1 Mother 2 Another

Not to brag here – more like
I’m just wanting to capture it so I don’t forget that
such days exist when the dark times come – but we had
ourselves quite an awesome day yesterday.


The morning started earlier than anticipated, when Maddie
spontaneously awoke at 7 a.m. I thought I heard her rustling around
quietly, so I stuck my head out of my room and saw her sneaking
into the game room. "Maddie?" I asked softly, a question. She
turned to me: "I finished my book last night and wanted to get
another one." And sure enough, she grabbed another chapter book and
took it downstairs, snuggling on a couch with a blanket to read.
Smiling quietly, I got out our daisy-shaped pancake griddle and
proceeded to make a fun breakfast. We had a lovely slow beginning,
reading and cooking and eating things loaded with butter and syrup.


The girls and I hit our neighborhood pool around 9:30, and had the
place entirely to ourselves until 11 a.m. Cora’s hit an
intense diving phase – as in, “for rings” –
and she spent the whole time diving for rings, diving for glass
jewels we bring for “sunken treasure”, diving for her
goggles – you name it, she swam for it. Maddie, meanwhile,
had her snorkel gear on and was practicing breathing through the
snorkel tube, swimming like a cruising shark over the entire pool
without coming up for air. It was truly greatness.

If you’re anything like me,
you’ve been madly making smoothies since all our delicious
summer fruits began coming into season. The girls love them, and I
love having a glass full of fiber and vitamins in a yummy drink.


I’m a bit of a protein hound, always trying to find new
smoothie recipes that will get me some blood-sugar-boosting
proteins and fats in non-dairy ways (slight allergy), and I came
across this one from target="_blank">Keeper of the Home recently. Since
I’ve been madly freezing organic fruit as it’s
available for a modest price, I’ve got a drawer full of
berries that are being seriously whittled down in this recipe. The
use of coconut milk solves my thirst for something more filling
than pure carbs, and I throw some brown rice protein powder in for
an extra boost as well.

Monday morning Cora woke up crying.
She’d had a horrible dream the night before, so I raced
upstairs to her worried that it was a continuation of that
nightmare.


“Hey, hey, Mommy’s here,” I soothed as I ran in.
Cora was still curled up in a ball, back towards me. As I lay down
next to her she rolled into me and melted, still whimpering and
sleepy.


I stroked her back. “What’s the matter, puppy?”


“I just realized,” Cora sobbed, “That when
I’m a mommy I won’t ever get a hair snuggle
again!”

“Mommy, Gamma, come see a special
show we’ve got going on! And you have to come sit on the
floor in the hallway to watch it!” Maddie and Cora called
downstairs Friday afternoon.


My mom and I came into the hall, mystified. Of the hundreds
(literally) of shows we’ve seen in my house, none have taken
place in the hallway. But there on the floor were two floor
cushions, so we obediently sat down and sat back.

Am I the only person who feels like summer
is just whizzing by?


June was a blur of teaching for me, so that hardly counts. Then it
was all-hands-on-deck getting ready for our vacation, then a week
in Florida (I know, I know, quit whining), and now that we’re
at the tail end of what feels like our first real week of summer
vacation, I’m looking at the calendar and realizing
it’s almost over.


Ok, not really almost over. But I estimate we’ve got maybe
two good weeks left before we have to start thinking about
back-to-school shopping and returning to the school morning
schedule. And frankly, that just doesn’t seem fair.


Don’t wanna, don’t wanna, don’t wanna.

I remember when I was young, and going on
vacation was inextricably linked with getting to eat
“vacation food”: junk food that would normally never
pass my mother’s inspection was allowed on vacation, and we
got to indulge in that rarest of pleasures – eating out.
I’m not saying we gorged on piles of refined white sugar, but
the usual restrictions were loosened, lifted slightly, and became
part of the pleasure of the vacation.


Ah, how things change when you get older.

Of course, Cora woke up sick on Tuesday.
Of course. My little vomit comet.


Whatever's ailing Cora, it comes out as throwing up, and yesterday
was no exception. No fever, no other symptoms - just a stomach not
even able to tolerate water. So we had to give Cora Pedialyte - one
tablespoon every fifteen minutes - all day long, while listening to
her beg for water or ice.


Did I mention the cable repair man was at the house for three
hours?


Which means my day looked like this:

When I was a kid, I felt like the world
revolved around me – in a completely non-egotistical way.
Life simply seemed to be filled with rooms full of people who
became animated when I walked in, and shut down when I left. The
whole Life Story thing was, to me, supremely interesting, and I
felt like everyone else existed to be supporting characters in my
movie.


