Mama days

2011 in 6 minutes

2012-01-21T17:11:00.001-05:00

I forgot to post our holiday video here.... I sent it out to our friends and family, and here it is for my online friends too. Enjoy!

Happy Holidays 2011 from cali lovett on Vimeo.

big changes afoot

2012-01-16T19:40:00.012-05:00

So. I've realized something. I've realized we have a situation here and that I created it. This was not by accident, not for lack of attention; I willingly created a breeding ground for lunatics in my home. Oops. They're not lunatics elsewhere, and everyone is surprised when I tell them they are here. In fact, I don't generally think of them as lunatics, which is why by role in all this escaped my attention.

On Sunday I went to Wegmans by myself at 3pm. If you have a Wegmans near you, you know what folly this was, though to my credit I at least did it without kids. It was a ZOO in there. As I was walking in, a dad and three kids were coming in at the same time. I had plenty of opportunity to study this family, as we weaved in and out of each other's aisles the rest of my visit. I took a good long look at these kids: the one in the cart probably 3 1/2 - Clark's age - and two on their feet, probably 5 and 7. Everyone was calm. The dad did not once have to rein them in, tell them to be quiet or calm down. They browsed the produce, discussed which color pears to buy, hung out. If I had been there with my kids, they would have been laughing, pulling at each other, making faces, getting wound up until I shushed and reminded about the Great Big Bribe at the end of the trip.

Thing is, Clark and Frances love each other so much, and they love to be together, to play together. I have friends with kids further apart in age (mine are 17 months for those of you who are just joining the regularly scheduled program) and their kids just don't really interact. They're not interested in creating pretend games together in the plastic car attached to the front of the cart. They don't laugh with each other. Generally, what they do is tolerate. But my kids think all time is playtime. Anytime they are together is the opportunity for play. Of course, eventually someone gets hurt, gets offended, whacks the other over the head. This I want to avoid, which is why I shush - before it happens.

But the shushing makes me crabby. Who wants to be the person telling everyone to calm down? Sometimes Frances looks at me with pure hate in her eyes. No wonder she feels that way; I'm constantly grouching at her.

We've allowed them to run wild in the house, did it on purpose. We have this great big rambling house and little furniture, and I've purposely not furnished it so the kids can have the space to tear around. When they were toddlers it made sense to me: it felt like a privilege that I could offer them unlimited exploration of their world. Now, however, they are bigger. They are louder. They are making me insane.

No wonder I always feel like I need a break from them.

So I just decided: no running in the house, no jumping on the furniture, no wrestling or carrying each other around (I don't know why this is a big activity), no climbing over the back of the couch, no no no screaming. I know plenty of people who have these rules in their house, and I have until now thought of those people as uptight and unfair. Ha! A lot I know.

The kids forget, of course, but they really are adapting pretty well to the new rules. Mitch thinks it will take them about 3 weeks to acclimate. Will see. I'm holding the line for sure. We have a bouncy house in the basement and they are willingly and quickly going down there when I tell them it's the only place they can play like that.

The most interesting thing to me are the side effects I didn't see coming. The kids are calmer overall. Usually I have to force them apart to calm them down, which is why we have strict alone play for at least an hour each day. But today they played for ages and didn't get exhausted, found ways to regroup and recharge in each other's space. They would be playing Mama and Baby, for example, and Frances would go to her room to fetch the plastic fruit or whatever, and she'd get distracted in her closet. Meanwhile Clark was distracted with his trains, and they played a little while alone before coming back (calmly!) together. This is radically different from, say, last week, when all their play consisted of shrieking and grabbing and chasing and having an uproariously good time until it wasn't anymore. You know where that story ends. With a grumpy mama.

Not only are they calmer in the house, but - surprise surprise! - I am a more patient parent! I don't watch the clock for Mitch to come home or the sitter to get here! I LIKE being near and with the kids! And here I thought maybe I simply wasn't cut out for this. Holy crow.

I do see the irony that I did this to myself.

That's okay. I'm going to undo this thing.

I'd forgotten how much children love discipline, how much they thrive when they understand the rules and the limits. I've known this before, but I'd forgotten.

Also, I've started using different language. We had a big long discussion about Community, being a part of a community and which ones we participate in - school, neighborhood, family etc - and what the community rules are. And how, since we are part of a community of family, we have to have some rules that take into account everyone in the community. I've also started to talk about Playtime. As in "now it is dinnertime, not playtime. Now it is time to get ready for school, not playtime." The rules make everything so much simpler. I just remind them of the rule (in my calm mom voice), rather than try to impose my own agenda (generally after becoming irritated), which I'm pretty sure is how they see any limitations without specific rules anyway, as the grownups' agendas.

And here I was trying to come up with schedules and routines and approaches and techniques when all I had to do was change the house rules. Funny when the answers are surprisingly simple.

Will keep you updated.

three and a half is LOUD

2012-01-10T21:53:00.000-05:00

I've decided my impatience is directly related pretty much solely to Clark's screaming. This is an interesting revelation.

The last Friday of vacation was a gem of a day. I was patient, the kids were in good moods, my offer of candy provided there were no fighting or screaming during the grocery run was highly successful. I also didn't feel any pressure to get anything done. No laundry, no cooking. No headache. I spent the time doing puzzles with them on the floor, or just lounging around. It was lovely.

At first I thought the big deal difference was that I felt great: no headache, no headache hangover from headache yesterday, no being tired from getting up the night before with the kids, good exercise (finally!) after being out with Terrible Illness. I'm a considerably (understatement) more patient person when there's no screaming. Plus, we got out of the house early, grocery shopping complete before a 10 a.m. playdate. AND Frances's playdate came with a mom - a playdate of my own! Interaction with actual adults! But it occurs to me now that perhaps the most relevant detail is simply that Clark wasn't screaming.

Ahhhhh, yes.

Yet today there was just so much. Sigh. Why must there be so much?

On another note: I think the babylust has passed. What a relief! A couple of things happened: 1) I held a sweet cuddly newborn (so warm!) and he smelled like spit up. It's different when it's your own's spit up, your own sour milk; 2) I found an old video of Frances and Clark. She was just barely three and he was 19 months. I've so longed to remember what they were like, had a kind of pain inside that I can't bring them up in my mind. And there they were! There in our driveway in early fall. Frances was riding her trike, her pigtails streaming out behind her. Clark was pushing around the orange Little Tykes car, ramming it into the garage and then shrieking because it wouldn't go. Actually, that part was particularly interesting to watch, since I see the same exact physical movements in him still. Frances was such a willing helpful sister, cheerfully hopping off her trike when I said, "Frances, can you help your brother pull the car out?" He didn't want her though. He wanted Mama. MamaMamaMama! And the video ended. It reminded me with sharp clarity how maddeningly boring toddlerhood can be. Fun, full of exuberance, but also quite tedious. Thank you, modern technology.

I find this part much more interesting. Also more daunting and complex... My friend Emily, whose kids are 4 1/2 and brand new, said the other day, "Should it really be this hard?" But it is. If you're paying attention, anyway. No offense to those who aren't paying attention, of course. Or those who bizarrely find parenting easy. Don't know what you're smoking in your pipe, but it ain't from the same plant as mine. Which is why I savor the easy days. The days when the light falls just so through the window, when there's no headache and no screaming.

funny kids

2012-01-07T13:34:00.000-05:00

guess what? what? chicken butt.
guess who? who? chicken poo.

hilarious.

not babies anymore

2012-01-06T13:52:00.001-05:00

Lately I've found myself in a bit of a muddle about the kids and their lack of babyness. They are not babies anymore, even the three and a half year old screamer. They are little children, and my job is a different one. Before, it was diapers and breastfeeding and pumping and bottles and diapers and pureed food and wiping faces and diapers and carrying and schlepping and rocking and soothing and diapers and general exhaustion. Now it's talking and cajoling and explaining and reprimanding and hurrying along and watching, watching, watching, listening listening listening. I understand why people say it's harder now; it's more complicated for sure, more complex and nuanced. Trying to explain why Frances can't have a no-clothes party takes a bit more wherewithal than simply keeping the baby from falling down the stairs.

I've had the baby itch. I assume it's born of nothing more than the fact that mine aren't babies any longer. Everyone who counts is 99% certain that there will be no more pregnancies in our house, so my internal response to the baby itch has been to lament the loss of the babyness of my present kids.

Maybe I should get a lap dog.

It occurred to me recently that instead of enjoying what they now are I've been wishing for what they were, and that's a silly thing to do. Because who they are now is a really wonderful joyful place to be. For example, I give you the picture of the day:

superholidaymom

2012-01-03T22:23:00.005-05:00

Holidays are a big thing in mom-land. They can really serve to be the measure of your success, in your own eyes I mean. (supermom pressure switch ON.) When they're holidays I like it works well for me. I craft and bake and decorate with the kids and see the fruits of my labor in plates on the counter and taped to the walls all over my house. But when it's a holiday I don't care about... Let's talk about New Years, shall we? This is a holiday that really doesn't mean anything to me. I don't believe in New Year's resolutions because if it were a real resolution you wouldn't have to wait for New Years to make it. I get the 'out with the old, in with the new' but that happens better in spring and, besides, it should be something you do with regularity, not once a year. Really, as I've experienced it, New Years is just a drinking excuse, as is 4th of July.

Then you have kids. And suddenly New Years becomes a Life Lesson and about the Nature of the Universe, the turning of the earth around the sun, the Passage of Time, and feel I guilty as shit if I don't somehow mark the occasion with the kids. I mean, what kind of slacko mom am I if I can't even buy a couple of hats and a noisemaker? I thought about making New Years hats with the kids - that would have gotten me off the crafting hook - but I didn't get it together in time. Since I was near death just before Christmas and we never got to bake christmas cookies, I thought we could make New Year's cookies. But we didn't. We did have a family movie night, all snuggling under the same blanket on the couch, which was nice. Then the next morning, Jan 1st, Mitch wished Frances a Happy New Year, and Frances said she was so glad it was New Year's Day because we get to blow the blowers that night. Luckily the NYC ball drop is on youtube, about 8 minutes long. We hyped it up and after dinner we set the kids up with noisemakers my friend Holly generously passed on from the night before. Two minutes into the video we discovered (from the mouth of Carson Daly) that we were watching New Years 2010. (We also watched London's, and I gotta say - NY has nothin on London 2010. Crazy amazing fireworks! I advise you to check it out here.)

I think next year we're celebrating the turn of the new year on Greenwich meridian time, which is 7pm here in cold Upstate. We can light some candles and say something about the past year and about the one to come. Intention. And I don't even have to set up crafts.

For now we're done with the crunch of holiday pressure. Starting with Frances's september birthday, I'm pretty much on Holiday Duty from mid september through new years. We moms all have a little breather til Valentines. Frances has already decided how we're celebrating that one: she wants to have a Valentine tea party with pink food. Jello is the exciting food of the moment. Sounds good to me!

I've got a screamer

2011-12-16T15:40:00.000-05:00

Oh the screaming. Clark is three and a half, and boy is he a screamer. He's always been a screamer, but I thought somehow he'd grow out of it once he could form a complete sentence that accurately described his desires. But no. Instead of saying, "Sissy, could I play with that when you're done?" he just screams. And when the gum I have is the wrong shape, boy howdy. It's not infrequently that I careen from the grocery with one hand on the cart and one hand on him just to keep him from vaulting out, his piercing scream the 5 alarm kind. People flinch away from me, or start in surprise, or stare unabashedly, or shake their head, or sometimes smile in pity and sympathy. Yesterday he continued screaming well after I'd gotten him restrained in his seat, and still on while I stood outside the car in the freezing wind and snow while I answered my phone, since I wouldn't be able to hear anything from inside the car.

