to pick up Maddie every afternoon, Cora riding in
her wagon because the walk’s just a smidge too far for her.
That afternoon, we showed up at the school with a wagon laden with
goodies: our big picnic blanket, a bag of Clementine oranges, a box
of Annie’s bunny mix, ice water, stale bread, and a huge
stack of books. We walked to the duck pond near our house and
proceeded to have the best. Afternoon. Ever.

Here’s the most recent:


Maddie: (very hot, and dripping wet) “Whew! I’ve got
the sweats!”


Cora: (at the park, running on the sidewalk) “Mommy look
– my heels kick my hiney when I run! Move, hiney,
move!”


I love my job.

6 a.m. I get up. Unwillingly. I get ready
for the day, make a grocery list, pack Maddie’s bag, prep
their breakfasts, and go to wake up the girls.


6:30 a.m. I start the wake-up process. This takes half an hour,
from “I’m not ready to wake up!” to coming down
for breakfast. Maddie gets out of bed only with the promise of some
maple sugar for her oatmeal.


7 a.m. I finish cooking the oatmeal and dish it up to two
unenthusiastic girls. They eat, we do hair, wrestle on shoes, and
head out the door.


7:45 a.m. I drop Maddie off at school and stay until the bell rings
– as I’ve promised Maddie I will do. Even though
she’s inside and would never know.


8 a.m. Cora and I read Puss In Boots twice and play four
rounds of Puppy Bingo. Cora wins every time.

Cora and I went shopping on Friday,
looking for some basics for Maddie to fill out the holes in her
winter (and here in Texas I use that term loosely) wardrobe.
Unfortunately for Cora, Maddie’s hand-me-downs are copious
and cute, so Cora rarely gets to pick out many of her own clothes.
I was feeling generous (and was at the outlet mall. With a coupon.)
and told Cora she could pick out ONE outfit for herself.


Ecstatic, Cora began studiously perusing the store. Flipping
through racks and rounders of dresses and pants and skirts and
sweaters, Cora turned around and spied –


Blue sparkly leggings.


Cora gasped. A love affair was born.

Cora went to see the dentist for the first
time yesterday. Yes, she’s three. It’s the same age we
started Maddie at, and she survived, so there you go.


Cora’s been to the dentist’s office a couple times
before with Maddie, so she knew what to expect. And where Maddie
was fearful – the whole “new situation” thing
– Cora was straining at the leash.


“Is today the day I go to the dentist?” Cora said every
morning this week – and not in a “dreading it”
way, but in a “please tell me it’s Christmas
morning!” way. She was so ready to get in the dentist’s
chair that she asked if we could leave story time at the library
early – before we’d even sung her favorite song.

The CPSC issued a government warning today
to stop using infant sleep positioners. CPSC has received reports
of twelve infants between the ages of 1 and 4 months dying from
suffocation due to the sleep positioners in the past 13 years.
Doesn’t sound like a lot, I know, but if one of those numbers
was your child it would.


If you have an infant check out the href="http://www.fda.gov/ForConsumers/ConsumerUpdates/ucm227575.htm"
target="_blank">article – they lay out the reasons
quite clearly.

I’m going to cut to the chase here.
My kid’s got a boy in class – who will remain nameless
– who is making her life not-so-great, and the only thing
keeping me from going over to his house and knocking him down is
that the school has not yet published our school directory for the
year. Possibly for just this reason.


Last week, Maddie told me this boy was making fun of her at recess.
“He was teasing me because I don’t play football. I
told him girls can’t play football but he wouldn’t
stop.”


“Well,” I said reasonably, “Did you tell him you
actually do play football? You play it with Sam on play
dates.” True story.

Twinkle toes.


My whole childhood, twinkle toes was a nickname people gave me when
they couldn’t think of anything better than to reference my
ballethood. Apparently, now it means something different.


According to Maddie, “all” her friends are wearing
these fugly shoes – picture a pair of white Keds, graffitied
by Jackson Pollack armed with neon spray cans, and then bedazzled
by some poor Chinese woman who was apparently paid by the sequin.
Now add to that the fact that some of the jewels LIGHT UP when
jostled. Now realize that all of this is crammed on very small
feet.