I couldn’t have put this into words, of course; it was
something that I simply felt – a sense of being the center of
the universe. And I don’t think I felt like I deserved it or
was incredibly special or chosen for this great event as much as I
felt like it’s simply the way it was. From my point of view
– which, admittedly, was clearly biased – everything
was important as to how it related to me, or affected me. If I had
to put a title to points of my life, they’d be such things as
“Jennifer Goes to Camp” or “A Young
Ballerina” or perhaps, in an after-school special sort of
thing, “Jennifer: An Angry Teen”.


Even as I got older and realized it wasn’t so, I still felt
like I was penning a very cool story as I went about my daily life.
My travels, my shows, my life felt interesting to me, a story that
still (surprise surprise) revolved around me and, later on, my
husband – as a co-star. Though I still got first billing. I
felt like a real-life Seinfeld, or Raymond, or Dick Van Dyke, or
Mary Tyler Moore. I’m not saying I thought I was God’s
gift to anything – just felt like the story revolved around
me. In an appropriate way.


And then I had kids.

In a study just released a few days ago
that many people in the medical community are calling a "complete
game changer" on how they deal with autism, environmental influence
was found to play a much higher role in causing autism than has
ever been thought.


The study found that about 38% of autism risk comes from genetics -
with environmental factors accounting for an astonishing 63%. The
New York Times, as well as many other national papers, published
href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/05/health/research/05autism.html?_r=2&emc=eta1"
target="_blank">articles that have rocked many people's
worlds. The medical community will be absorbing this impact for
years, and the study will result, many experts feel, in a complete
paradigm shift in how people look at - and strive to prevent -
autism.


And if that's not enough, href="http://www.environmentalhealthnews.org/ehs/newscience/prenatal-vitamins-lowers-autism-risk"
target="_blank">another study just recently released shows
that taking a prenatal vitamin at the time of conception cuts the
risk of autism in HALF. Half. Talk about big numbers.


I encourage you to take some time and href="http://healthychild.org/blog/comments/new_research_links_autism_environment/"
target="_blank">read the articles - it's big stuff
happening right now.

Don’t have time to talk today
– we’re shoe-horning ourselves in the car and hitting
the road for a cross-country trip at 4 a.m. Saturday morning. Yes,
that’s for ANNO DOMINI, or a.m., or in the morning. Call us
ambitious, call us organized, call us cheap – we’re
getting in the car and not stopping until we seen some white dang
sand.


Do I have lots of excellent tips on preparing for road trips with
your kids? You betcha. Do I have lots of sagacious words of wisdom
on how to pack light, and travel organized? Absolutely. But I
don’t have time to share – I’m too busy
over-packing and ignoring all my own advice, cramming the car with
absolutely every stupid Ariel doll and crossword puzzle book I can
think of in a desperate effort to stave off the inevitable
meltdown. And the question isn’t IF, but WHEN the meltdown
will occur.


Who has money on Louisiana?


So yes, we’re off for a blissful week at the beach on
Saturday. Which means don’t expect to hear much from me for
the next seven days: I’m too busy soaking up my kids.


And preparing to cram it all back in the car next Saturday to come
home.

I have a standing Wednesday morning pool
play date with a group of neighborhood church friends; last
Wednesday I took Maddie while Cora was in ballet camp, and
yesterday I told Cora I’d take her while Maddie studied Swan
Lake. “Shall we have some just-Mommy-and-Cora time?” I
asked Cora, hoping she wouldn’t miss Maddie at the pool too
much. Cora nodded happily, and we packed up our gear and headed
out, me looking forward to seeing my friends and having a chance to
re-connect.


Cora and I got there early and spent a good half-hour in the pool
all by ourselves. We swam and laughed and giggled and had splashing
contests, having a fantastic time in our own private pool. As our
friends started showing up the pool began to fill, and within
twenty minutes Cora was surrounded by almost a dozen of her church
friends.

Air-conditioning: fixed.


Cat: calmly resting. And no, that's not a euphemism. She's still
here.


Chiggers: Driving me up the $#@#$ wall.


But two out of three ain't bad. And it could be worse: one of my
friends from our Saturday creek walk has chiggers AND poison ivy.


Though as soon as I hear the words "poison ivy" I imagine more
itchy spots sprouting up on me. Lord, deliver me from my itchies.
And thanks for fixing our air-conditioning.

Our house seems to be a converging point
for several occurrences of bad luck these days, and I have to say I
feel like whining a bit.


First off, our cat’s having a tough time. Not Maddie’s
new kitten, but our 16-year-old, as-old-as-our-marriage cat. Her
teeth aren’t doing great, so we made an appointment for her
to go in and get them cleaned under anesthesia yesterday. Because
it’s general anesthesia, she wasn’t allowed any food or
drink the night before, so she spent the evening rather miserable.