They're not tantrums, just extremely loud wordless complaints. When they go on and on they certainly qualify as fits, but he never loses control. No it's all very intentional.

I just keep waiting for this stage to pass. It will, won't it?

At the same time, when he's not screaming he's unbearably cute. And I'm aware that both are going to go at once. His baby three-year-old cuteness is just the flip side to eardrum shattering complaint. It's a terrible dichotomy.

quiet time parenting success! and the holidays

2011-12-10T15:09:00.000-05:00

Yay me! A couple of weeks ago I bought Frances a big round old school $3.99 Target clock with numbers and hands in bright yellow (so sunny!). The next day I told her to play in her room and watch the clock, and when the big hand came all the way around to the 12, she could come out. I put public radio on low (which here is excellent musical programming during the day) and left her to herself. One time when I came in she was humming and dressing some polly pockets, and she didn't even speak to me though she smiled (so engrossed...), and the 2nd time I checked on her the room was spotless and she was sitting in her chair listening to the music and watching the clock. "It's on the 11, Mom!" she said. All very exciting stuff, these clock hands. I didn't foresee a clean room as one of the perks, and I'll take it.

Meanwhile, Clark listened to a book on tape, then I set him up with a Christmas ISpy. I read a couple of pages to him and helped him find the objects, then he was off and running on his own, and I was free to straighten up the house. After that he just moved around me while I did my work and he did his.

A couple of days after our phenomenal success we left for NC for a lovely 5 day family visit. I'm now in the throws of having to implement this whole thing again now that we're home, travel always interrupting any possible routines.

It's not long before we leave again - this time for Florida and my in-laws - and I've been feeling enormous pressure to make christmas cookies and ornaments and gingerbread houses. I'm mighty glad I got the (silver! aqua!) trees up before we left. The kids, of course, decorated the bottom halves of the trees and the ornaments are clustered in twos and threes, which is a lovely look, turns out.

Aaaaand now I have pneumonia, plus Mitch is going to be out of town all next week, both of which mean I'm letting go of my ambitions for cookies and ornaments and gingerbread houses. Only so much one sick human can do, and now what I can do is lie on the couch and play knights with little playmobil folks while closing my eyes.

In other news: the botox is working this time. Headaches be gone! And the snow is coming, some of it already swirling around in the air, father winter on his way. Can't wait!

parenting with headaches

2011-11-28T23:15:00.001-05:00

It's 4 pm and I'm on my own for dinner and bedtime tonight. I had plans to go out with the kids this afternoon - Clark needs socks and Old Navy seemed a fun adventure - but then my friend and neighborly headache appeared and plans changed. Now we're going to spend the whole afternoon at home! Yay for a low key afternoon! Granola bars and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows! Hype it up as much as you can!

This minute I'm sitting on the couch with the kids watching Gnomio and Juliette, bemoaning my fate and blaming my headaches. Seriously. I would be a much more enjoyable human being to be around if there weren't hot nails behind my eyes. My poor kids. Oh well. This is simply their fate, their story; to have a mother who suffers from headaches. I've been having them every afternoon / evening for what feels like weeks running. No idea why. The botox didn't take as fully this time, no idea why about that either. Even back on my old diet, and still they linger.

Frances has been off today, from the moment she woke up. Everything's upsetting her to the point of tears. I was telling my friend H about it earlier, then later in the conversation I happened to mention Frances has her 5 year molars coming in, and it wasn't until I said it then that the connection occurred to me. Gave the girl some tylenol and - ta da ! - much better. Pain is an amazing mood killer.

I beat myself up a lot about my inability to be a sane human during bedtime. Yesterday (and maybe even earlier this morning) I had this fantasy about doing bedtime by myself all 3 nights Mitch is out of town, but at this moment (and not even dinnertime!) it's clear to me that is simply silly, an unwise discounting of my limitations. Limitations are bullies, you know; it's best to respect them.

Next botox treatment in a couple of days. Counting the hours. I wonder what kind of parent I'd be without them, and I wish I'd stop wondering that. They are what they are; I am who I am; my children will weather this too.

thanksgiving report

2011-11-27T09:31:00.001-05:00

Wellll, being with only us on Thanksgiving turns out to feel a bit lonely. It was lovely though, and the food was fabulous (though it did feel a bit wrong to simply spoon the food into serving dishes to warm in the oven). Indeed we dined by candlelight, and spent the rest of the evening that way too, playing charades (which is really a game of "which animal am I?") and taking a walk in the dark with our lanterns.

The funniest thing to me about it was that I was dead asleep by 8pm. I guess electric light really does mess with our circadian rhythms.

And onto the next holiday! Today our silver tinsel tree may go up. Yay!

a just us thanksgiving

2011-11-25T21:42:00.001-05:00

Wrote this yesterday afternoon. Follow up forthcoming.

For Thanksgiving this year we are not traveling, nor is anyone coming to us. This means a quiet meal, just two adults and two kids. I didn't think I wanted to cook a big meal for just us, so we ordered our dinner from the fabulous and incomparable Wegmans. I'm getting ready to go pick it up now.

I do sort of wish I were making simple things like the mashed potatoes or stuffing, so the kids could help and see the progress as the food goes from raw material to piping hot casserole dish. Oh well. Next year.

I put up a tree on the wall of the living room and the kids and I watercolored some paper, then cut leaf shapes out of the paper. We've written things we're thankful for on the leaves and stuck them to the tree with a little glue stick. So far Frances is thankful for Mama, Daddy, Clark ("because he's my brother so I'm not alone"), her stuffed kitty Tootsie, our real cat, our real dog, Thanksgiving, Christmas, her camera, balloons, the weather (I asked if she was thankful for specific weather - sun or rain or snow for instance - and she said no, just all weather), clothes, her room, our home.

Clark, however, is thankful for only a few things: Mama, superheros, supervillans, and pillowfights. We've been doing 2 leaves a day and after the first two days he could only say he's thankful for Mama and superheros. Not even Daddy, even when I suggested it. I didn't repeat leaves but if I had, we'd have lots that say Mama and superheros.

But the big way we're taking note of the holiday is to be electric lightless. When it gets dark today (which it does about 4pm), we're not going to turn on any lights. I'll plant candles in all the rooms so we can light them when we go in. Dinner by candlelight. I hope it will be lovely.

aaaand onto the next thing

2011-11-14T16:45:00.001-05:00

Things are changing around here. Clark decided he was missing too much possibly exciting activity when he was napping, and though he loved his naps greatly, he has given them up. We are in transition, that amorphous space between this routine and that one, and in fact we don't know yet what shape that one is going to take. That's okay; working on it, waiting patiently.

By patiently I mean I've pretty much given up cooking and doing laundry in order to spend all my time with or near the kids. When they played outside today in the driveway I rearranged the garage, and when they moved to the back of our yard I abandoned my garage project and took up raking near them.

I am trying to establish the best routine for us. The key seems to be the balance of big activity to quiet, high energy to low, as well as the quantity of group time vs individual time. I'm hanging out near them in order to feel out when they need more, when they need less, and when we should go inside for story time before Clark swings a baseball bat at Frances because she won't stop mimicking him. I believe fully in my investment now and the benefits it will reap later. When Frances was first having quiet time, I committed myself to her for a couple of weeks, teaching her how to play quietly. Now she can do it - and in fact longs to do it - all by herself, and I'm completely free to cook dinner and facebook. I wonder how long I'll have to commit this time?

The kids don't have to be alone for individual time, they just have to be spending the time inward. Today, for example, while Clark was spinning on the driveway with his beanie kitty tied to a long piece of rainbow yarn, Frances was pushing her baby around the yard in the stroller, singing to her and showing her the dead flowers in the flowerbeds. The kids were within 15 feet of each other for ages, but didn't interact. The key with it is figuring out how to keep them in this alone play space for enough time to recharge, rather than turning from their own play to engage the other in who-can-say-the-funniest-poop-phrase, a favorite game around here.

Today as I worked near them, I was really on my game. Frances had moved from the dead flowers to the path through the brush at the back of our yard - we call it the enchanted forest - and found a tree branch where her baby could nap. When Clark was sufficiently dizzy he wandered to the back of the yard where he put his kitty in the now empty stroller. Frances got all bent out of shape about the stroller, so I suggested the baby would probably really like to sit in the sling, be close to her mama. Frances disappeared into the house for a long time; no idea what she was doing in there, but since she was having alone play I didn't care. When she came back she was carrying the baby in the sling and feeding her a bottle. At snack the baby sat in the doll highchair and I brought her own food on a tiny tea set plate. Frances informed me it was the baby's birthday, so we made cake out of graham crackers, peanut butter, and marshmallows, with cream cheese frosting. She had two candles and we lit them and sang. It was lovely.

controlfreaky

2011-11-07T21:03:00.001-05:00

We're having control issues around here, particularly that Frances would like all of it. The other day as she hollered in frustration, I asked her, "What is it you want?" With a wail of deep sorrow and tears dropping into her lap she said, "I want to be in charge!" That's about all if it, from what I can tell.

I've been perplexed for a while, because she'll ask for something - like a smoothie when we're leaving the gym - and I'll pause and think and say okay, but then as she sucks down her smoothie she asks for gummies, and cookies, and a trip to the toy store, and on and on. When I say no pitches a fit and acts like she never ever gets anything she wants. I stop and point out to her that she did indeed get just the thing she asked for and why is she so upset?

Conversely, when Clark asks for something like gum in the grocery and I say okay, he thinks it's the best thing ever. It improves his mood immediately, and he hangs onto it well after we've left the store, chirping from the backseat, "I just love my gum, Mama."

The tiniest thing will placate him. A dollar pack of army men, a 50 cent gumball toy. If I say yes to her to the 50 cent gumball toy, then she wants two of them. She wants that and candy too. She wants chocolate milk and why why why can't she have M&Ms?

Control.

On one hand, I don't want her to feel powerless, could try to contrive some situation in which she makes all the decisions. On the other hand, she's never ever actually going to be in control (oh the fools children are about adulthood!), and the sooner she learns this morsel about life, the easier it will be.

I do sympathize with her. Control would be lovely.

the older sister always knows the games

2011-11-04T14:13:00.000-04:00

The other day Clark had his very first playdate without a parent- his friend Cole from school - a very exciting thing. Frances has, on average, 2 playdates a week, and has for about a year, but she did not have one the day of Clark's. On the way home from school she wailed, it's not fair it's not fair! My. The drama.

When Cole got here Frances was immediately upon them. Cole you stand here, and Clark you stand here, and this is what we're going to do. After a few minutes I called her into the kitchen to help me make sandwiches. "But Mommy, they NEED me," she said. "What do they need you for?" I asked. "They need me because I know all the games and they don't," she said. "You don't think they can think of things to play on their own?" I said. "NO! Okay, I'll help with the sandwiches, but I'll listen for them and if they call me or if they get hurt or if they argue, I'll go to them."

I wish I could include inflection here in the retelling.

The next day I asked Clark about it, asked if he would have liked to play with Cole more by himself, and he said no. "I like Sissy there," he said. "It's like a playdate with her." Yes, yes it is.

sweet siblings

2011-10-28T07:49:00.000-04:00

I'm having some computer issues that have made it impossible to download photos onto the existing array of computers in this house. BUT! Yesterday a new harddrive arrived in the mail, and as soon as it's set up I will be on my way. And I will first thing post a picture of Frances with her new purse.

Yes, Frances got a denim across-the-body purse for her birthday that she carries everywhere. In it is: her camera (kids, also for her birthday), cell phone (old one of mine for which we still have the charger, so it "works" though when you call somewhere you get an out of service message, double bonus!), nail file, and chapstick. All of which is so cute of its own accord. Clark is allowed to touch none of it, as you can imagine. Then, the other morning I let Clark get to me with his 3-year-old demands and shrieking, and I yelled at him. While he cried Frances dumped everything in her purse onto the family room floor and said, "You can play with this stuff, Clark."

