1 Mother 2 Another

Maddie’s had her kitten for nearly a
week now, and for the past few nights she’s gotten closer and
closer to sleeping with it. We originally put the kitten in the
bathroom at night, so it wouldn’t keep Maddie awake all
night. But Maddie’s been asking and last night she got up the
courage to give it a try. So it was a Kitten Slumber Party.


I have not had to get up with one of the girls at night for over a
week (!) so I was in the midst of a profound, deep sleep when I
heard a knocking on our door. Maddie was in tears, clutching her
cheek. “I got up to turn on the ceiling fan, and when I got
back in bed the kitten hissed and scratched me really bad! It
really really hurts!”

Remember the mourning doves who built a
nest in our hanging bougainvillea?


The babies are here.


We've spent the past couple of weeks watching the site
apprehensively; doves are not known for their parenting skills, and
the odds of the two eggs actually hatching two live babies was
pretty slim. But our parents beat the odds, and we've got a couple
of surprisingly quiet baby birds now. Maddie and Cora love watching
the basket through the window, and every once and a while you'll
see a baby head appear and baby wings stretch out.


June is indeed busting out all over.

For almost a year now, Maddie’s been
begging for a kitten. And for almost a year now, I’d said,
“Not until you’re at least six.”


Oops.


As her birthday got close, Maddie’s pleas increased in both
volume and velocity until I broke down and gave her a trial run: if
she could take care of our older family cat, then we’d look
at a kitten for her. A month later, Maddie’d handled our
cat’s litter box and food and water rather well.


Oops.


So guess what we did on Maddie’s birthday?

Dear Maddie:


It’s been a long year, my big six-year-old, and while it does
feel as if it’s flown by, I also can’t believe how much
has been packed into the past twelve months.


You’ve gone from a just-finished-preschooler to an
almost-first-grader. I think this has been, for you as an
individual, the hardest year of your life. Starting kindergarten
was quite a shock to your five-year-old system, and we felt the
repercussions of that big event for several months last fall.
Adjusting to a seven-hour “work” day was incredibly
hard, but you complained less than I ever imagined, and were so
obedient about giving it a try. Let me tell you, kiddo, dropping
you off at that school door on the mornings you were clingy and sad
just about broke my heart every time, and the bravery I glimpsed in
you as you walked, crying but compliant, through those glass doors,
just about took my breath away. I’ve missed you, my love,
more that you will ever understand until you drop your own child
off at kindergarten. My most precious parts of myself – you
and Cora – are walking around outside my body, and to have
you shut away from me for seven hours a day – to have SEVEN
HOURS of your daily life a complete, opaque mystery to me –
has been painful.

Me. Sick. Fever, chills.


And my emergency back-up generator - my mother - out of town
yesterday. So I had two white, worried faces peering at me on the
couch. I think they realized something was wrong when I got out
their cereal boxes and spoons and bowls, poured milk into a small
plastic pitcher, and said, "Maddie, if you or Cora want seconds,
you can pour from this pitcher. Come get me if someone gets hurt."
And then went back to sleep on the couch.


So the girls were on their best behavior, pouring me water and
bringing me unrequested crackers and ice. They spent two
uncomplaining hours at the doctor with me, and Brian had to come
home from work early while I went comatose.


Wednesday afternoon we dragged ourselves to the airport to pick up
my mom, and the strain was finally showing on the girls. Fights,
tantrums, easy tears from both girls. And many cries of "I just
need Mommy and Me time!"


Poor kiddos. Soon.

We are officially in Summer Time, though
Maddie contests that every time I say it, as she’s acutely
aware that summer doesn’t legally (or something) begin until
much later in June, according to the Seasonal Calendar Gods.


But here in our household, it’s summer time.

It’s D Day in our house.


That’s D for Denial, baby.


Today is Maddie’s last day of kindergarten and I’m so
excited my tail is perpetually wagging. But I have to keep my
excitement in check, because acknowledging the extent of my
excitement means I would have to acknowledge that Maddie is
finishing kindergarten.

If there’s anything worse than
realizing your baby is about to be a kindergartener, it’s
realizing your baby is about to graduate from kindergarten.


And be a first grader.

The girls had their annual ballet recital
over the weekend, and it was quite the event for everyone involved.


This was Cora’s first recital EVER, and she’d been
looking forward to it since she started ballet in September. At
various times throughout the year she gave me instructions on how
the Big Day would go, such as: “Mommy, I’m going to
need someone to drive me to the theatre for the recital. So
you’ll need to take me there, then leave me backstage.
Don’t try to stay with me, ok? This is important.” Or
how about, “Mommy, when you come to get me after the
performance, you need to bring flowers with you to give me.”


Little gems like that.

Earlier this week I was taken out for a
working dinner to an incredibly nice restaurant – we’re
talking forty-dollar steaks, and the potato costs extra. I
didn’t know when I went it was going to be so great, and I
carefully kept half my meal to bring home and share another day.


Being the incredibly kind and selfless daughter that I am, I let my
mom have my leftovers last night, and watching her face melt as she
took her first bite was almost worth it. While we ate, I described
the place to her, finishing by saying, “It was a really
excellent restaurant, and I’d highly recommend it for some
special occasion.”


Cora tuned into the conversation and spoke up. “Hey, Gamma, I
know another really fine restaurant if you ever want to go
someplace really special!”


Mom looked at her while I mentally scrolled through all the places
we’d been recently. Nothing that might require closed-toed
shoes came to mind.

Last night we had spaghetti, as is often
the case on the day Maddie has ballet and I teach right before
dinner. Maddie had her usual
noodles-with-one-meatball-hold-the-sauce order, and as the family
sat around eating together she broke into song – “On
Top of Spaghetti”.


Brian and I could only remember the first verse, so Brian looked up
all the lyrics on his android phone. He and Maddie sang lustily
through the meatball rolling under the bush, then turning to mush,
then growing into a big meatball tree next spring while Cora
continued to eat and I cleared dishes.


Before they could get to the part about new meatballs growing in,
Brian noticed a strange “bah-hah-hah” sound from Cora.
He looked up and saw her, a smile screwed onto her face, trying to
hold back making noise. “Cora, are you crying, baby?”
Brian asked her.

Mama Dove has not budged out of our
bougainvillea for over 48 hours now, so we're thinking there are
some eggs under that bird hiney. From what I've heard, morning
doves are not known for their excellent parenting skills, so we may
have a "teaching opportunity" coming up here in a couple weeks: as
in, "Mommy, why did the babies die? Where do they go now?"


On the up side, our monarch caterpillar is getting fatter and
fatter, and we know he's got to cocoon within a week now.


I'm telling you, it's babies and new beginnings all over the
place here.