And she was more miserable than she otherwise would have been,
because we came home from church Sunday to a stiflingly hot
upstairs. Yes, our upstairs air conditioner decided to go on
strike. On a Sunday. In June. In Texas.

While our side yard has been a veritable
nursery this year, with the caterpillar-cum-butterfly and the dove
nest, our larger neighborhood has caught baby fever as well; for
the past couple of weeks the yard in front of our neighborhood pool
has hosted a duck nest, replete with eggs and an anxious mama.


A few days ago, the eggs hatched, and the neighborhood’s been
a-flutter with kids and parents alike all trying to catch a glimpse
of the two babies. Alas, natural selection prevailed and one of the
babies was eaten by some animal larger than a duck, but so far the
second baby is hale and hearty.


And as of Friday morning, taking a nice swim in our neighborhood
pool.

Last night Maddie and I had a run-in, and
it wasn’t pretty. The episode occurred at the very end of the
night; it started with her usual prayer time and ended with sobbing
and crying.


The details of the stuff in the middle aren’t important;
suffice it to say that she’s had a hard time recently with me
telling her “no” – as in, I’ll tell her
“no” and she’ll try to argue or bargain down to a
lesser sentence – and I’ve warned her that if it
continues the consequences would be more severe. And last night, it
continued, and ended with me having to put several of her favorite
stuffed animals in her closet for the night.

I was busy doing something in the kitchen
yesterday when I noticed Cora looking stranded in the living room,
as if she were adrift and not quite sure where to land.


“Are you ok, Cora?” I asked.


Cora blinked, coming back to reality. “Yeah, I’m
fine.” And then she turned back to her unfocused look,
clearly working on solving some logistical puzzle in her head.

Maddie’s kitten is getting restless,
no longer content to be shut up in either Maddie’s room or
the bathroom. Our next step is to allow the kitten to roam free
upstairs, but we’ve got a couple obstacles. First, I can put
the baby gate across the top of the stairs, but she can climb it
effortlessly. Second, she is small enough that she can squeeze
through the banister rails and plummet to her death. Not so much an
option.


I’d just let her have the run of the whole house, but our
house is rather large and I’m afraid it’ll take her
some time to get the lay of the land and in the meantime forget
where her litter box is. I’m just not up for more
spot-cleaning of the rugs. Which means we needed to figure out how
to keep her upstairs.

Swim lessons just wrapped up last week,
but there’s no rest for the weary around here; yesterday
morning saw the start of Cora’s four-day ballet camp. How was
Cora going into it?


In a word, ecstatic.


We actually had Cora signed up for a ballet camp last summer
– she’d just turned three, the minimum age at which a
camp is offered at our ballet studio. Unfortunately, Cora was
apparently the only three-year-old interested in a week-long ballet
camp, and the class was canceled. Cora was devastated, and I ended
up doing a one-day ballet camp of our own at my theatre studio,
just for Cora and Maddie and a friend.


This year, though, Cora’s camp held together, and we received
confirmation of it last week. Cora’s been excited for weeks
and couldn’t wait to “move up” on the color
chart: three-year-olds wear pink in class, and Cora spent all last
year in pink every Tuesday. Now that she’s four, though, she
can wear light purple, and Cora’s had Maddie’s old
purple leotard and skirt ready to go for a long, long time. Sunday
night it was laid out very carefully and lovingly on her chair, and
I could see Cora shivering in anticipation as she went to bed.

We’ve just finished our annual
two-week swim class here at our house, and I have to say that for
the first time ever, Maddie really enjoyed it and is anxious for
more.


Maddie’s had a long love-hate relationship with swimming; she
loves the water and playing around in it, but spent her first few
years being incredibly fearful of putting her head under water. She
was so fearful that we had to do private lessons when she was
three, and by the end of that summer she was barely putting her
face in. Each year she grew a bit, and by the end of last summer
she was swimming underwater regularly – but still a bit
worried about jumping in or going where she couldn’t
touch.

Maddie’s got her first well-kitten
appointment today, and I’m not quite sure how she’s
going to handle it. She’s already asked if I can do it for
her, to which I firmly replied, “No!”


Not that she’s squeamish – I think she just
doesn’t want to watch her kitten get a shot, and then be mad,
and possibly link shots with Maddie in her feline mind.
Maddie’s done a great job staying on top of the
kitten’s litter box, exclaiming enthusiastically every time
the cat poops, then cleaning it up with no complaints. So I know
it’s not a soft stomach – just a soft heart.


Wish us luck – this should be interesting.

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.