They both do this, take care of each other emotionally. A couple of weeks ago Frances demanded GUM! GUM! UHUH UUUUHHH!!! not so politely (tired? overstimulated? five?). Her dad and I said we would love to get her some if she could ask a bit more nicely, but she couldn't. She had herself in some emotional spot that she just could not see her way out of. After a few minutes Clark came to the kitchen and said, "Daddy, may Sissy have some gum please?" in the sweetest most charming voice ever. It is so interesting to me that he recognized that Frances couldn't do it herself, that she was unable to get it together, so he did it for her. Sweetness.

napless

2011-10-25T15:05:00.004-04:00

Clark seems to think it's time to give up his nap. He's 3 and a half, and perhaps it is indeed time. I've looked forward to this on one hand because having to come home for a nap does tie us down; if there were no napping kids we could stay out and run errands or go play, whatever. But there's a snag, I'm finding - besides the general one, which is that the newly-not-napping kid is still tired as hell and hollering in exhausted frustration because his gum is the wrong flavor. The snag is how to do downtime.

Frances needs downtime. She would go and go and go all day if I let her, and then she would fall to pieces. I believe in, as Waldorf philosophy says, letting the day breathe. In breath, out breath. Outward activity, inward quiet. Then again. During Clark's nap she has developed some space for herself which works well; she quietly sings while she draws (the most common) or sets up a carnival in her room or dresses herself for her doll's tea party. It's amazing and wonderful to watch. When Clark wakes up she comes out of her inward time and they run off with hysterical laughter to play.

Clark knows nothing about downtime. Whenever they are both awake they are together, playing. Vigorously. I haven't figured out yet how to enforce some down time for both at once. I could send them each to their rooms to play, but right now there aren't any toys in Clark's room. (An easy thing to rectify.) Yesterday I had them lie with me on the bed and I read a thousand books until Clark actually fell asleep. Today I thought myself quite brilliant and turned on a CD story that is this minute working well while I write this blog post.

I'm feeling at a loss for what kind of activity he could do, as he usually doesn't play by himself. A few minutes ago the story ended and I gave him some lacing cards. Which he seemed interested in for about 40 seconds until he discovered he could hang onto the lace and throw the board and it would kind of glide like a frisbee. "Look Mama it's a surf board!"

Maybe I should get a table for his trains. I'm open to suggestions here! Maybe raw materials for building? Like rope and silks and boxes? Do I just need StarWars legos instead of plain??? Help!

(As I write this I'm realizing: I'm probably going to have to participate in his quiet time for a while. I did that with Frances. I drew with her, or did drawing games with her, until she enjoyed doing it on her own. (My favorite is when Frances and I take turns adding to a picture until it's a full scene.) Clark doesn't like drawing and crafts, but I could come up with something to build and do it with him to get him going. The problem I was having was trying to come up with an activity that doesn't include me so I can get other things done during that time. But that thinking is backward. For a bit I'm going to have to give up my time in order to teach him how to have quiet time. Yes yes yes. Tomorrow I will begin.)

solo time

2011-10-18T22:00:00.001-04:00

Sunday morning we went to the Memorial Art Gallery because there's a show coming up called Extreme Materials which uses odd or everyday objects to make the art, and one of the installations was going in that morning. I thought the kids would find it cool to see one as it went up. And it was - made of plastic chinese restaurant spoons. Turns out the gallery is an excellent place to be with kids first thing on a Sunday morning. Since we were the only people in the building that didn't work there we wandered around and found our way to organ music upstairs. There was a man in a big hall playing, no one around, and we listened for a bit. Clark put his hands over his ears and said, too loud let's go, but Frances wanted to stay. After a while we went up beside the organ and waited for the organist to pause, and we said hello. He said if we liked it we should come back later for the concert. Frances wanted to.

Clark stayed with his dad while Frances and I went alone to the concert after dinner. She was the only child in the room, and I wondered, when she got squirrelly, if folks around questioned my wisdom in bringing a five year old to an organ concert. But I didn't bring her; she brought me. She sat through an entire hour, which was more than I expected. Some of that time was spent trying to get up the nerve to move from the end of the 3rd row where we were, up to the open seats in the front row. She finally did it, then spent a good bit of the time up there turning and studying the people behind her, goading them to smile at her. Luckily the performer in an organ concert is not facing the audience, a thing I'd never considered one way or the other before. We did spend the last song in the gallery studying the inclusion of genitalia in the 16th century pietas, about which she had lots of questions.

Afterward we went to tell the organist how much we enjoyed it, and he lifted her onto the bench and let her play some sounds. When we left the building it was pouring rain and dark, so we held hands and ran in the rain to the car which was all the way around the other side of the gallery. She thought that was great. AND on the way home when we stopped at the grocery, the cute checkout girl asked Frances if she wanted to scan the bread and bag it.

Back in the car Frances said, "This was the best night ever."

in the garage

2011-10-14T21:35:00.001-04:00

I am this minute squeezed into a cushioned kids chair in the garage in the dark with the computer on my lap. I can't turn the lights on because the kids might see me from inside the house, and they think I'm at the grocery or walking the dog but probably not sitting in the garage with a bottle of wine. In fact, I am listening to some impressive music while on hold with applecare. (Who picks their playlist? Sometimes Apple marketing astounds me.) I've spent many an hour recently entertained by their playlist while on hold with applecare. Generally I'm holding while the good spirited front line fella named Jake talks with someone in the back who knows which end is up. Not that Jake doesn't. Just somehow I've dug myself into a digital hole from which only experts can save me.

We had swim lessons tonight, which end later than the kids should be in their pjs, and Mitch is at a work dinner. Sometimes I pressure myself about doing it alone - feel that if I'm a good mom I should be able to put them to bed by myself forcryingoutloud, but other times I'm pretty clear about acknowledging my limitations. Given Clark's incessant screaming and general volatility, my limitations these days come sooner than they have other times. Good Enough Mommy, right? So tonight I have a sitter just for bathing them and putting them to bed. It's someone they love, and whom they haven't seen for a while. Everyone was happy when I lugged my electronics out here.

You may be pleased to know that as long as I don't die from a spider bite I might soon have pictures on a computer again. I have pictures, but I can't get them off the camera. So many I've wanted to post here recently! I have faith in this round of computer support. Maybe it's the wine.

A few minutes ago I nearly killed myself tripping over a trike while unplugging the computer from the wall as requested by Applecare Jake. Besides that, and the spiders, it's rather nice out here. I can hear the rain and smell the sawdust left by the guys who've been working on our house. I can also hear my son screaming absolute bloody murder in the upstairs bathroom. My guess is it's about getting out of the bath, though really, it could be about anything. It's hard to be three. Poor Sitter Liz, but she's a capable human and besides, it's good for Clark to have to receive comfort (and reactions) from people who are not Mommy.

Sometimes Mommy needs a break. I'm pretty sure I would not have believed you if prekids you'd told me that a satisfying break would involve sitting in my dark garage in a kids' chair drinking wine and listening to music akin to The Shins while on applecare hold. Ah, the poetic twists our lives take. I hope Clark doesn't scare away Liz. She's a great sitter, and she folds laundry and does dishes. What more?

job description, again

2011-10-12T10:46:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking lately about my 'job'. It used to be changing diapers and spooning runny food into mouths and nursing and changing diapers and making sure no one choked on the legos, but now it's different. There are times when it seems amorphous to me, when I can't get a handle on it exactly. And then there are other times. Like a couple of nights ago when Clark didn't want to go to sleep. He'd already been read to and sung to and had someone lie down with him and sung to again by multiple people (including my mom, who was visiting), but still he was not asleep. I met him halfway down the stairs and told him he needed to be in bed, and he asked what we grownups were doing downstairs. We were spending grown up time together, I said. "Are you sitting down?" Yes, we were sitting. "I want to sit with you, Mama. Can I pweeeeeesssseee?" Oh my. We were, in fact, watching Dancing with the Stars, which Clark loves. I told him he could come down for two dances, then it was back to bed.

Of course, when it was time to go back to bed Clark was not ready. By now it was an hour and a half past his bedtime, and I was done with negotiations. It was time. So I carried him upstairs shrieking hysterically and I put him in his bed. He climbed out and stood next to the bed. I picked him up and put him back in. He rolled out and stood. I put him back in. He rolled out. Again and again. Every time he rolled out he screamed NO I WON'T and he kept trying to push my anger button. There was a moment when I thought about getting angry, but decided against it. I thought two things: 1) good thing I didn't go to the gym because I'm now getting a great arm and back workout picking him up over and over, and 2) what else do I have to do? I mean, it would have been nice to go downstairs and hang with my mom, especially since it was her last night. But what struck me is that this is my job. This. Standing patiently, putting him back in his bed over and over, however long it takes. I don't have anywhere else to be, anything else to do. I did need to move the laundry to the dryer in the basement, but that could wait. In fact, it all could wait for this.

I thought the same thing last week when Frances had a screaming fit while I was cooking dinner. The end of it found her standing on the stove sobbing down! down!. I lifted her off the stove and she crumpled in my arms, and I just sat with her on my lap, as long as she needed. We could always eat tuna fish and crackers if I didn't finish cooking.

Over and over I learn this same lesson. I don't know why I forget. I slide into thinking that keeping the house is my job, or having things run on schedule, or organizing unruly and amazing amounts of clothes (a feat all its very own): goodwill, pass to friend, next season, too big. And while those certainly are my responsibilities, they are not primary. Simply being with the kids when they truly need me and my attention: that is my job.

Back to Clark, in case you're wondering how that turned out: after a while I started to count how many times I put him back in his bed. My guess is we'd gone about 15 rounds when I started counting, and I got to 32 (he was rolling out much more slowly each time by then though the screaming was just as lively). I was wondering how it would look when he finally gave up, then Mitch came to relieve me. Glad I've been lifting weights these days.

the Overview Post

2011-10-05T16:07:00.001-04:00

I do believe this is the longest stretch between posts since I started the blog. It's been a steady stream of off-kilterness since my birthday: school started for one kid (week 1 september); school started for the other kid (week 2 september); Frances had a multi-leg birthday celebration culminating with a fairy party (photos to come) and a ceiling high stack of gifts; a crew of fellas showed up to work on the house (woodworking guys, stucco guys, painters, their stuff so packed into my garage that my car hasn't been in there for two weeks); grandparents visited; I left Mitch with the kids and spent 4 days in NYC w/ my bestfriend; and I'm sure I'm forgetting something. (Didja hear that? It's true! I left Mitch with the kids and went to NYC all alone on an airplane! Good looking famous people sat one table over at lunch in a charming Village restaurant! I slept til 8 am two days in a row! Excellent times abound!)

It's perhaps because of all the BBETRA (Back to Back Events That Require Adjustment) that Clark is the creature he currently is. Or perhaps because what he is, is a 3-year-old. It appears that I'd forgotten what 3 looks like, though it was only 2 years ago that I had the joy of visiting this stage in FrancesWorld. In case you don't know or don't remember, three is not pretty. This mama blogger says it pretty well (in her recent post "Rule of Three" which for some reason I can't link to directly), and it wasn't actually until I read this post that I realized this was perhaps a stage. STAGES ARE A PAIN IN THE ASS. He's pushing every button I've got and I just keep up the mantra: itsonlyastage itsonlyastage itsonlyastage.

Again - this pattern being pointed out to me by my friend Andrea - when one child is particularly difficult, the other turns into the sweetest lilting tune you've ever heard. They trade. It's always a little bit of a disappointment when Frances throws her fits during Clark's naps: because he's not there to witness them he doesn't know to take on the Fabulous Offspring role when he wakes.