Just off our kitchen is a sweet little
side yard, with a door for quick in-and-out and a small patio for
morning meditation. We have a birdbath, a few hanging flower
baskets, some lovely flowering vines, and about a dozen different
fresh herbs planted in a sweet garden. It’s a major reason
why we bought this house.


Every morning we sit at our breakfast table and look out at the
dewy lawn and wonder what visitors the garden will see for the day;
we’ve got a hummingbird feeder that calls frequent visitors,
lots of butterfly-friendly flowers, and pinecones rolled in peanut
butter and birdseed tied to our fence. Cora will happily putter
there all morning, walking back and forth to the rain barrel to
water the herbs or check on the strawberries or try to coax a
four-legged visitor into our yard. And recently, the visitors have
been plentiful.

Yes, Cora had her fourth birthday
yesterday, and it was positively wonderful.


The birthday started the night before: one of our family traditions
is that the birthday girl receives a new pair of summer pajamas as
she goes to bed on her birthday eve, so Cora hit the sack in
hot-pink zebra-striped pjs, feeling like hot stuff. She slept until
almost 8 a.m. (which would have been great had big sister done the
same), and when she came out of her room she ran into her Gamma.
Squatting excitedly with her hands on her knees, Cora said,
“Guess what, Gamma! I woke up four today!”

Dear Cora:


Well, love, you’ve survived, and given your penchant for
diving into a situation headfirst and asking questions later, your
survival has not always been a safe assumption. But you’ve
made it – you’re officially four years old now.


I think this is the first year you’ve looked forward to your
birthday as something more than just “time to get
presents” day; this year you’ve been very eager about
the act of turning four, of gaining another year, itself. You long
to be the same age as your sister Madeleine, and I’m not sure
when it will sink in that, in spite of your best efforts, you will
never catch up.


Or perhaps, knowing your personality, you’ve already realized
that but refuse to give up trying.

So Monday morning, Cora comes downstairs
with a band-aid on her finger. When I left her the night before,
there was no band-aid on the finger.


“Look, Mommy, see my band-aid?” she asked, waving the
finger in my face.


“Yep, sure do,” I said. “Did you just get it and
put it on this morning before coming down?”

Yesterday the girls and I headed to the
park for some fun, Cora on her bike and the rest of us walking.
Cora packed a purse full of toys, I brought our water bottles, and
Maddie packed a first-aid kit. Just in case.


The girl must have been psychic, because on the way home Cora fell
of her bike. The bike didn’t even tip over; it simply leaned
a bit on a bump and Cora toppled off. She fell on her hiney,
bumping it a bit, and looked at me startled.


Maddie rushed over with her purse half-way opened: “Cora, are
you ok?”


Cora looked up at Maddie and said sadly, “Maddie, I fell on
my hiney!”


Maddie leaned over, the Concerned Older Sister. “Oh, poor
baby. Do you need a band-aid for it?”


Cora blinked, the wheels turned in her head, and she said,
“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Finding time to exercise while being
responsible for small children is not always easy. I’m not a
fan of working out after they’re in bed, as I simply get too
hyped up to sleep at a decent hour; and rising earlier than my
usual 6 a.m. to fit in some fitness time is out of the question
– I still don’t sleep through the night a couple nights
each week, and every second of unconsciousness is precious to me.


So I usually find myself exercising during Cora’s afternoon
quiet time. It’s relatively interruption-free, and my energy
flags after lunch anyway. I often spend a few moments of devotional
time beforehand, so while I try to finish before Cora comes
downstairs, sometimes she arrives while I’m still sweating
along with Jillian Michaels.

This Saturday our neighborhood is having
its annual garage sale; hundreds of houses throw their undesirables
on their front lawns and everyone chips in five bucks for
advertising. Cars begin circling the neighborhood around 6:30 a.m.;
chaos reigns supreme from 8-9:30 or so, and then it’s a
steady trickle until perhaps noon.


For the past three years Maddie and Cora have had a lemonade stand
on garage sale day, making fresh-squeezed lemonade and baked goods
to sell to all the early-morning souls. It’s their one
money-maker of the year, and both girls now eagerly look forward to
it each May.


Last year we expanded and offered coffee as well, and this year
we’re adding bottles of water. We’ve been baking for a
week with more to do, and the event is getting bigger by the
minute.

As I mentioned last week, allergies hit
Cora hard. Actually, I think they started with me.


I was down for the count two weekends ago, so bad I was convinced
it was a cold. I’m on allergy meds 365 days a year, and the
only thing I don’t take – Zyrtec – will actually
put me to sleep for a good 18 hours at a stretch. So when allergies
hit, there’s not much I can do.


But as I said, I at first thought it was a cold, and simply
rejoiced that no one else got it. Then Cora went down and I assumed
she had the same “cold”, but gave her some allergy
medicine just in case.


She was bubbly and bouncing twelve hours later.

I remember as a child looking at
Mother’s Day with bewilderment; what, exactly, is THAT all
about? Tell Mom you love her, let her pick where we eat lunch,
yadda yadda yadda. Doesn’t that make EVERY day Mother’s
Day?


Now, of course, I have a different perspective, but it’s
still kinda weird to me. I mean, I enjoy my kids making me the
cards, and getting to go someplace nice for dinner, but my children
are still young enough that I see evidence every day of their love:
I get the snuggles and cuddles and kisses almost constantly, and so
don’t need a special day set aside for them to shower me with
affection.


I need a day of rest from that affection.

Yes, Cora’s down with something
again. Either bad allergies or a cold – only time will tell
which it is as we hope the Zyrtec builds up in her system and
works. Right now, it’s simply an extreme stuffiness and the
occasional headache.


Unfortunately for Mommy and Daddy, Cora simply cannot sleep when
she’s stuffy. She’s up every thirty or forty-five
minutes, whimpering and crying because her face just HURTS.
It’s simply exhausting for us, which is why we ended up
bringing Cora into our room at midnight last night; I’d
already been into her room FIVE times and couldn’t deal with
another night like the one before.


So instead we were awakened every hour or so with a whimpering,
crying kid, but at least we didn’t have to get out of bed to
deal with it.


I forgot how much I hate missing out on sleep.

You may remember that Maddie and a couple
friends put together the kindergarten Green Team on Earth day;
it’s a club dedicated to picking up trash and recycling on
school grounds. Part of their big plan was to talk to the principal
and get the club announced on morning announcements so other kids
would know to recycle.


Yesterday, the Green Team’s dream came true.

A couple days ago we were out a farm and
Cora lay down in the dirt as we were walking to the car to go home.
“Cora, don’t lie down again, please, we need to keep
moving,” I said. “Sorry, Mommy,” Cora said, and
got up, walking a few steps.


And then lying down again.


“Cora, I told you not to lie down again!” I said.
“Sorry,” she said, and stood up.


