The Go-To Girlfriend for New Mommies
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“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
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.
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