What else? (Since I've been having a bit of trouble coming to the blog at all, I'm not going to be too ambitious with this post. As the title notes, this is an Overview Post, a summary of this corner of the world, no groundshaking observations. Hopefully it will warm me up so I can return with more heft before long.)

I have all these wrinkled folded up pieces of paper in my purse covered with hand written blog posts. I think that's how they're going to have to stay: in that archival form of putting hand to paper. It is a nice sensory exercise.

Went to the top of the Empire State because I hadn't been up there in decades. I recommend it. It was night, and dark, and bright lights, and we saw a whole full size firework show over by the Statue of Liberty, the bright blooms of sparks so tiny from up where we were.

Clark requests a new song, Mommy every single night, so I've been going back through my music to remember songs I mostly know by heart and to learn the lyrics to ones I know less. It's turned into a part time job all its own.

Bought some Frye boots in NYC that bring me irrational happiness.

That's about all, folks. Watching while the seasons change.

40.

2011-09-04T21:41:00.001-04:00

I'll be 40 on Tuesday. I've been thinking a lot about 40, as might be expected. And I've been thinking about babies, specifically a new one of my own. Oh, babies (new, little, soft ones) are so sweet! And being pregnant - mmmmm. I just loved it, feeling this creature moving inside me of its own accord; a completely raw experience of the mystery of life. Oh, and the nursing. I love nursing a tiny baby, the ability to offer sustenance and comfort, to be able to keep alive another human with only my own body. Okay okay, enough of that. I'm aware that this picture in my head conveniently forgets the other side effects of pregnancy (which I will let go unnamed here), plus mastitis, engorgement, irritation that I alone am in possession of the only source of complete comfort, and the accompanying feeling of strangulation and tetheredness. I've been reading over some old posts. They do a lot to help with this visual.

Besides, lately I've been remembering a time when, lying in bed at night with Mitch, we mused that one day we would be able to sleep in. The kids would get up and play or turn on the tv or whatever, and they wouldn't need a pair of eyes on them to make sure they didn't accidentally kill themselves. It was sort of a shock for me to discover that that day has arrived. Actually, it snuck in, slithered up quietly, and now we're here, no idea when that happened. Needless to say, having another would return the train to the beginning of the track.

This is the way it occurs to me now: my 20s were rather a train wreck, my 30s were recovery, and my 40s are all mine. When I thought of it this way, I realized that I am indeed done having little babies.

I am 40.

AND! If that weren't enough evidence, my son wore his last diaper on the day of my (surprise) birthday party. I smell a little symbolism here. We've had someone in diapers, you know, since September of 2006; a good chunk of that time I had two someones in diapers.) I told him at the grocery store as I put the diapers in the cart, "Clark, these are the last diapers we will buy. After these are gone, there are no more diapers; only big boy underwear." He was down with that. Told his dad that night about the diapers and what happens after. The last diaper just happened to fall on the day of my party. And Clark very willingly sat on the potty and then put on his (fabulous exciting Diego) underpants. That was yesterday. We've only had a few accidents and many successes.

I can take the changing table out of his room. We're done with diapers.

Wow.

I put the cloth ones on Ebay this week, most auctions to end tomorrow.

Done with diapers! And I'm 40.

we welcome all comments here!

2011-08-30T21:05:00.000-04:00

Last week I got what might be my favorite comment ever. It was in response to this post. I've been thinking about it some and thought you'd appreciate seeing it. Here's the comment:

wow...to call your little baby a "little fucker" ?? you should be ASHAMED of yourself for even thinking that, let alone posting that on the internet. some of these posts are pathetic. grow up. if you can't handle kids, you shouldn't be a mother. i know plenty of single working moms who don't bitch and moan about how hard their lives are and they don't have the luxury of being a stay at home mom while their husband provides everything. you need to get your priorities straight, and think a little more about your children, and the good things you do have in life. you may have been an only child and gotten your way all the time, but it's time to stop being the drama queen and focus on your children, white trash mama.

Well! Let's take a look at this, shall we? I like particularly that she tells me I should be ASHAMED for even thinking those thoughts. Sigh. This is exactly the public's attitude I talk about all the time. This is the reason I started the blog in the first place (you can read more about that here). I believe it's the main contributor postpartum depression and anxiety, because we are taught that in order to be good mothers, we can never have a negative thought about our children. Yet all worthwhile relationships in this world are complex. They have multiple sides, attitudes, feelings; both positive and negative. To think otherwise is to ignore reality.

After all, we feel what we feel. Ignoring our feelings - or even worse - being ashamed of them, only bottles everything up and creates a big mess. In order to move past these feelings to the other ones, the ones in joy, we have to acknowledge the hard ones, respect their power, see what they have to teach us, then let them go.

It's true that plenty of single working mothers don't bitch and moan as much as I do. There are plenty of stay-at-home ones that don't either. I'll be the first to admit that I do more moaning than is ever necessary, and my navel gazing does indeed reach irrational proportions. She got me on that one. I even admit my over-complaining in this post.

At the same time, this blog is about the trials of being a mom (as it says right in the subtitle up on the banner), particularly a stay at home mom, and I'm willing to bet that any working single mother would have plenty to bitch about were she to write her own blog. There are other blogs that celebrate momdom rather than bitch about it, and they are great. They, in fact, provide me with a lot of inspiration in my daily life. I choose not to write about those moments, however, and I talk about why in this post. All in all, I find writing about the struggles cathartic. Sometimes it helps me regain my sense of humor, even if it doesn't always come across on the page.

As for how I should "think a little more about my children," I don't even know how to respond to that. My concern for my children, and how to wade through these young child years gracefully while also giving them every opportunity and support, and indeed sheltering them from my negative feelings, is my prime motivator in writing. Maybe this was the only post she actually read from the blog.

AND I'd like to point out that she left her comment anonymously. I mean, really. If you're going to land that kind of trip on someone else, you should at least own up to it, doncha think?

Now that I think about it, maybe she doesn't have kids. If I had to take a guess, she's pregnant, is dreamily looking forward to the moment she first lays eyes on her beautiful baby, at which time all the pieces of her life will come together in a magical fusion that leaves her complete. She's trolling the internet for information about being a mom, and my post's proposition - the idea that she might have negative feelings about her sweet baby - threatens her sense of self and maybe even the steadiness of the world. Well, all I can say is bless her heart, and she'll find out when the time comes.

vacation caboose

2011-08-27T07:21:00.000-04:00

(So I just found this post I wrote over 2 weeks ago, before we got back to Rochester. Meant to post it before, clearly, but I thought I'd go ahead and post it now because maybe it sheds some light on the Frances-attitude-situation. Plus some parenting thoughts.)

We're in Michigan now, returned from our 2,054 hours in transit to my in-laws house where the kids are. They were (of course) SO excited to see us. But the next morning Frances was in a funk. When we brought out the gifts from India, she was excited to see, then disappointed. She pouted, wouldn't talk to us. Then outside she got in a scuffle with her grandma and not only wouldn't give the big wheel back to Clark though he very nicely asked, but she wouldn't talk to anyone. Just sat heavy on the big wheel with her chin down and her face set. Later on I found her outside by herself on the big wheel, riding in circles on the brick patio, sobbing. When I opened the door she stopped crying and wouldn't talk to me. Hey- sometimes a girl just needs a good cry.

As I've mentioned before, she has a hard time with transitions. And this is a big one in her world. We've been gone 7 weeks from our house; she's been here in Michigan with Clark for 2 weeks without parents; here we've come home and probably we are not the fabulous people she missed so much in her mind, but instead just ourselves. Emotions are hard to handle, especially when they loom so large in a nearly-five-year-old body. AND I forgot some of my new resolve to attend to my children differently, and rather than spending the morning with her sitting on my lap, if that's what she wanted to do, I organized my india photos on the computer while she helped Grandma with the pancakes and periodically tried to get my attention. Bad mommy! I could have done that later, and should have. But it is what it is, and now I remember said resolve, and I'm back in the game.

In fact, I've got a whole new approach to parenting up my sleeve for when we return. Much of its success will depend on my emotional state, which I'm hoping will remain positive and relaxed, and we'll see.

I will:
~ do more planning ahead for activities, as complicated as art projects and as simple as riding our trikes to the big bush down the street.
~ leave the house more. visit friends just to say hi for an hour, or go to Ellison park to roll down the big hill, or seek out a bubble gum machine at the strip mall.

(And there I quit the post, which is why I never posted it in the first place: it needed an ending. I don't have one now, however, and I'm here to offer you these thoughts anyway. Cheers!)

the girl tries me

2011-08-24T17:44:00.000-04:00

Seriously new territory. I need a book or something to tell me how to wade through this. Is it true that if the girl child is particularly difficult at age 5 she won't be so bad at 13? Can I only hope? It's like she's hormonal or something. Seriously. Here's what happens: she gets upset about something (like my telling her to please stop wrapping Clark's blankie around his head, though he's screamed "STOP IT SISSY!!" eight times already and shoved her away her twice) and she gets this look on her face. She just stands there, stony, and won't talk to me, won't move. Then she does something with the absolute intent of pissing me off. Yesterday she put both the phone and the oven timer in the trash, then she tossed my Kendle across the room. Ahem.

Conversely, Clark is the sweetest cutest three-year-old on which I have ever laid eyes. "Do you know," he asks at dinner, his eyes big with import, "that frogs are bigger than bugs? Do you know that?" Tonight I was off to the grocery while he ate his snack before bed and four times he said, "Mama, can I have just one more hug?" I put my arms around him and he lays all his weight into me, so warm and sweet.

It's true that Frances has just had a major adjustment. We are home (home boring home) after 7 weeks of travel and entertainment round the clock. She's always been more sensitive than Clark, less able to roll with it. It's like her skin is thinner, more exposed, tender. And everyone I tell about her behavior says, "Frances? She's so polite and sweet and easy to be around." For you, maybe. She saves up the other just for me.

Although it could very well be nothing more than boredom and adjustment, my inclination is that it's about control. After all, kids in general are on the receiving end of lots of directives. Time to go. Put on your shoes. Climb in the car. Buckle up. Eat this. Brush your teeth. Turn off the tv. No cheetos before 10am. Wash your hands. Don't chew the paper. Please take the tutu off the dog. One would indeed feel powerless. So she's figured out how to get a little power for herself. Oh, the myriad of responses I could have... I've been trying them all out. I am seriously at a loss about it. Traditional techniques are being met with sweeping failure and escalating behavior. Lovely.

Is it a stage? Just a stage that will pass like the others? It's always so hard to tell. About all I know for sure is that it's a pain in my ass and I feel like I'm missing some essential piece of information, like the 6-page instruction manual came without pages 3 and 4.

And there are other times when she's perfectly wonderful. Sweet and loving and fun to talk with and laugh with. I'll focus on those in my mind.

august day

2011-08-23T22:42:00.000-04:00

You know the Frog and Toad story The List? Where Toad writes down on a list everything he's going to do for the day? Here is Frances' list.

When she said she was going to make a list, I don't know, I thought she was going to "write" (scribble, random letters, squiggles that resemble my writing) lines of text. I'm rather impressed with her thinking of drawing her list instead. At the top is the bed for her to get out of in the morning, then apparently we're having cereal for breakfast and using a spoon, then art camp where she used a slab of clay yesterday that I suppose resembled this one, then I wish I knew what was on that lunch plate, then naptime, then go to the pet store because they have a gumball machine and Frances has quarters (four of them, and she happily shared two with her brother), then a toothbrush that looks rather like a tree to brush teeth, then bed. And that's just what we did.

summer left to its own devices

2011-08-18T18:55:00.000-04:00

When we left at the end of June the sunflowers were about 12 inches high. Here's what they looked like when we got back:

coming home

2011-08-17T15:04:00.000-04:00

I wrote this on a piece of hotel stationary the night before we left India:

It's been a wonderful two weeks in India, and we were traveling more than four weeks in the US before that - to the beach, to visit family, etc etc. So we will be going home to New York after nearly seven weeks away.