“So am I, honey, because you just lost your video from
disobeying,” I replied.


Cora burst into tears. “But I said I was sorry!”

Yes, I believe I can say –
completely unbiased – that the Swan Lake excerpt was the
highlight of the kindergarten talent show.


Maddie and Elise showed a remarkable lack of nerves, and both
seemed excited and ready for their primary school debut. I was
fortunate to score a choice seat in the audience, and even more
fortunate that the two girls were seated right in front of me. I
took advantage and leaned in for some last-minute coaching.
“Ok, girls, what’s the most important thing to remember
here?” I whispered.

Maddie’s school is having a talent
show today, and any child who wishes to can perform.


Need I mention who is performing?

Two points if anyone recognizes that title
as a line from the theme song from “WKRP in Cincinnati”
–


I am, as many of you know, a bit of an organizational freak. I
actually enjoy organizing my pantry, or unpacking in a new home.
But even for me, the endless tedium of shepherding small children
through their daily lives – the backpacks and lunches and
snacks and extra underwear changes – starts to get a little
wearing.


My day starts the night before, actually, when I prepare for the
morning ahead. I pack Maddie’s lunch – cut up her fruit
and put it in the fridge, cube her cheese, make her yogurt,
whatever – and measure out a snack for her as well. We lay
out her school clothes on her chair so there’s no argument
the next day. Then I’m finished until the next morning.

“Why did the chicken cross the
road?” Maddie asked the other night at dinner.


“I don’t know – why?” I dutifully queried.


Maddie smirked. “To get to Norton Elementary, fly up on the
roof, and look in through the skylight!”


Cora stared at Maddie. “I don’t get it.”


Yes, Maddie has hit that stage where she wants to tell jokes.
Unfortunately, she doesn’t understand what’s funny.

Most mornings when Maddie and I walk to
school we make a nature walk out of it; we listen for different
bird calls and look for ducks at the pond, anything to keep her
moving and looking forward. Our favorite days are those mornings
after it rains, when the earthworms are out in force in the
puddles, and yesterday was such a day: we spotted over a dozen
worms – a personal best – just walking to school
alone.

As you probably know (if only from reading
my blog), Friday was Earth Day. And apparently Maddie is not the
only kid in kindergarten who is environmentally conscious, because
she and her friends started a recycling club.


Officially named the Green Team.

This morning I woke up while it was still
dark, as usual, and got dressed and ready for the day. When I came
out of my room, I noticed Maddie’s door was open and her
reading light on, highly unusual for my heavy sleeper who requires
a military band to wake her up.


I peeked my head in and saw her lying fully dressed on her bed,
staring out the window at the intense blue sky. She was wearing an
Earth Day t-shirt and snuggling hard on her lovey. Without a word I
climbed into bed with her and curled up.


“Look at the color of the sky, Mom,” she said.
“It’s so deep. It’s really pretty. And the birds
are already starting to sing, even though it’s still dark! I
wonder what the sky looks like where the birds are sitting.”
Suddenly inspiration struck me.

Cora is sick with strep throat.


Again.


Multiple rounds of dry heaving going on.


Oh, and it's Brian's birthday.


Happy birthday honey!

When Maddie was born, my mother-in-law
said, “Now is when you build a tight white fence right around
their little bodies. And you protect them and keep them safe. And
then in a little while, you’ll tear down the fence and set it
back up again, a tiny bit further away from them. And then
you’ll spend the rest of your life moving the fence further
and further out. And it will be hard. Really hard.”


This was very depressing to me.


But I got what she was trying to say, and thought I understood it.
More space, give them their independence, leave them free to fail.
Blah blah blah.

Brian and I had a night away this past
weekend to celebrate his upcoming birthday, and here’s the
sad truth: we waved goodbye to the kids around 5:30, hopped in the
car, had a quick bite to eat, checked in around 8:30, and then
changed into our jammies, climbed in bed, and gleefully watched
television.


That was our big night.


Yes, gone are the days of excitement and glamour: a Night Away now
takes on a very different flavor. As I pondered this change, I
began compiling a mental list of what now constitutes, to me, true
pampering and luxury. Forget your lavish mani-pedis or six-hour
bubble baths; give me a solid day filled with items from this list,
and I’ll be a grateful puddle on the floor.


I humbly submit it for your approval.

The art event last night was a phenomenal
success. Maddie was proud of herself and did well and had a great
time. And as for the show itself – I do believe I have now
seen everything.


I have witnessed an entire gym full of kindergarteners earnestly
doing the hand jive to Grieg’s “Hall of the Mountain
King”. Over and over and over.


And Maddie is now well prepared for her future stint in a summer
stock production of Grease. Talk about a well-rounded education.


My kid was the best one, by the way. She rocked it. Totally
unbiased.

About six weeks ago, I was going through
Maddie’s weekly school folder – the folder sent home
every Wednesday with all “important” school-wide
communications – when I came across a form for Fine Arts
Night. Apparently all the kids are working on an “important
piece of art” that will be displayed on that night, and for a
mere THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS you could buy a frame for their
masterpiece so it would be properly displayed for everyone to see.


These are the situations that you as a parent must weigh very
carefully. Talking to your child about this might create problems:
if it’s not really on her radar, then you are bringing it to
her attention will mean you are suddenly required to buy a frame
and block out the evening for touring the “gallery”. On
the other hand, if you assume she’s not interested and then
find out last-minute that it’s burning in her heart,
you’ll be spending the night before the big event driving
around the city at 11 p.m. looking for a 24-hour frame store that
sells something EXACTLY like the one every other kid is getting.


It’s tricky.

It’s April, which in our house means
only one thing – Earth Day! (Sorry, babe – your
birthday comes a very close second.)


I am trying to refrain from going all preachy on you about ways to
reduce, reuse, and recycle. You hear it from me all the time. But
as April began I got out my copy of href="http://astore.amazon.com/healthychildhealthyworld-20/detail/0452290198"
target="_blank">Healthy Child, Healthy World to
re-read and I just have to push it one more time.

While driving with the family the other
day, I noticed the girls were getting a bit restless in the back
seat. Hoping to distract them, I said, "Hey, girls, Daddy's
birthday is coming up; let's talk about it and plan it!"


"Yeah!" the girls screamed.


"Ok, we'll want a cake. I wonder what kind of cake Daddy will
want?" I asked.


"Vanilla!" Cora yelled from her spot.

When it comes to critiquing my singing and
dancing, Cora and Maddie pull no punches. Since they’ve been
able to speak, both have implored me many times: “Mommy
– just don’t sing. Just don’t.”


This would be not a big deal but for the fact that I actually used
to make a living singing and dancing. I try not to take it
personally, but it’s hard not to.