At Maddie’s school, disobedience can
earn you a lap around the playground at recess. The teacher has a
notebook, and keeps a tally of the number of laps each child
“earns” during the morning, and if you drive by the
playground at recess (not that I ever do, especially not with a
camera) you will see several children walking around the perimeter.


Maddie finds this idea quite interesting, for some strange reason,
and has taken to it with gusto. In fact, she is so enamoured of the
punishment that she and her friends will pretend that they’ve
earned laps, just so they can walk around and talk the whole time.
Maddie’s friend Elise was distressed to see Maddie marching
the line the other day, and didn’t know until later that
Maddie’s punishment was self-inflicted.

I mentioned recently that Cora’s
been “babysitting” Paige, and 18-month-old friend of
ours. Cora takes it quite seriously, and whenever she sees Paige
she goes into work mode, feeding Paige raisins from her stroller
tray one by one, or adjusting the sun bonnet over her face, or
whatever she can find to do.


We were out for dinner for a school spirit night at a local
fast-food place last night, and the kids all went to play in the
play area. There’s a little square “room” off all
the tubing and such that’s only about a foot off the ground,
and it’s got a steering wheel in there and a lookout spot.
Cora went in there with Paige, and was talking to her, watching
her, and having a great time being the bossy older person.

I teach on Monday evenings, and have cut
back my classes so that I may still pick Maddie up from school and
have some time with her to decompress for a while before I head off
to work. This arrangement seemed to be going well, until yesterday
afternoon.


Maddie had come home grumpy and irritable, a sure sign that she was
tired. I tried to be loving and patient, but time came when I
needed to leave. I announced my departure early, giving myself time
to deal with her, and boy was I glad I did.

I’m always keeping my ears open for
new stuff that makes my life easier – baby gear, good books,
brainy toys, or superfoods. About a month ago a girlfriend told me
about this small peanut butter company in her home state of
Vermont; apparently they made a really excellent peanut butter, but
put extra stuff in it that made it even better.


Like chocolate? I asked. Because we all know chocolate makes
everything better.


And the answer –yes, but more than that.

This past Monday, Cora and I dropped
Maddie off at school and walked home, at which point Cora turned to
me and said, “Mommy, can you call Miss Allison and ask if I
can babysit baby Paige right now?”


Here’s the backstory – we’ve got friends with a
daughter Maddie’s age and a baby about a year and a half old.
My friend and I have discussed exchanging babysitting during the
day so we can go have lunch with our older girls – I’d
watch Paige for her, and she’d take Cora for me. Trying to
include Cora, Alli said to her, “Cora, do you think you could
come over to my house some time and help me take care of baby
Paige?” Cora nodded solemnly, and the idea was planted.

Tuesday night was Curriculum Night at the
elementary school – a chance for the educators to sit down
with parents and fill us all in on what exactly’s being
taught during the day. It’s not a night for one-on-ones with
the teachers, but in addition to covering curriculum it is an
opportunity for the school staff to reinforce some important rules
and regulations to the new school parents.


I was teaching Tuesday night and was not able to be there, and you
can imagine how worried I was about not having the chance to
micro-manage that scenario. Poor Brian was less than enthusiastic
about being our token parenting unit, knowing that no matter how
hard he listened he was bound to be unable to answer EVERY QUESTION
I’d have about the event during my post-game debriefing.
Fortunately, my friend Mary went along and sat next to Brian,
taking notes on my behalf on the things she thought I might find
important that Brian may miss.

So I asked Maddie how recess went
yesterday, after Monday’s big heart saga. “Much
better!” Maddie sang out.


“Great!” I cheered. “How so?”


“Well, I decided it was best if I just avoided that boy
completely.”


Um, what?