And I'll admit is here: I'm nervous. I'm nervous about going back to our life, back to it's being just me and the kids. During the travel before India I enjoyed the kids almost more than I ever have. Mitch says sarcastically, "It's nice to be on vacation," but that's not it. I mean, that's some of it, certainly, but not the meat. It's not just that I've been freed from my normal household duties and all that; it's the lack of lonesomeness when other family members are around, and the hugeness of the help in having other adults nearby for the kids to engage with. Not just me. It's so much pressure for me, to be the only one responsible for their care, their entertainment, their sense of safety and freedom and well being.

Is it just that I put too much pressure on myself? Perhaps it's about reframing my role as a mother. What indeed is my role, my responsibility?

plus the taj

2011-08-09T22:15:00.000-04:00

traditional postcard pic.

See the tiny specs at the front wall that look like ants? They're people.

tiny bits of india

2011-08-09T22:11:00.000-04:00

more india

2011-08-01T11:25:00.004-04:00

We called Frances and Clark while we waited on our plane from Delhi to Jaipur. It was late afternoon here, morning there.

"What are you doing?" we asked.

"Eating pancakes with chocolate in them," Clark said. Then, "MommyDaddy, I miss you so much."

There are peacocks in the garden outside our hotel window. They are amazing. And loud.

Only four more days in India. It really is amazing here. I've fallen completely in love with the place, which is not terribly surprising. I've wanted to visit here forever. What I didn't know is how warm and friendly Indians are.

The cows are hilarious. Everywhere - in the middle of the road, cars swerving around them. Yesterday we drove through the mountains from Jodhpur to Udaipur which was beautiful and also a bit odd; rocky mountains with palm trees. Udaipur is the most beautiful city we've seen; green and lush, surrounded by water and mountains. Tomorrow we fly back to Delhi which is the biggest city we visit. 20 million people! We were there a short time in the beginning; it really doesn't feel as big as that. I do wish we were staying here longer rather than going back to Delhi. Next time, next time.

Americans are a novelty here because we come from so far. Most westerners we see are French and Spanish. I guess no one else is nuts enough to travel in the hot rainy season, though there hasn't been nearly as much rain as I expected. They say the monsoons haven't come like they usually do. Some of the fields by the villages are brown and dry and the people pray for rain.

My blond hair causes more than a little commotion on the street, people openly staring, children smiling and waving, boys shouting I love you. When I smile at the school girls they light up like they've seen a movie star.

I will post pictures, promise. Maybe the ones of Mitch and me on a camel! Which is not a smooth ride, in case you're wondering.

india!

2011-07-24T23:51:00.000-04:00

I wrote this a few days ago just before I left the country. I didn't get a chance to post it then, so I'm posting it now. We (obviously) have internet access at this incredibly fancy hotel - that used to be a palace forcryingoutloud - but only for the next couple of days. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to get online after that, until we get home. So I'll post this now, and later today or tomorrow I'll post an update with travel details. I can't post pictures yet (sorry!) - don't have a cord to download them from the camera. But there will be lots to come! (And btw, it's wonderful here!!!)

I'm off to India later today. This will be the last of this nutso summer vacation. At least it's been a vacation for me. For my husband it's been lots of work, a dying and then dead computer, several presentations at conferences, and stress. I've had a (mostly) lovely time. In fact, today I was thinking that during this trip I've experienced more joy than I usually have in my life. I need to examine why that might be the case. Then, it might be as simple as I'm on vacation.

Last night as I put Frances to bed I brought up the fact I was leaving in a day or two. She seemed sad. "Will it be shorter or longer than when we stayed with Grammy?" she asked. That was the 5 days we were in California. "Longer," I said. I didn't tell her it will be nearly three times longer. Then I talked about how Grandma and Grandpa are going to take good care of her, and I talked about the fun things she will do (including swimming in the lake every single day. Three days ago Frances didn't much want to put her face in the water, and today they both were doing running cannonballs off the floating dock. They did have on their float vests, but would go under completely when they landed. It's amazing). I don't know if talking about it helped, but she does seem less easily irritated today. I've really made an effort to focus on the kids nearly all the time, to let them sit on my lap anytime they want to, to give them as much energy and attention and eye contact as I can. I'd like to fill their cups before I leave so they have some reserves. And I keep telling Frances, next time I want to bring her with me. This time, though, it's just the grown ups!

bedbedbedtime

2011-07-22T00:12:00.000-04:00

Bedtime is the pits. It's the time when the kids push all my buttons at once, try all their tricks, delay delay delay. The other night I was trying my best to stay calm and Frances was acting like a spoiled petulant 14 year old. Since we're at the grandparents', both kids were set up on air mattresses on the floor, with Mitch and me on the bed in the same room. Frances and I really got into it. Afterwards she wouldn't let me hug her, so I said that was okay, just said goodnight and hugged Clark, then I stood out on the hall to wait for her inevitable appearance at the door and to peek at her through the crack. At first she just sat on the bed and at the ceiling, the walls, the curtains. (I'd already threatened her with her life if her body left her bed).

"Clark," she said. No response. "Clark! I don't want Mommy to come back in here."

There was a pause, then "Why you not want Mama?" Clark asked, as if he hadn't just witnessed the conflict and subsequent wailing.

"Cuz she's bad."

Clark rolled over with his thumb in his mouth. Frances sat for a minute more looking up at the ceiling, then she started to make this funny loud grunting sound.

"Clark, I'm gonna make loud sounds to bother Mommy," she said. Which I thought was funny since she supposedly didn't want me back in there.

Clark sat up and looked at her. "But then I can't sleep good," he said frankly, and lay back down.

Finally she got up and wandered my way. She opened the door and saw me leaning there against the wall, and she just stood. I waited. Finally I said gently, "Did you need something?"

She waited another moment then said, "You're mean."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, honey," I said.

We stood and looked at each other a bit more, then I told her she could go to sleep on our bed rather than on the mattress if she wanted, and I would move her later. She turned and went back to her mattress. I kept watching. After a minute she got up and walked to the bed, where she curled up. I was getting ready to leave when she got off the bed and came back to the door. She walked right to me and wrapped her arms around me. I stooped down and hugged her, picked her up and sat her on my lap, and rocked her for a long time. I kissed her face and stroked her hair.

Finally she said, "I love you, Mama," and kissed me.

"I love you too," I said. "Are you ready to get in your bed?"

She nodded yes. Then she climbed off my lap and went into the room. At Clark's bed she leaned over to kiss him but he squirmed away, then she got in her bed, pulled up the covers, and went to sleep.

wear and tear

2011-07-19T22:38:00.044-04:00

Our summer travel is rather cumbersome. So far we've been gone 27 days, driven 2236 miles, and slept in 7 cities. (That doesn't include the transcontinental flight Mitch and I took, and that's because we did that without kids. It falls only into the joyandrelief column, not the trialforkidsandparents column, which is what this post is about.) We've left the kids twice with family while we went away for 3 or more days, and we're getting ready to leave the kids with Mitch's parents for two full weeks while we saunter across the world to India. For some reason I didn't think clearly before we began about the effect all this was going to have on the kids. I hope this next trip isn't terribly trying for them.

Clark (age 3) is having a hard time. Either that, or he's moved into some fabulous new stage that I do not relish the thought of enduring. Someone told me recently that boys age 2-6 have 10 testosterone spikes an hour on average, and I believe that. I am further reminded of it when he's been away from his own routine and universe for weeks at a time. And weeks to kids feel like decades; I remember. Poor guy. It's all coming out in uncharacteristic aggression. He's defiant, he's resistant. Bedtime is a power struggle of wholly new dimensions. He's taken to yelling "NO! I WON'T!' about many things. He bit his cousin at the beach, and he's never bitten anyone before in his life.

That said, he and Frances are in love with each other. They spent the last hour of the last car trip in complete hysterics, cracking each other up over and over. It was charming to watch in the rearview. They hold hands between their car seats; they soothe each other when upset; they hug and kiss and offer to let the other play with cherished possessions. Maybe it's a defense mechanism to help each other cope while under stress, but it also assures me that having two was good for our family, rather than the solo one I sometimes wish I had.

On a separate note: we drove day before yesterday up from North Carolina to Michigan, where it's lovely and really hot. At 12 hours it was our longest drive so far, but that included stops for gas and bathrooms and searching under the seats for a particular toy. On the way to the bathrooms at a food / diaper change / bathroom rest stop Frances said to me, "Why do you call it a damn tv?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "Why do you call it a damn tv?" she said again. I had no idea what she was talking about. "When did I say that?" I asked. "Whenever," she said. "Like you do." "Can you give me an example?" I asked. "You know," she said, "like when you say 'Fine. Just turn on the damn tv.'" Which I haven't said in at least a month, so you know.

water sky sand guns

2011-07-08T22:28:00.005-04:00

Well, my son has learned the word gun, and how to make one with your thumb and index finger. And with legos. Until now he's been calling things shooters, a word I do prefer, and often the shooting is done by blaster dasters; for example, belonging to Iron Man and someone I had to look up named War Machine (played by Don Cheadle in the Iron Man movie, which I'm certain I will some day view). Yesterday when he pointed his index finger gun at me and said pshw pshw, I asked who told him that was a gun. "Henry," he said. His six year old cousin. "He said you point this finger, then put up your thumb like this, and it's a gun." Uh huh. This is what we get for multigenerational beach vacations. That, and really good scallops and cherry pie.

I'm rather in love with both my kids right now, sweet stages all around. We're in North Carolina for a two week beach vacation (with cousins and aunts and grammy), though Mitch and I left in the middle for three days to visit friends in Durham. For the first time ever, I believe - excluding going back to work when Frances was mere months old - I missed them. Maybe they simply had to be more than babies for the missing to happen.

It took me two full days in Durham to relax. I couldn't figure out why I was anxious - just general floating anxiety - and I now think it's simply that I'm always tensed and ready to spring to action. I was still tensed, but with nothing toward which to spring, and so the tension just circulated like stale air. It reminded me of when I went to visit Boise by myself (when Clark was 15 months, Frances 2 and a half) and I cried for the first three days. About nothing. Everything was just so moving. (You can read about that trip here.)

So now the beach the beach. A week is never enough, but maybe two weeks is too much? Yesterday the kids came to blows, but perhaps that is to be expected and means little about how long we should stay. There are big tide pools here during low tide and some of them are deep enough for the kids to actually swim, and for the adults to lounge comfortably. I'm including pictures.

Tomorrow morning we will leave. Half the party left today because of the gray skies and rain, though Frances and I went and swam in it. When we were walking to the beach this evening, Frances asked if the cousins were already at the beach, then she remembered they had gone home. Clark expressed sorrow and Frances said, "You still have me, Clark. You will always have me. We will always be together. Forever. When you go to Harlan's house for a playdate I won't go, though. But other than that, we will always be together." They were holding hands at the time. It was the first time they had been alone together in two weeks. I wonder if they missed each other. Sweet.

kids are (left to right) 2, almost 5, 6, 3, 4.

poopie jokes are hi-larious

fourth of july parade

tide pool

traveling

2011-07-03T21:23:00.000-04:00

I'm at the beach! It's lovely here. And hot.

I'm well aware it's been a long sad time since I've written here last, but I have excuses! After the last post I spent a full two weeks freaking out about getting packed for our SIX WEEKS of summer travel (will get to that in a minute). I mean, how do you pack for 6 weeks? Although there was little I could do two weeks before departure, I still dashed around the house in a state of mild panic which rendered me useless for things like fixing food and blogging. (And I do mean dashed. I found myself sprinting from room to room, as if walking was going to put me so much behind. Just a little anxiety.)