As the years have gone on, though, the girls have gotten better
about allowing my participation – or perhaps, it’s I
who have gotten better and am finally up to their quality level.
Either way, the entreating to stop has significantly dwindled.


Dwindled – not disappeared completely.

Some important Candy Land numbers:


Three The number of times Candy Land was played in our house
yesterday


Two The number of times Cora won


One The number of times I cheated so Cora would win


Zero The number of times Cora cried when she lost


I do believe our numbers are improving.

I know, I know – just saying the
name “Cand Land” is enough to elicit cyber-groans from
across the globe. I have yet to meet a parent who doesn’t
roll his or her eyes as soon as the name is thrown out there,
followed by a furtive, “SHHH! Don’t say it too loud or
we’ll HAVE TO PLAY!” I remember my friend Nancy in New
York once told me that Candy Land administers a slow, painful death
on an afternoon with wee ones; just when you think it’s all
over and your three-year-old is about to finally reach the end of
the rainbow and put you out of your misery, she draws the gumdrop
card and has to go all the way back to the start.


Cora has recently discovered Candy Land and begs to play it over.
And over. And over. And as soon as we sit down at that board, my
Mommy Skills have to go on high alert. It’s not a candy
field, it’s a mine field.

Late last fall, Maddie’s teacher
began reading a Junie B. Jones book aloud to her class. Maddie fell
a bit in love with the girl, and would enthusiastically come home
and tell me how great the book was. So when Christmas time rolled
around, I found a Christmas installation in the Junie B. series and
bought it for her as a surprise – I thought I’d read it
to Maddie at night and we’d love it together.


And then I read the book.

Our city’s month-long Earth Day
festivities kicked off this past weekend with an outdoor festival
at a nature conservancy less than a mile from our house. Since
Earth Day is kinda a big deal around here (example: Brian’s
birthday is in April, and as the calendar turned on Friday I said,
“Hey, we’ve got a big day coming up in April!” to
which Maddie yelled, “YEAH!!! Earth Day, here we
come!!” Sorry, babe) we decided to head out for some fun.

Last night I was lying in bed with Cora
and talking about nothing in particular when our conversation
turned towards spring. “What is it right now, Mommy?”
she asked, and I said, “Why, it’s spring now!
It’s spring already!”


“Really? It’s spring NOW?” she said.

Yesterday morning I stumbled down the
stairs and looked at the daily calendar to see what was on the
agenda for the day. “Huh, I forgot that’s today,”
I mumbled as I saw our schedule.


An hour or so later, I sat with a bleary-eyed Cora as she ate her
oatmeal. “Hey, baby, guess what we’re doing today?
It’s a special treat!” I cooed. Cora looked at me,
skeptical. “What, mommy?”


“You get to go to the dentist today!” I said
enthusiastically.

Yesterday Cora got her first haircut EVER.
Yes, Mommy got a little weepy.


I had to talk Cora into it, which surprised me about me normally
gung-ho little girl. First she wanted to wait until her big sister
could go with her to hold her hand. Then she wanted Daddy to go
with her. Apparently she was worried that getting her hair cut
would hurt, since we talk about how sharp scissors are and how
they’ll cut her. I finally persuaded her by reminding her
that Maddie always gets ice cream after a haircut.

I blogged last year about the rising
concerns over the links between artificial dyes in our food and
hyperactivity – or worse – in our kids. I saw for
myself the effects of artificial dyes when Cora began eating
store-bought birthday cakes laden with blue “ocean”
frosting or purple “flower” frosting; after one such
party I found her an hour later literally climbing the curtains.
Between Cora’s incredible bouts of turning into Hyperactive,
Uncontrollable Girl and her four-day-long blue poop (yep, it stains
your intestines for several days afterwards) I was convinced enough
to actively work to rid our diet of artificial dyes.

During spring break I wanted to take the
girls to see a movie – the only other time they’ve been
to a movie theatre was over Christmas break, and it’s now
considered the highest form of luxury and indulgence in our house
– but I had a hard time finding one that would work for the
girls. I thought about Gnomeo and Juliet, but after a
pre-screening determined that Tybalt’s death-by-smashing
would worry them for the rest of the movie, not to mention the
deep-seated fear I could see arising over that monster lawnmower in
the final battle of the movie. At that point I panicked a little;
I’d promised a movie in the theatre for the girls, and
wasn’t sure where to turn.


Then I looked at the dollar theatre.

A few weeks ago Maddie was introduced to
“Wild Kratts”, a new television show on PBS, through
recess play time. She begged so enthusiastically for me to record
it that I did, though I had no idea what it was about.


Fast forward a few weeks, and it’s now the girls’
favorite show.

I’m teaching a new class this
semester at my theatre school – improv for teenagers - and
they’ve got their first show coming up tomorrow. To entice
their friends to come see it (and thus hugely boost the laughter in
the audience) I promised my students that I’d offer free
candy and cokes at the show.


Of course, when I say “free”, I mean out of my own
pocket. They all thought this was a terrific idea, and gave me
their list of “fave” candies that I “HAD
TO” make sure I have there. Armed with my list, I hit my
local grocery store last night.


And let me say, as I walked into the store I felt as if I needed
dark glasses and a disguise wig.

On March 21, the American Academy of
Pediatricians released a statement issuing new recommendations for
car-seat use for babies and children. The biggest change? They now
recommend rear-facing car seats until children are AT LEAST TWO
years old. Yep, TWO, not one.


Read up on it on href="http://www.healthychildren.org/English/safety-prevention/on-the-go/pages/Car-Safety-Seats-Information-for-Families.aspx?nfstatus=401&nftoken=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000000&nfstatusdescription=ERROR%3a+No+local+token"
target="_blank">this link; there’s also a great
href="http://thecarseatlady.blogspot.com/2011/03/american-academy-of-pediatrics-says.html?spref=fb"
target="_blank">video from the href="http://thecarseatlady.blogspot.com" target="_blank">car seat
lady (a pediatrician and certified child passenger safety
instructor) that shows multiple crash tests done with child-sized
dummies in varying positions. And parents of school-age children,
you don't get off scott-free either; they recommend booster seats
until the child is somewhere between EIGHT and TWELVE years old.
Yep.


Let’s just say that I’m glad my youngest is four, and I
don’t have to persuade her to turn back around.

As part of our Staycation last week, the
family went to a nearby wildlife preserve where you can ride an
open bus through the land – a sort of mini-safari, if you
will. We’d gotten on the bus and were sitting waiting for the
tour to start when I noticed that there was something on my wrist
– it felt like a gnat or something, right under the sleeve of
my jeans jacket. I absentmindedly brushed it, and then felt an
intense pain.


Which was the moment I realized it was a bee.