I teach on Monday nights, and so get home
just after the girls are in bed. Both of them try to wait up for
me, and making the rounds is now part of my home-from-teaching
ritual. Cora’s usually zonked out, but Maddie’s often
still awake and wanting to chat. I expect it now, and somewhat look
forward to our intimate conversations.


Last night was one such night, and Maddie plunged into what was on
her heart with absolutely no preamble.


“Mommy, I just think that school is too hard for me. I
don’t know that I’m going to make it.”


Take a breath. We can have this conversation again.

I’m headed out for three days with
my hubby for a much-needed mini-vacation. Yes, we just went to
Colorado a month ago, but that was with the kids. This is the two
of us, three days – BY OURSELVES.


I can wear whatever I want and not worry if it’s compatible
with grape juice, or if my child is going to look down my shirt and
say, “I can see Mommy’s boobies!” I will eat
chocolate whenever I desire, without fear of having to share
– or even having the Breath Police accuse me –
“Mommy, I smell suh-wock-o-whate on your breath. Did you eat
some?” I will choose a restaurant based on its wine list, not
based on whether the mac n’ cheese on the kid’s menu is
Kraft or some inferior imposter.


I will sleep, uninterrupted, through the night.


And just as important, I will wake up whenever I want. And not one
damn minute sooner.


Seriously. Do. Not. Disturb.

Open gym is OPEN.


To badly paraphrase Browning, “The lark’s on the wing,
the snail’s on his thorn, open gym’s open, all’s
right with the world.”


Yep, Cora and I cracked that bad boy open like a rotten nut
crumbling under a sledgehammer yesterday. Cora has had her leotard
picked out for THREE WEEKS, waiting with breathless anticipation
for those doors to unlock and summer break to be OVER. And it
finally, officially is.

Maddie has never been what you’d
call a daredevil: she had the traumatic bike-a-thon at her
preschool where she rode all of one lap on her bike before freaking
out in fear of falling, and walked or scooted the rest of the way.
She’ll put on roller skates and then gingerly walk her way
around our neighborhood, and on the days when she does get her
scooter out she scoots at a snail’s pace.


So I thought we’d never be the ones taking alternate (read:
wheeled but people-powered) transportation to school in
kindergarten. But last week as Maddie and Elise walked to school
and saw all the “big” kids whizzing by on their
scooters, an idea was born.

I’ve written a lot in the past few
weeks about Maddie and her adjustment to kindergarten, and some of
you are wondering how Cora has done. I know it looks as if
I’ve spent all my energy on Maddie, and certainly I’ve
been working hard with her getting settled into her new way of
life. But don’t worry – I haven’t neglected Cora.


As a matter of fact, Cora’s adjusting quite well to this new
schedule also.

Cora spent Wednesday morning vomiting
– her usual MO, you know, when she’s got strep throat.
So I was kept busy doing loads of laundry and trying to pin a
fretful girl down to the bed – which I did with copious
episodes of Dragon Tales. I was, needless to say, wiped out.


But one good thing did come out of Wednesday – for whatever
reason, Cora chose that day to exclusively use the potty. Yes, she
wore one tired diaper the whole day, and as sick as she was, she
dragged herself to the bathroom every time. When she went to bed
that night, I told her we’d get something special to
celebrate the next day.

I do believe I’ve done a pretty good
job of making a sick day relatively boring, without crossing the
line into comatose.


And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy.

Well, the sky is blue and the grass is
green, so that must mean it’s time for Cora to get strep
throat again.


The girls and I have had allergies for a few weeks now, showing
mostly in an annoying post-nasal drip and a lovely cough morning
and night. Totally livable, though, so we’ve done nothing
about it until Cora had an especially sleepless night Sunday night
(and that’s saying a LOT) and woke up Monday morning saying
her ear hurt. Professional mommy that I am, I deduced she had an
ear infection from all the drainage of the past few weeks and took
her in to the doctor.


Nice clear ears, not even a red throat; but on a hunch, the doc
(knowing Cora’s propensity for strep) took a swab and it was
nearly instantaneous in its reading. Defeated, I scheduled Maddie
for later in the day, and hers came back positive as well.

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.