Then there was the first part of the travel itself (nine hour drive to Virginia with kids age 4 and 3, two night stay with my dad, four hours in the car to see more family, then four more hours to this lovely beach house.) We will be here two weeks - can you believe it? Two weeks at the beach. Yesterday Mitch and I floated in the ocean (temp of bathwater, so you know) while grandparents and cousins watched the kids to be sure no one ate sand or drowned, and Mitch said, "This is what it's all about," and then insinuated that all his crazy hard work and unavailability and stress is worth it so we can float in the ocean.

I don't know. It's hard to say.

Nonetheless, his hard work is indeed allowing us to not only hang out sunburnt for two weeks, but afterward we will leave the kids with my mom and go to California for five days (where he will have a conference and I will have a good time). THEN we will pick the kids up and drive to Michigan where they will stay with grandparents while we go to India for two weeks. Really! India! How awesome is that? I'm still trying to decide if I should haul my big fancy camera or take my mediocre tiny one....

So more to come, just an apology now for all the time between posts. It's hard for me to post when I don't have time alone, and it's hard for me to create time alone on vacations like this one. But there will be more. Soon.

bedtime is not my time

2011-06-09T15:36:00.000-04:00

Okay, okay. So too much chocolate (probably coupled with handfuls of peanuts) is indeed too much of a good thing. Botox has its limits, turns out. So sad. Still! Only one headache in two weeks! It's unheard of, until now anyway. Since the one headache - last Friday - I've eaten all the triggers (cheese, chocolate, nuts) but not by the handful. Interestingly, I can feel this one muscle in my shoulder lock up when I eat these things, but no pain in my head. Good times!

I have so much more energy, am more patient with the kids, both of which are a relief to me. Now I understand how all the crafty moms take care of their kids AND sew whole quilts.

Still, the botox didn't fix my bedtime problem. I am horrible at bedtime. I know it's supposed to be this lovely relaxing snuggle time with the kids, and maybe if I worked and didn't see them during the day, that is what it would be. But I don't, and it's not. It's the time when I'm almost off duty, just a few more minutes, dammit stop fooling around and open your mouth so I can brush your damn teeth. Sigh.

I try to give bedtime to the babysitters as much as I can. Last night the kids were out with their sitter and I was in the house being quiet, and I thought it would be nice to participate in bedtime, so rather than take the dog for a walk so I wouldn't be home when the kids got here, I stayed. Which was a mistake. It's not just hard on me; it's hard on them too. They just go down so much more easily for the sitter, everyone is calmer.

It's taken me a while to be honest with myself about this limitation. I felt like I should be better at it, thought somehow this one time of day was crucial to my success as a parent. Now I've simply admitted what is true. I don't know why it frightened me so.

a crossroads. a turn.

2011-05-30T21:43:00.007-04:00

[Note; the following post is mostly for my far away friends who use this blog to keep up with my life. Though this issue certainly impacts my parenting, my indulgence of it here is for those who know and love me personally. The rest of you, I will not be offended if you skim.]

It's a new world! Major changes over here, and this time not due to the kids' developmental stages. Nope, this one is about my developmental changes. Hold on to your seats. IT'S POSSIBLE MY HEADACHES ARE CURED. Perhaps I should wait to write these words, wait until the verdict is clear, but already the impact on my days and on my participation in motherhood (as in much else, as you will see) is radical. Let me explain.

I'd heard about botox as a treatment for migraines, heard it as a rumor. Then I read some, and turns out that women on the front end of the botox revolution who were receiving cosmetic botox in their forehead and temples, and who also had migraines, were discovering that their migraines were going away for the duration of botox treatment. At some point the pharmaceutical companies started running clinical trials, and last October the FDA approved it as a treatment for migraines. I found out in a random article sent to me by someone as a link. Why my neurologist did not shout this from the rooftop is a bit hazy for me, but it could be simply because folks get stuck in their ways.

I called my insurance company to see if they would cover treatment and, a thirty minute wait on hold assured me, indeed they will. When I asked my neurologist about it he referred me to a new neuro who treats patients with botox. Before hanging up I asked if in his experience it worked, and he said it was hard to tell because people generally used it as a last ditch, after all other medications had failed. But why? Why would it not now be a first choice? Or at least a third? Why would my doctor be more comfortable having me ingest handfuls of pills? I'm a bit confused about it.

Because the upshot is that if this works, not only can I eat like a normal human again, but I can come off at least 3 medications I'm on daily, not to mention the migraine pills I take for the actual headaches, plus the high dose NSAIDS (frequent) and codeine (rare) and anti nausea pills (medium). Are there any downsides to the Botox? Are people afraid of it and assume there must be? Cuz I don't see any. Except maybe that it's expensive, even with the insurance covering 80%. Still, it's not THAT expensive, and it's going to same me the money I currently put into the other migraine medications.

PLUS. Let us briefly discuss the things I will be able to enjoy on this earth. We'll touch on a select few and then move on. Ahem.

Brownies. Chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake, Reeces cups. Dark chocolate bars, truffles, chocolate mint ice cream. Blue cheese, brie cheese, cheddar cheese, parmesan, manchego, fontina, gjetost, drunken goat. Enchiladas, PIZZA!, peanut butter, trail mix, ohmygoodness.

AND!

Wine.

Beer.

Coffee!!

(I don't hold out much hope yet for the coffee. It's the worst trigger of all. We'll get there and just see.)

I'm gonna gain a bunch of weight.

I had to jump through about 120 hoops to make all this happen, and maybe that's why the docs don't advertise... they don't want to deal with the hassle. But last Wednesday, a whole six days ago, I went to the neuro's office and had her stick my head - all around my forehead and temples (those really hurt!) and the back of my head. Since then I've felt better than I have since I was perhaps 5. Really. Six days might not seem like a lot to you folks, but it's unheard of for me. I recently kept a headache diary for the first time in a few years, and turns out I was having headaches 6 of 7 days. I didn't even realize how frequent. The really big ones were every 3 days or so. In addition, I now know that what I thought was "no headache" was actually about 2 notches up the pain scale. Who knew! There were times when I really did believe I had no headache, but I was wrong. It's like when white noise you didn't notice suddenly stops. Quiet. But you didn't realize it had been loud before. That's what it's like.

So no pain! On two different occasions so far I've had a handful of peanut M&Ms; two big triggers, and a certainty of a headache before. And nothing! Two of the last few days I took naps where I feel deeply asleep for an hour. Nothing! Magic! The past few days I've been happier, more patient with the kids. I also have the emotional space to be more creative with them, convince them to drink their milk at dinner by slurping my own and making it a game rather than badgering.

I could come out on the other side of this a different person. I wonder if you folks will even recognize me. Plus, I have a really smooth forehead.

For those of you with questions, you'll find the answers here: 1) The needles hurt some, but nothing a person can't handle. 2) Yes, my forehead is very smooth, but mostly in the middle. Up at the scalp line my skin still wrinkles; my neuro said they target more specifically in cosmetic botox. 3) They don't know why it works exactly, but the theory is that the botox relaxes the nerves that spaz out, which cause the migraine. 4) It doesn't work for everyone, and for some people it only gets rid of the big ones, but the little ones still slip through. (yet, maybe that's because botox is mostly being used for the most extreme cases... when I first saw this new neuro and told her what I wanted to try, before she said yes she gave me a whole speech about which medication combinations I could still try, and wrote me a prescription for several.) (And, frankly, if I had to pick, I'd rather have my big ones. Those I can at least treat with a triptan. The low grade ones I fight all the time are the ones that make me a shitty mom who yells at her kids.) 5) It lasts for 3 months. I've already made an appointment for 3 months from now.

I'm supposed to start my period in a couple of days. If I don't have a headache then, we'll know some major plate in the earth has shifted. Then I'll enjoy an amazing glass of red wine and see what happens. Oh my.

I'll keep you updated about the new me.

Frances in charge

2011-05-24T22:24:00.000-04:00

Frances: "Pretend I'm a princess and you've never met me, and this is a real duckling. I mean, pretend you have met me before, but you've never seen this duckling, and he's real. Pretend you can only hear the duckling, you can't see him, and he surprises you. Pretend I'm a real princess, and I'm your sister, and this duckling is my pet."

A separate subject.
To my displeasure, Frances has lately been obsessed with American Girl Dolls. Do you know what these things are? They are overpriced and absurd, the hot thing now for at least the last decade. Because of their expense, they seem to be a sort of status symbol among girls, though Frances can't know that yet at 4, can she? They promote consumerism at its height, providing a catalogue carrying any kind of accessory you can imagine. The want is bottomless. I ended up on the American Girl Doll mailing list somehow, and when the catalogues come I rush them to the recycling before Frances can see them. Over Christmas, however, Frances got ahold of one and perused it at leisure with her grandmother. Oh well. So now an American Girl Doll is the goal.

Our eight year old neighbor got one, and she told Frances you have to be eight before you can get one, and I appreciated that. So I had my line: When you're eight, we can talk about it. Then Frances went to another friend's house for a playdate and at the end, while I was gathering up her shoes and coat, she appeared with Bitty Baby Twins, the American Girl Doll for the younger set which costs $100, two of them off all things, naked. "Maia said I could keep them," she said. Hm. I was saved by Maia's father, who said that "actually, Maia was given those by a special friend, and they need to be here when she comes to visit." Maia doesn't like dolls at all, and she was perfectly happy to hand Frances both dolls and their suitcases overflowing with pajamas and bunny slippers and blankies and several other outfits. "You can borrow them, though," said her dad. I tried to insist that we had enough doll clothes already and we'd just take the dolls, but in the end it all came with us.

We've since returned all of that, and at another playdate with a different girl, Frances came home with a full size American Girl Doll. Holy crap! How did she do that? She said she wanted one, and here one came. I have to say, she did seem to love it more than any other doll. She brought it to the grocery, to the library, and she buckled her securely in the seat beside her in the car. And, average sucker mom that I am, I did love seeing her joy with that doll. It's gone back now to its owner. This morning Frances asked how long it is til christmas because she knows what she wants to ask santa for. Her list was impressive; two specific American Girl Dolls, a bike for one, mugs and drinks and clothes, a pet for the other. She drew this picture to illustrate.

Much as I hate them, I wonder if she'll end up with one, and before she's eight. She certainly knows what she wants and does whatever it takes to get it. It's rather impressive.

pirate love

2011-05-24T15:00:00.000-04:00

Recently Clark and I went to visit the school where he'll be going next year. On the way he wanted to know if they had pirate hats and swords. He thought maybe he should bring his own.

At the school is a great big castle room - a big wooden structure to climb on, with turrets and flags and thick matts up pushed up beside for jumping down onto. After a good bit of very physical climbing and playing on the castle, we all sat in a circle and sang w/ Teacher Tom while he played the guitar. He's amazing. He's one of those people who has a gift of speaking the Language of Children.

Anyway, after some singing and talking and instrument playing, some folks had questions, had things they wanted to say. Tom told anyone who wanted to say something to raise their hands and Clark put his up right away. I thought maybe he misunderstood, but then when Tom called on him he asked - without the first whiff of timidity - if Tom had pirate hats and pirate swords, which he did not. It was so cute.

compassion

2011-05-15T22:08:00.000-04:00

Thank god, thank earth, and all that is; it is finally, finally, FINALLY spring. Horrible, that's what that was, the six weeks before. Maybe that's why everyone here hates the winter snow so much - they all know what's coming after.