We spent a glorious week last week tasting
a tiny preview of what summer will be like – sleeping in,
being lazy all day, doing fun stuff. Add in several hours at the
pool and you’ve just described our typical day in June. And
July. And August.


Alas, though, all good things come to an end: specifically,
sleeping in.


Yep, this morning when I walk upstairs in a few minutes and rouse
my five-year-old, it will hurt. It will not be pretty. It will
downright stink.


Did I mention it will hurt?

Yeah, I'm still here. Just enjoying being
lazy and hanging with the girls. We're doing some serious spring
cleaning and serious funning around. So busy.

Maddie’s reading has been steadily
improving, and now she can read passing street signs, billboards,
and magazines lying around. As we lie in bed at night reading
chapter books, she follows along. And though she can’t quite
keep up with me as I read, she’s getting pretty darn close.


I love seeing her get hooked on reading. She’s always loved
books, but reading by herself has just become easy enough –
though not easy – that she is tantalized by everything she
sees. Those words jump up at her, begging to be read, and
it’s worth the work and agony of having to sound out the hard
words.


At night now if she’s not sleepy she’ll turn her light
on and read two books by herself. And yes, she has done that for a
while now – flipping through books she knows – but now
she can actually read them herself. And she loves it.


It makes me so happy.

Our local arboretum is doing its annual
spring flower show, and this year the theme is Fairy Tales. To that
end, they’ve hired several designers to bring different fairy
tale castles to life, and the results – magic play houses to
climb on – are on display now.


Saturday morning I took the girls to the arboretum to celebrate our
spring break. And since the theme is fairy tales, I let them dress
like princesses. So I had a Rapunzel and an Ariel in the car, and
the girls were beyond thrilled. I am the annoying mom who never
lets their kids run around in costume outside of the house –
not because I’m embarrassed that my kids dress up, but
because I spent my whole life in the theatre having it pounded into
me: “Do NOT eat in costume! Do NOT get them dirty!” So
the fact that Mommy let the girls out in costume was a huge
deal.

Yes, down here in the hot South,
it’s spring break already! And we are going to sunny –


Um, here.


We are having yet another family Staycation, which I have
successfully hyped and spun until it could easily run for public
office. My kids now thing Staycations are just as cool as traveling
vacations, mostly because we 1) eat Fruit Loops (well,
fruit-juice-flavored Cheerios. I have my limits.) and because we 2)
watch movies. Or at least one movie.


I’ve drawn up a big poster of our Staycation day-by-day.
Maddie wrote in the name of each day, and Cora stuck the Velcro
pieces on each day. What is the Velcro for, you ask? Why,
it’s for the big star we drew, colored, cut out, and
laminated. Each day one of the girls is the Calendar Girl, and
moves the Staycation Star to the next day.


You gotta make your own fun, people.

My Cora is, shall we say, loquacious. The
child can talk. In a very stream-of-consciousness,
I-have-so-much-to-say-and-you’ll-find-it-all-fascinating kind
of way. Here’s a recent example:


“Mommy, don’tcha know that today at open gym we heard
this great song? It went ‘Menomenan, doo doo da doodoo,
Menomenan doo doo da doo’ and that’s so interesting
because we have that same song on our pink iPod! So I have that
song to listen to in two places – open gym, and my iPod!
Isn’t that so cool? Oh, look, my underpants are going up my
hiney. Hey, there, underpanties, get out of my hiney! Look, Mommy,
look, they’re going up my hiney. Speaking of hineys, did you
know the basilik lizard lays eggs out of her hiney RIGHT ONTO THE
WATER? And she can RUN on water, up to five miles an hour!
Isn’t that so interesting? Oh, look a tic-tac on the floor
– it’s probably still good so I’ll eat it.
Don’t you think I should? Don’t you think it would be
wasteful not to eat it? Don’tcha know tic-tacs make your
mouth feel better?”


And so on.


These are all things that have come out of my daughter’s
mouth. In one conversation.


What do I do about this? Because I have to admit that as annoying
as I’m sure it will be soon, it’s darn cute right now.
Don’tcha know.

Maddie and I were walking home from school
when she pulled out a silly band from her backpack. These stupid
elastic wristbands are banned from her school – thankfully
– so I could understand it being in the backpack, but it was
one I’d never seen before. “Where’d you get the
silly band?” I asked Maddie.


“From Joe,” she replied.


Of course. Joe. The boyfriend.


And then the bombshell –


“But I don’t think he likes me any more.”

I'm sick with a doozy of a spring cold,
and when I feel this way I invariably find myself thinking one
single, awfule thought:


I wish my kids were sick instead of me.


This sounds really really bad, I know. But if I have to choose one
of us to get sick, I'd rather it be the kids so I can take better
care of them. The girls need Mommy whether she's feeling great or
feeling stink-o, and dragging through the day gritting my teeth
trying to not lose patience is just no fun.


Of course, I will probably see my wish fulfilled - sort of. Because
Cora was complaining of a "lump in my throat" all yesterday, and my
cold drainage has given me a terrible sore throat. So I'll
probably have a sick, cranky Cora when she wakes up.


Laissez les bon temps rouler.

The weather’s turned nicer here
– well, darn near perfect, if I’m being honest. A bit
chilly in the mornings, then hanging around in the 70s the rest of
the day, balmy and sunny and lightly breezy.


Sorry, New York.

Last night, I was taking a shower with the
girls when Maddie said, "Hey, Mommy, your tummy looks like it has a
baby in it!"


Now, I know that I am not the world's largest person. Most people
- and I say "most" because somewhere out there are a couple old
ballet directors who would call me a "fat cow" because they did
before when I was skinnier - would not call me overweight. I also
realize that it was right after dinner, and there was a
cheeseburger and apple in there helping with the gestatory
illusion.


But still.


I'm going to complain to my friends Ben and Jerry. They understand
me.

I posted yesterday about my seeking out
fairy-tale-like alternatives to the Disney princesses. I want to
give the girls better role models (sorry, Ariel and Snow White) and
perhaps a smidge of self-esteem in the process.


Then, coincidentally, a friend of mine sent me a link to a blog
post yesterday from Christianity Today entitled href="http://blog.christianitytoday.com/women/2011/03/toddlers_tiaras_and_surviving.html">
“Toddler, Tiaras, and Surviving the Princess
Mania”. The blog is a review of Peggy
Orenstein’s newest book, href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/redirect.html?ie=UTF8&location=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.amazon.com%2FCinderella-Ate-Daughter-Dispatches-Girlie-Girl%2Fdp%2F0061711527%3Fie%3DUTF8%26s%3Dbooks%26qid%3D1299035267%26sr%3D1-1&tag=1mother2anoth-20&linkCode=ur2&camp=1789&creative=9325">
Cinderella Ate My Daughter: Dispatch From the Front Lines of
the New Girlie-Girl Culture. Based on the review,
I’m heading out to get that book.