I love the snow up here in the snowbelt. Though, to be fair, I have the ideal set up. I would probably not love it as much if I a) didn't have a garage and was forever brushing and scraping my car so I could b) go to work. That I am a stay-at-home-mom means when it's really painfully cold and deep, I just don't go out in it. It's one of the perks. Perhaps the perk, come to think of it. So I get to enjoy the snow when I want to. (In case anyone cares, I believe there are only two things you must do to enjoy the snow here. 1) get a really good coat (you'd never believe the number of fools walking around here in hoodies), and 2) go out in it. You don't even have to ski or anything; just layer up and go for a walk. The world coated in white is an amazing one.)

But now we're actually done with the snow. Done! I had truly begun to wonder if it was going to get warm again. I thought perhaps it would stay in the 40s all summer until the snow started up again in the fall. You should see the pink blooming trees in my yard.

So. Tuesday when I went to pick up Frances from school, she skipped to me singing, "playdate! playdate!" as she always does. Previously I'd made a policy not to give in to spur of the moment playdate requests, but I apparently forgot. She went home with her friend Maia, and Clark and I went home and ate lunch then took a snuggly nap on the couch.

When we got to Maia's house to pick her up, she and Maia were playing in the back of the backyard. They ignored me as long as they could, and before she'd even said hello to me I heard her say to Maia, "I don't like Clark." Frances was very difficult about leaving, as she often is, and when we got home she was as mean to Clark as I've seen her be. Wouldn't let him touch her things, grabbed things away from him, said how much she doesn't like him and how he's not good at playing, and then shoved him down. I didn't know what on earth was going on, and the end result of all of it was that I broke my no yelling streak. I was eight days in! Oh well.

After much crying and much lap sitting, she told me Maia said something really sharply to her at school and it made her cry, and then one of the boys was boasting about how great he was going to be, how he'd build skyscrapers and she wasn't going to do anything, he was so much better than her blah blah blah. That made her cry too. So she turned and did the same thing to her brother.

I don't know why I don't see this behavior when it's happening as a red flag that she is suffering in some way. If I could pause and address the suffering, rather than the behavior, everything would go a lot more smoothly.

Hopefully next time.

How confusing it must have been for her to have Maia be so mean but then want Frances to come to her house and play. And probably confusing for Maia too! To have these aggressive feelings toward someone you like... Emotions are a bizarre and unwieldy jungle to trek.

I hope I can help her, at least draw her a crude map of the paths I know to the other side.

I also think she was simply overstimulated, overexcited, exhausted. That's her temperament, her tendency, after all. It is spring - so suddenly - and she's probably playing harder (they play outside more than 2 hours at her school) Plus, it was on Tuesday, which is the first day of her school week, plus she stayed longer at Maia's than I would have liked. That's one lesson I had already learned (like the no-spur-of-the-moment-playdates lesson) but let slide: playdates should be two hours max. Any longer and she melts - usually moments after we pull away in the van.

My new rules, in order to avoid the above situation: no playdates on Tuesday, no playdates spur of the moment, no longer than 2 hours, and - the most important one - if she's acting uncharacteristically badly, then she is suffering because of something else. Gently, go gently. Try to wait. Listen.

sibling unity

2011-05-08T19:12:00.000-04:00

The kids are in love with each other again. So I guess it will come and go, and I should have faith on the wane that it will wax.

I got Clark some superhero action figures. He played with some at a friend's house and LOVED them. The mom was surprised Clark didn't have any of his own, looked at me like I deprive my children, and I wondered somehow if maybe I do... He only got his first hotwheels a month ago for his 3rd birthday.

So Sunday we went on his very first foray to ToysRUs where he picked out an Iron Man 3 pack, and was immediately ready to go. I said, "You wanna look over here and see if there's anything you like better?" "No! Ready to GO!" (My neighbor commented that he's already learned how to shop like a man. Which, I hate to generalize like that about gender, but fact is, it's mostly true). Frances would have lost her shit in that store, wanted everything everything everything, unable to make a decision, and it would absolutely have ended with a meltdown.

After the toy store we stopped to pick up some food for dinner, and usually Clark would have been climbing my legs, climbing the chairs and the counter and mommymommyletsgo mommymommyletsgo, but this time he played with his superheros. It was amazing. He was completely content. Why didn't I learn this trick earlier? And since then he's done very little but play with his superheros.

Here's the funny thing: he and Frances are quite suddenly getting along again, and I think it's due in part to the superheros. He's able to get out some of his (very boy) energy - all arg! and bzoom! and crash! - with the toys rather than leaping on and wrestling with his sister. Quite suddenly she's in love with him. She's hugging him and kissing him on the cheek and telling him how cute he is, and the other night when she was mad at me but still wanted comfort, she went to him. At the time he was lying on his belly on her bed, waiting for the drama to pass so we could all read stories, and when she moved away from me, she went and wrapped her arms around him from behind. The look on his face was so funny. He just lay very still, and finally he said, "Mama, I think sissy wants me." He seemed rather surprised by the turn of events. After a few minutes she got him to sit up and she settled herself beside him so they could hug front on. They held each other and rocked for awhile until she felt calmer. She said, "Clarky, I love you so much."

Yesterday when we were having trouble leaving the house in the morning, Frances got mad at me and said, "You're bad, Mommy," and she turned and put her arm around her brother. Clark looked up at her and said, "Sissy, do you love me so much?" Painfully cute.

non yelling mama

2011-05-04T09:49:00.000-04:00

Riddle.
Clark: "I am a person, and I yell a lot."
Me: "Is it Mommy?"
Clark: "Yes! Good job, Mama."

I don't like to yell. It makes me feel like a crappy mom and sometimes a crazy person. And I've noticed lately that they've started to yell at each other. It does not escape me from where they learned this.

So on Monday I decided to go the whole day without yelling. It was great! I didn't yell once, and I found (very interestingly) that, having promised myself this, it was easy. I was actually not even tempted to yell. When those moments came, when I would usually yell, I just took a deep breath, stooped down to look them straight in the face, and talked. Plus, I became acutely aware of my Job - meaning, the time I yell is when we're in a hurry to get out the door and short people are dragging their feet, or still playing with the trains, or ignoring my requests to don rainboots, or simply refusing directly - and I think I believed my Job was to make things run on time, to deliver bodies to school on time, to get to my gym class on time, to go to the playground with enough time to play before dinner. But that's not my job. My job is to be kind and to teach them how to function well in this time-driven world. There's no reason we can't sometimes be late to preschool, or to my gym class, or skip the park all together if there's too much dawdling. Natural consequences.

The things we struggle with are often so simple.

That was Monday. Later in the day, after I saw I was successful, I told Frances the promise I'd made to myself, and told her how proud I was that I hadn't yelled even once. Then I did it again on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday. I'm marking it on the calender, going to see how long I can go. I hope it's long long long. Because yelling is only a habit, and habits can be broken.

I do find that in order to be successful in this, I have to have tissue in my ears at all times. Earplugs block too much, but with tissue I can still hear conversation. It just takes the sharp edge off the shrill, and I'm much more able to be patient.

Now there can be a No Yelling rule in the house. I'm noticing already that it's helping with how they talk to each other. Yay me!

creative me

2011-04-12T08:14:00.001-04:00

I've had a revelation about craft projects with the kids.

Recently I've spent a fair amount of time perusing mom/craft blogs and ogling the projects of these energetic and creative women. (Blogs such as this one, and this one, and this one, and this one.) It's exciting for me; I have an art degree, after all, and want to be creating things myself, and what better excuse than to do it with my kids? Thing is, once I get past being inspired to try new projects, these lovely blogs end up having the same effect as parenting books: they make me feel depressed. Supermom I am not.

I used to attempt more craft projects but they made me crazy. This was about the time I was envying all my friends who parent only one child. These projects, rather than being a creative outlet for me, seemed to be only about setting up paint and brushes and glitter glue that my kids then flung around for about 10 minutes before running off laughing and wrestling. Then I would wipe paint off the walls and the chairs and the dog. Wrestling was much more the activity of choice, for sure. So I gave up for a while.

Clark is a sensory creature rather than a visual one, which means his love of art materials is limited and his love of wrestling is not. He does like playdoh, feels good on the fingers, and he can stick with that for a good while. He's not much for crayons or markers or drawing in general; he scribbles on the appropriate paper for about 20 seconds and then either dumps the crayons/markers/colored pencils on the floor because he thinks dumping boxes of things on the floor is glorious fun, or he turns the coloring implement to his skin or the wall. What I need, and I'm serious, is some warmer weather and a project that involves painting one's own body. Perhaps while we potty train this summer. Ha!

I thought for a good while about why these lovely blogs had me so turned around. Where did these moms get the energy? Why didn't I have it? Where did they get the time to come up with the projects, go to Michaels and Kmart and the hardware store for materials, set up the project, photograph it in process, and blog about it???? Maybe other things are falling off their radar; maybe their houses are a mess. Maybe they have a family who take the kids from time to time. Probably they don't wrestle with migraines three days a week.

One of the blogs in particular impressed itself on me. (You'll just have to stroll through my Creative Parent Blog List and speculate on which one.) After coming back to it several times I realized something. These, for the most part, didn't appear to be kid projects; they were projects that the mom built and that the kids could enjoy in finished form. Perhaps the kid could help in process - sort of - but mostly it was a creative outlet for mom.

Oh my. Was I allowed to simply create? Was I allowed to create things for the kids without inviting them to help??? Could it be?

So. I got online and immediately ordered some peg people for me to paint. And yesterday while Frances was outside behind the garage moving rocks into a circle for her 'campfire', I built (out of cardboard) and upholstered (with scrap flannel) a barbie couch for the barbie house I am going to put together.

I'm having so much fun!!!

It's possible you will never see pictures of these things, but maybe...

here comes sibling rivalry

2011-03-31T18:23:00.001-04:00

My children don't like each other right now. They still play together well - for a while. But the love they had, the glowing affection, spontaneous compliments, hand holding and hugging: all gone, at least for this moment. And there was a lot of it.

They are 17 months apart. Most of my friends' kids are a larger spread, and they seem to argue from the beginning. I wondered if their closeness in age had something to do with their emotional closeness. But maybe their age spread has something to do with this now too...

I've been watching them and thinking about what's happening. Clark is in a very very contrary stage. If you suggest anything, anything at all, his response is a loud and resounding NO. Even if he means yes, he'll say no first, then revise. And Frances - she wants everything to go her way. She's very bossy, wants to be in charge, wants to decide the 'game' ("Okay. You be the baby and I'll be the mommy.") Used to be that Clark always went along with her, always said okay to whatever she suggested.

No more.

He's got some theories and opinions now too; he's not a baby anymore. Plus, he's so damn contrary. Whenever he says no to her, she gets her feelings hurt. When her feelings are hurt, she lashes out at him, which hurts his feelings. Then they're just mad at each other.

The other night at bedtime I said, "You're such a sweet boy, Clark. I know you argue with your sister, but I know you love her too." "I do NOT love sissy," he said. Well. He used to.

This is what I want to know: is this normal and expected and something I just have to put up with? Is it healthy? Was the previous love they had for each other just an anomaly, destined to crumble into the settling dust of the unavoidable twister?

It breaks my heart. It made me so happy that they loved each other. I didn't know how it had come to be, but I loved that it was. I thought they would grow up loving each other in that same way. I thought we had been spared what everyone else has to tolerate. It pains me to admit, but I felt a little superior about it, felt we'd done something right, even if I didn't know what it was.

Probably serves me right.

This morning at breakfast we each named something we like about each other. They were able to come up with things fairly easily. Perhaps if I can, in tiny increments, remind them of their affection, they might eventually come back to each other. You think?

lockers and swim clothes; fear and pride

2011-03-29T22:36:00.001-04:00

So, perhaps my last post was a wee bit aggressive. Perhaps I'm feeling a little stressed. Perhaps we're not in the most pleasant of stages. Clark sure isn't. He's three this month, and I feel like we should have turned some sun-warmed corner, but then - I remember now - three is actually harder than two. Ah yes.