I’m relieved to know it’s not just me.


But read the review – while not exhaustive on the topic,
it’s got some good points on the subject. And keep sending me
alterna-princess book ideas.

I fought mightily to keep the dreaded
Disney princesses from invading our homes, and they still made it
in. It’s really impossible to keep them out –
they’re on toothbrushes and valentines and pencils and even
macaroni and cheese. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.


I have two problems with Ariel and her friends. First off, I am
peeved about the whole licensed character thing. I can’t
stand how ubiquitous their faces are, and how my daughters
automatically beg me to buy gum/toilet paper/cheetos just because
they have Belle and Aurora on them.


But my biggest issue is the type of role model these gals are
being. Maddie and Cora hear the stories too often –
“Someday my prince will come” is a too-often refrain,
and the heroine can do nothing but clean the house after seven
messy guys/wander through the woods picking berries, hidden away
from all other people/prepare her mean sisters’ breakfasts
and daydream about being rescued. Yes, this is a problem for
me.

Our local high school is currently
building a brand-new arts building, with a state-of-the-art theatre
as its crown jewel. They’ve been working since September and,
though it’ll be a couple years before it’s finished, we
point it out to the girls when we drive past.


Yesterday Brian did so on our way to church – “Look,
girls, there’s the new arts building going up! It’s
going to have a fantastic theatre in it by the time you two get to
go to school there!”


And from the back seat, Cora said matter-of-factly, “Yes, and
people will come from far and wide, from all across the land, to
see me upon that stage. I will be astonishingly good.”


Seriously, folks. I can’t make this up.

Remember Maddie and her in-class Romeo,
“Joe”? Well, the relationship’s only heating up.


Joe was gone over Valentine’s week, apparently at
Disneyworld. But his first act upon returning this week was to give
Maddie a valentine. A girly one, no less, because he “knew
she wouldn’t want a boy one”.


He knows my kid, I have to give him that.

When Maddie was barely a year old, she met
Naomi on a playground and the rest was history. The girls were
inseparable, playing together EVERY DAY until we moved when Maddie
was two and a half. This sounds small, I know, but three years
later Naomi still begs to see Maddie – and they haven’t
seen each other since we moved.


Even after moving here, we found a circle of friends for Maddie
relatively quickly, thanks to a pre-formed mom’s group in my
neighborhood with kids all the same age, and several kind women
ready to welcome us to their group. By the time Maddie started
kindergarten, she had a solid circle of a half-dozen truly close
friends.


So did Cora. The only problem was that they were all of
Maddie’s friends.

I’m always looking for movies for
our movie nights that will be ok for the girls to watch – and
believe me, it’s a very small list. “Finding
Nemo” was shown to Maddie accidentally, and she stressed
about being lost or flushed down a toilet for several months.
“Beauty and the Beast” – the wolf scene is too
scary. “Little Mermaid” – the girls get through
it, but Ursula is so scary they don’t sleep for a couple
nights afterwards. You get the picture.


So a couple weeks ago I started running through movie musicals in
my head, and hit upon “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor
Dreamcoat” – an old Broadway musical recorded for
television starring Donny Osmond. The show was originally written
for children and tells the story of, um Joseph, from the Old
Testament. I know the show quite well, and knew it would be a hit
for the girls.


That, my friends, is an understatement.

The other night I was putting Cora to
sleep and we were lying there snuggling, chatting desultorily and
nuzzling together. Suddenly Cora sat up abruptly and said,
“Mommy, did you know the Beatles broke up?”


For those of you who don’t know us well, my husband and I are
rather strong fans of the Beatles. I think their music is
incredible, great artists, blah blah blah. My husband can recite
all the miniscule trivia that surrounds the band – who played
which licks on the ALTERNATE takes of “Love Me Do”,
what George was eating when he came up with “Blue Jay
Way”, who “Martha My Dear” is really about (the
dog, by the way). I know it kills him that the girls like songs
like Miley Cyrus’ “Party In The USA”, and
he’d threatened recently to take charge of their musical
education.


So I wasn’t completely surprised to hear Cora talking about
the Beatles. I grew increasingly uneasy, though, as the
conversation went on.

Cora, like other kids her age, has an
unreasonable (and, I’m sure, fleeting) love of cleaning. I
remember Maddie waving briefly at this stage in passing, but Cora
has parked her car in this particular stage of life and shows no
intention of moving on.


Which is, as you can imagine, fine by me.

A few years ago, my friend Abby told me
about a new fad in greeting cards – the ones that play music
when you open them. “These,” Abby swore to me,
“are golden. They keep the boys occupied for EVER (which, in
early childhood, means ten minutes at a stretch). You’ve got
to get some.”


She was, of course, right, and as soon as my girls heard one it was
love at first listen. Fast forward a few years, and today
we’re the proud owners of quite a collection. The girls have
never met a musical card they didn’t like, and we keep every
one given to one of us. I added them up, and we’ve got about
twenty-five of them. At five or six bucks a pop, it’s almost
a collection that needs extra theft insurance.

Clearly, I have an opinion about this
holiday.


I don’t understand what we’re celebrating, when my
daughter is sent home with a mandatory list of her entire class,
and orders to make one for each person, plus a fancy box for her
own “love letters”. Yes, this bugs me. Yes, I
understand why she had to give one to everyone in the class, and
not just her good friends. Yes, I think it’s important for
everyone to get the same amount. But here’s what I
don’t get:


Why do it in the first place?

There’s a little boy in
Maddie’s class – who shall remain nameless – who
spent most of the first of the year terrorizing Maddie. I know for
sure he was part of the group of boys who teased her so
traumatically most recently – and nearly got their asses
kicked by me because of it. And I know that his name has come up in
other stories Maddie’s told me of boys being mean, usually
with her ending in tears.


And I also know that he now has a thing for her.

Cora’s favorite place to eat out is
Panera, a quick-but-not-fast-food-food place with sandwiches and
salads. Cora loves the yogurt there, but mostly it’s the
“experience” of the dining: they’ve got these big
Starbucks-type lounge chairs covered in funky (but subdued) circle
print, and Cora loves to sit in them to eat. She makes a bee-line
for “her” circle chairs and can barely contain her
disappointment if they’re taken; fortunately for us, they
rarely are.


Now for the bad part: these circle chairs are side-by-side, with a
small occasional table between them. But because the chairs are on
rollers Cora is convinced they are meant to be repositioned, and
will insist they be turned and set so the tiny table can be used as
a lunch table, the two gigantic circle chairs crowding around it.


Now for the worse part: there are only two chairs, and there are
usually three people at Panera – me, my mom, and Cora. Which
means that someone (other than Cora) will be sitting at a different
table.

Believe me when I say that there is not
enough whiskey in all of Ireland to wash over yesterday's bad day.


Let's just say that I'm happy today is a late-start school day
because of the weather.


So happy.

With some regularity Maddie and I find
ourselves out for a doctor’s appointment or whatever and
Maddie will need a little extra one-on-one time with Mommy. I often
schedule appointments on Wednesdays and will take Maddie out of
school early, hit the appointment, and have half an hour or so
before going to Maddie’s ballet class. And just like
grown-ups with some time to kill and a bit of thirst to them,
Maddie and I head to Starbucks.

After four straight days of impassable
streets last week, the sun finally came out over the weekend and
turned our neighborhood into a community-sized slushee. And as
happy as I was to get in the car and go somewhere – anywhere,
it didn’t matter where – I still knew that one bad
thing would come with the thaw.


The return of school days.

In an attempt to prevent myself from going
all Medea on my kids, I invited a few friends over yesterday to
play Twister with us. For some crazy reason (ten degrees outside,
20 mph winds) only one person was stir-crazy enough – sorry,
I mean, oh, you know what I mean – to trek on over. Becca and
Paige walked nearly a mile to our house – and since Paige is
less than two years old, that’s quite an accomplishment
– and we had a fantastic morning together.


After playing an energetic round of Twister we sat down to enjoyed
our grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. As we ate, I pointed out
the cluster of birds just outside our kitchen door; they’d
eaten all the birdseed off our homemade pinecone birdfeeders and
with the weather so cold we’d taken to scattering seed across
our side patio. The birds seem to enjoy the easy pickings (pun
intended) and we have enjoyed seeing them come right to the door.


We spotted a couple male cardinals, which led to a discussion about
the difference between the male cardinal and the female cardinal,
which led to a discussion about the difference in coloring between
many male animals and their female counterparts.


Which led to the following conversation:

The bad news: no school again yesterday.
The good news: I avoided the Nutcracker. Narrowly.


Instead, we did our home-grown version of Twister, which involves
lots of running and physically demanding stunts like crab-walking
and skipping backwards. We baked. We painted. We baked. We read
books. We baked. And baked some more.

A winter storm moved through our area
Monday night, shutting down school for the day. Now, I’m not
a wimp and adore the outdoors, but our high temperature yesterday
was 16 degrees – with 45 mph winds on top of that. So we were
stuck indoors (though, to be fair, the girls begged to go out and
lasted nearly an hour in the back yard. With nary an adult by their
side, I might cowardly add.) for the day.


And what better way to pass the time than to put on a show?


Maddie and Cora decided to do, no surprise, the Nutcracker. Which
Cora and I had just danced start to finish the day before. But
yesterday the girls wanted to go full out, so we did costumes and
everything.


Hey, anything to take up more time.

Cora’s doing very well right now
with the potty thing. Occasionally she’ll need to get up in
the night to potty, and it’s a big production: first she has
to find her bedside flashlight (to keep away monsters), then move
back her big body pillow (aka monster barrier), then come and tell
Mommy and Daddy, then go pee.


And that, you know, takes time. So when she went through all that
last night, the time taken was precious, and Cora ended up not
quite making it to the potty, instead peeing on the bath mat right
in front of the toilet.


This is not such a big deal – her accidents are pretty
infrequent now – but Brian, the parent who got up with her,
said it was actually quite cute. Apparently, as the pee ran
disappointingly down her leg, Cora looked at the mat and said,
“Well, shoot a pickle.”


Which is one of my parentally-censored “cuss phrases” I
say around the kids.


So if you hear a three-year-old saying “Dag-nabit” or
“Jumpin’ Jehosaphat”, you’ll know she (and
the phrase) are mine.


Could be worse, right?

One of the things I teach is Pilates, an
exercise form that I teach one-on-one. I train primarily dancers
looking to advance in their career, or pre-professional dancers
trying to get ready for the professional world. Maddie and Cora
know some of these dancers, as I take the girls to see the ballet
shows when I can – partly just to check up on my dancers and
see how they’re progressing.


Sometimes, too, I have to take one or both of the girls with me
while I teach. It’s not ideal, especially with Cora; both
girls are inquisitive and want nothing more than to play around on
the expensive and dangerous equipment while I devote my full
concentration to my client. But sometimes childcare just
doesn’t work out perfectly and so they come along.

Maddie’s been going through a rough
patch recently – in some ways, over the past week or so; and
in some ways, over the past few months or so. We’ve been
working through it together, and I can tell you, it hasn’t
been easy – almost too hard for me to even talk about as we
were in the throes.


She’s been wrestling with some real demons – her
worries and fears; her introvertedness being challenged at every
turn in school – and I’ve ached to see my child go
through all this. But for the past couple of days I’ve seen
something that makes me think she’s turned a corner –


I’ve seen her smile.

So I posted a couple days ago that Cora
had given her dollhouse to a little girl who’d been living on
the streets, then in a shelter, and had just recently moved into
her first apartment. Cora was thrilled to do so, and the case
worker passing it on assured Cora that the little girl would be
thrilled to have it – at two years old, the girl would be
getting her first toy.


Then yesterday I got an email from the caseworker. She’d
received a letter from the little girl’s mommy and wanted to
pass it on to us. It said, “Thanks for thinking of my
daughter for that dollhouse. She just loves it. Thanks. I just wish
I could tell the little girl who gave it to my Cookie how much it
means to her. I shouldn’t have shown it to her in the evening
– I couldn’t get her to go to bed! Thanks. And I
thought you might like to see some pictures.”

I mentioned recently that Cora’s
quite taken with her new game, Make-Up Stand, where she pretends to
be a makeup artist and will “do” your make-up for you
with real brushes and pretend powders.


I’ve grown tired of playing the game eight (8!) times a day:
the game becomes more elaborate each time, and now has to start
with me at “home” getting my purse and telling my mom
I’m going to get make-up, then “shopping” along
the walls, spying the store, unlocking it with the Sparkle Key, and
asking Cora, who has her back to me, “Excuse me – can
you please do my make-up for me?” at which point she spins
around on her stool with a smile and says, “Sure,
honey.”


And then we start all the make-up stuff.

Cora and I have recently started spending
some time at our local shelter doing storytime with toddlers and
preschoolers, and it’s certainly made Cora aware of the
bigger picture around us. When we took a peek into the new
“family” rooms in December, we saw the single room with
two sets of bunkbeds, a tiny closet, and one small shower bathroom
for a whole family. Cora thought it really cool – until she
found out it was for the WHOLE FAMILY.


Her eyes have been opened, and I know that she sees things
differently now. I mentioned last week’s upcoming trip back
to the shelter for another story time in a casual way, then changed
the subject and chatted, asking what Cora would like for lunch. She
was silent, and I asked lightly, “What are you
thinking?” and she replied, “About all the people at
the Inn who don’t get lunch when they don’t have a
home.”

Wednesday morning Cora and I went to the
grocery store, taking a quick potty break before heading out. After
arriving home, I was putting groceries away when I heard from the
downstairs bathroom, “Mommy, come look at this.”


I ran in, and Cora had not quite made it onto the potty. I
reassured her, got her cleaned up, and we went on with our day.

Maddie’s going through a tough time
right now – a sort of emotional growing pain, if you will.
And it’s been hard for me to stand back and let it happen,
when my instinct is to rush in and fix things. I know, though, that
this is something she has to work through on her own – some
lessons, I know well, can only be learned the hard way.

“Well, hell-O there!” the
Make-Up Lady says as I step through the door. “Are you
interested in trying some fresh make-up looks today? Free
application?”


No, I’m not at the department store. I’m at home,
walking into my house from dropping Maddie off at school, and Cora
(aka the Make-up Lady) has apparently opened for business again
today.

Yesterday was a school and work holiday in
our family, and Brian and I wanted to do something fun for the
girls. Maddie had been asking about going to see a movie for a
while, and we finally gave in and took the girls to a movie
theatre.


And yes, it’s true, neither girl had ever been to see a movie
before. I know, we practically raise them Amish.


We selected Yogi Bear for their big screen debut; Tangled had been
reported (by friends who know the girls well) as being too scary,
and I couldn’t find a single witch or scary wolf in the Yogi
commercials. We told the girls right before we headed out, and let
them dress “fancy” – which means both were
wearing their “rock star” outfits. Well, almost the
full outfits: I made Cora take off her sequined cape and her crown,
and Maddie had to remove her black sequined bowler hat. Otherwise,
though, they were sparkled out and we had a couple Liberaces
walking in to the theatre.


I realized I needed to treat them like aliens visiting for the
first time, and tried to explain everything in detail.

Yesterday morning I left my snug, warm
house to walk Maddie to school. The temperature outside was 20
degrees. I know it’s colder elsewhere, like Mount Everest,
but here in Texas that’s chilly. I was ready to shave a few
years off the life left in this planet and burn some fossil fuels
to drive Maddie to school in a nice warm car, but that kid loves
the near-mile walk and insisted we not drive so we bundled up and
headed out.


Anyway, I left a quiet house – Cora was still upstairs asleep
and my mom was dozing in her bed. When I got home, as I stripped
off my big down coat Cora came running down the stairs in a
gymnastics leotard – and nothing else. “Mommy!”
she said excitedly, as my mom followed blearily behind her.
“We’re going to Hawaii! Do you want to come with
us?”


Um, yes?

It seems both my girls are hitting
milestones these days: Cora with the potty training, and Maddie
– Maddie’s finally tying her own shoes. She’s
been working on it for a while, with increased success, but we can
finally call it. Maddie can do the whole thing – start to
finish – on her own on a regular basis.

I have this friend who works for an
excellent world-wide Christian relief agency. His title – I
kid you not – is Director of Peacebuilding. As in, his job
description reads “bring about world peace.” He lives
in India with his wife, a priest of a small Anglican church there.
Both are originally from Canada, and this is how they are living
out their callings –as global citizens making a difference.
And, by the way, raising their two blond-haired, blue-eyed children
there as well.


The other day, my friend Matt’s son wanted to know the names
of the wealthiest people. They counted down the Forbes Top 15,
noting those wealthy (like Buffet & Gates) who are giving away
their fortunes. They got to #10 before his son asked: "So what
number are we?"


Now, while my friends may live in relative luxury in India –
at least compared to many of the slums they see –
there’s no way by any stretch of the imagination you could
even call them upper-middle-class (sorry guys). But their kids look
around and see what’s possible – in a poverty way
– and consider themselves rich. As, indeed, they are. These
children have even been quoted as saying (at ages 4 and 6)
“We have so many toys and books. We don’t need any
more.”


I can guarantee you that those words have never come out of my
girls’ mouths.

Maddie’s school appoints a king or
queen every week – someone in her class who gets to spend the
week in the spotlight. The royal personage is the permanent line
leader, gets to be calendar helper, wears a crown all week, and
talks all about him or herself every day.


Need I tell you that Maddie has coveted this spot all year
long?

That’s right, folks, we are
officially a diaperless household. Well, at least we will be when
I’ve freecycled all the leftover diapers we’ve got
lying around. But officially there is not a single person under
this roof who uses diapers.


Yeah, we’re awesome.

So I learned yesterday through a very
circuitous but very accurate channel that Maddie has been the
subject of some teasing at school, for something very minor over
which she has absolutely no control. She has told me nothing, so I
must act as if I don’t know or she will feel like her
confidante has betrayed her, but I have been told that it has hurt
her rather deeply, and has occurred more than once.


There are two reasons I have not gone over to the offenders’
houses and kicked the shit out of them right now:


First, I don’t know who they are.


Second, though I would easily dominate any jail to which I was sent
by virtue of my natural charm and organization skills, my kids need
me. My husband would suck at picking out prom dresses.

Cora is now three and a half years old.
She has been pooping exclusively in the potty for about eight
months now. She is completely capable of peeing in the potty
– she clearly has the brains to understand it since she is,
as I told you yesterday, smarter than me.


She’s just lazy.

Last week, the four of us were sitting
around the dinner table while Maddie regaled us with a story about
a recent discussion with her friend Elise. Apparently Elise had
seen something and told Maddie all about it in front of
Elise’s mother, who then quickly stepped in and said,
“That’s not true. I know you think you saw it, but
it’s not true.” Maddie was enjoying leaving that part
out, and I reminded her that Elise had been told that her tale was
not true.


Maddie looked at me and said, “Elise told her mother she
agreed with her, but she doesn’t really. She knows more than
her mother does here.”

Since Sunday was the grand finale to our
two-week family “staycation”, in which Brian and Maddie
were both home the whole time, we agreed to give the girls some
quality one-on-one time with our respective number one fans. In
other words, Maddie had a huge stretch of time with Mommy while
Cora got Daddy all to herself.


We laid out the plan for the girls and threw wide the gates:
we’d go anywhere in the city, do anything they wanted. I
honestly thought Maddie would come up with a list similar to this:
lunch out; shoe shopping; go get her first manicure; that sort of
thing. I was wrong.

No one’s been sick –
I’ve just been hugely enjoying some family time over the past
week. Sorry.


But life’s about to kick back into regular gear, and I have
to say I’m not thrilled about it.


Is it really so bad if we keep our kids home and don’t send
them to school? I mean, really? I mean, like, go to jail bad?
Really?