We will move on, shall we?

Yesterday afternoon Frances closed herself in a locker in the hallway outside her ballet class. Clark does it all the time, finds it pretty entertaining, but when Frances did it, the locker jammed. Poor girl. She had a bit of a panic attack, sobbing hysteria. Eventually I had to ask one of the teachers to find someone to help us, someone who came with a crowbar. In the meantime, I could pull the locker open at the top just a little, just enough to see her, and I got her to take some deep breaths with me. I was so proud of her; usually she resists my attempts at deep breathing, but this time she did it, and she was able to calm down some. When the locker was finally opened and she stepped out, she wailed, "It felt like I was going to be in there forever!"

Last night I was on my own for bedtime, which means some jockeying between bedrooms at the critical lying down time. Frances agreed to lie quietly and wait for me to come back and sing her a song while I put Clark down. (Oh that she is old enough to do this now. Getting them both to bed by myself was really a challenge when neither could understand the concept of patience.) When I left Clark's room I waited outside and listened for him to get up, and sure enough... He went into the bathroom and pushed the stool to the sink and ran himself some water in a cup (how big he's getting!), then he sat down in front of the space heater we have in his room (it's absolutely freezing in there; the coldest room in the house) like it was a campfire. He was so cute smiling at the heater, holding out his hands to warm them. After only a short while he stood up and dragged his blankie to his bed, where they both climbed in and pulled up the covers. I was enormously pleased with this turn of events, and off I went to Frances's room, where it turned out she was already asleep.

But my celebration was premature. Downstairs, after another 20 minutes or so, Clark silently appeared. He was wearing his swim trunks and his rash guard shirt - backward - (need I remind anyone that it's March in the snowbelt, a high today of 31, a windchill of perhaps 4?). He must have dug them out of the box of summer clothes in his closet, a feat that requires a chair and a good bit of balance. Not only that, but he'd found and donned a swim diaper too. In case you're not in the know, swim diapers do not hold liquid, only solid. He was so pleased with himself for getting off his old diaper and putting the swim one on. He climbed up beside me for some TV watching, and I didn't worry much since we were sitting on a leather couch; in the end we had no accidents. It was so sweet to have him snuggle up against me, thumb and blankie sleepy, and I didn't take him back up to bed for a long time. He loved the commercials best. After one of them, he turned to me and said, with some astonishment, "Mama, he said 'don't get mad, get glad'!"

He slept in his swim clothes, need I say it? This morning he dug around some more and came up with last year's too small crocs. Oh the joy. I think he felt the outfit was complete.

a new mom at 35

2011-03-26T14:05:00.000-04:00

A friend asked me today what motivated me to start the blog, and I talked about the early days as a mom, about feeling that no one had warned me how difficult being a parent is, and how moms don't talk about it; it's some kind of forbidden topic. At that time, when I talked to other moms of small babies, everyone pretended they were okay and not sleep deprived, that having a baby was just jolly all the time. I found that when I told the truth, when I said that actually, I have no idea what I'm doing, am holding it together only by sheer hope, and one more exploding diaper might send me over the edge completely, all the other moms widened their eyes and said, "Oh, you feel that way too? You seem so together, I was afraid to admit how I really feel."

So I started talking about it outloud.

My friend, though, was interesting: she didn't find the first baby very hard. It was when the others (three total) came along that it started to look impossible to her.

And here's what I think is the difference - she was twenty three when she had the first one, and I was thirty five. I could see how taking care of a baby at twenty three could be viewed as fun. But at thirty five, the reality is that a baby is a freedom-sucking-anxiety-producing upheaval. At thirty five what you've had is your own life, planned (possibly) and cultivated (hopefully); you've maybe had a career, the freedom to go from relationship to relationship, possibly city to city, and at least apartment to apartment. Freedom. Freedom to go to the movies, or not. To choose to go to work, or not. To eat in restaurants and travel and take hour long baths. At twenty-three, you don't have as much life or history to give up.

The reason becoming a parent is so hard at thirty five is the resentment. Though the baby is amazing and you love it with every cell of your body, you also resent the little fucker for completely destroying the life you knew and replacing it with one covered in exploding diapers and clogged milk ducts and vomit. Plus, sleep deprivation is much more taxing on a thirty-something body and mind. The twenty-three year old rarely has solid regular sleep in the first place. I was probably more sleep deprived when I was 23 than I was with an infant. Okay, not quite. But it's close.

I've taken to the ipod lately. One earbud in, my low music the soundtrack to this movie. It creates a little bit of distance for me, a little bit of space all my own, a little elbow room. Being an only child, I think, makes me less used to sharing my personal space, and makes me feel the resentment even more keenly. I've been lately feeling smothered, and just the ipod can bring me back to myself, make me remember that I still have my own internal life, even though I give and give and give. Though it sometimes feels like it, we never give it all away.

babydoll house

2011-03-20T14:12:00.001-04:00

Frances thinks they need miniature toothbrushes next.

The can by the foot of the bed has a sign that says "hats and scarves."

Toilet and bathtub to the left. Couldn't get a picture of the table set with cups and plates, or the closet. Frances is insistent about buying hangers for the clothes they don't yet have.

the cake

2011-03-18T07:46:00.003-04:00

Clark was disturbed by the Diego on the cake. He thought the cake was nifty, but those toys, his toys, did not belong on the cake. He saw it before the party and didn't like it then, and I thought about going out and getting another Diego somewhere, but then I didn't. I wondered if maybe he'd be more okay with it when the cake arrived at the party itself, all lit and exciting. But no. As we were singing happy birthday he was raising his voice to be heard, to say "Mommy? Dat my toy!" "Okay, honey," I said, and took the Diego and Baby Jaguar off and put them by his plate. Then he was mad at me because of the toys, and he hmphed and didn't want to blow out the candles. Frances and I blew them out. He's a hoot.

Frances at 4 1/2.

2011-03-16T18:21:00.001-04:00

Frances is rearranging the house.

She's in a completely new place, a place where she's big enough to reach things, to push up chairs and open cabinits and pour juice and put valves in sippy cups and even change Clark's diaper. She gets down paper and crayons and sissors whenever she wants, puts tortilla chips in cups for herself and Clark, adds bendy straws to her beverage. She can dress herself in the morning, can put on all her snow stuff and be out the door while I'm still wrestling Clark into the first leg of his snowpants.

I think it's all this capability that has made her so much more at home in herself. She now goes for two hours off in her own world: rehearsing her own play, making a book complete with story and pirate/dinosaur pictures for Clark, building a babydoll apartment. Rearranging the furniture. It's crazy to me.

When I pick her up from school she moans and groans about how she wants a playdate playdate playdate, and Bridget and Maia get to have a playdate and she wants one. Then we get home and she's through the door and she doesn't speak one word to me for two hours, off in her own world. Sometimes she comes to ask me how she can make a divingboard for her pollypocket's loaf pan swimming pool. But other than that, she's on her own. FINALLY my no-tv-on-school-days rule is paying off. Damn did it take a while, but she doesn't even ask for it anymore. She's learned how to entertain herself very well.

All of this makes me think I shouldn't be so hard on myself. Often (as is the case with many educated, careered, american, slightly older moms such as myself) I put so much pressure on myself to always be doing enriching things with the kids, to be organizing craft activities, or .... or .... or I don't know what all. Things. That I'm supposed to be doing. But Frances's recent creations are completely without my input. I don't even suggest them to her. The other day I found her in the kitchen cutting out people she'd drawn on paper. They were paperdolls, she told me. She'd already created a house (brick) out of paper with a door that opened and closed. She made them shirts and pants and pillows and blankets and beds, and I seriously don't know where any of it came from.

But the house rearranging... I don't know about all that. Rugs from upstairs and suddenly decorating the kitchen, armchairs and lamps and sidetables crowded together on the other side of the room to create some new little space with some specific purpose, a purpose that is abandoned when I call for dinner. Then I'm the one who eventually moves the furniture back. That part needs to change.

Anyway, it's a new place for her. It's a much more settled place for her, and I like it.

siblings and cakes and stuff

2011-03-12T21:17:00.003-05:00

I'm feeling kind of lost on this sibling rivalry thing. As an only child, I just don't get it. I don't know when it's healthy, how to steer it, when the flags of warning have been raised. It all sounds like blaring horns of warning to me, signs that my children are headed down some path to antisocialism or sociopathy or eventual addiction and homelessness. Okay, maybe not that bad, but still.

I have no examples to give right now. Or at least no energy for the tedium of the examples I do have.

Moving on.

Clark's third birthday party is tomorrow. I was going to order a cake, since it's been winter here for decades and we're just now entering into Rochester's most unpleasant season: gray sky and mud. (We have six seasons here; bet you didn't know that. They are: Summer - Fall - Winter - Ungodly Amounts of Snow - Gross Mud - Spring. Winter through Gross Mud takes up 9 months of the year.)

Then my helpful husband, teasing me, said something about how Clark is getting the cake shaft after the castle cake I made for Frances. Dammit. Now I had to go and make something ridiculously time consuming for Clark too. At first I was going to make a Rocket cake (it looked like the party was going in a Space/pirates/Diego combo theme direction) but it has turned out to be a Diego cake. Party theme simplified. I'm quite pleased with it, and it was lots of fun. Will post a picture here soon.

At first I hassled myself for putting on so much pressure to make a fancy shmansy cake. I thought about how we overdo things, buy too many toys, spend ridiculous amounts of energy on parties they won't remember. But, really, the cake is for me; it's a creative outlet, fills a space that I so desperately need to fill with regularity in my life. For now, it's the cakes. At least their birthdays aren't close together.

finally

2011-03-03T14:51:00.000-05:00

I'm well! Everyone's well at the same time! (knock knock knock on wood) School started back up this week after February break! Things can return to some semblance of normal routine! Oh the excitement! AND the sun is shining!

Really, how much more can you ask? I do have this fantasy about my whole house being clutter free and organized all at once. I also realize this is indeed fantasy and nowhere near the realm of possibility. I'm okay with that.

Right now the kids are both at school and I'm getting ready to sew. I've got a bunch of sewing projects stacked on the table, have had them stacked there for some time now. I keep thinking I'll sew in the middle of the day during down time, quiet time for the kids, while Frances draws beside me. (She draws all the time right now, digs the crayons or pencils out by herself.) I haven't been able to figure out why it isn't happening. I think I'm just so mentally wiped at 3pm that I can't think about creative things. Instead, I think about getting dinner together, I lie on the couch, I straighten up from the tornado that's run through in the morning. Or maybe it's just because I've been sick, and I certainly didn't have the energy then.

But I'm going to quit this post and go sew, get some creating done. I'm doing some placemats and napkins for the kids, and I'm going to do a bunting banner like this one. Plus the zillion things I need to mend.

Off I go!

picky picky picky

2011-03-01T10:13:00.005-05:00

My son. My son is a lunatic. An adorable lunatic, but the screaming really undoes me. He'll be three in a week and I know it's typical for this to be an awful age, but - really. Come on.

He won't wear pajamas. Which is fine. He wears to bed whatever he's been wearing all day, which does make bedtime a little sideways because we don't have the ritual of putting on the pjs any more. But whatever.

He agrees to wear a grand total of two pairs of shorts. Shorts. They are long shorts, the longest I could find in the bottom of the box of summer stuff in his closet. When we go outside I require snowboots and socks that he allows me to pull up under the legs of the shorts, and that he pushes down the instant his butt hits the carseat. He does, however, pull them up of his own accord before we get out of the van. As you can imagine, there being only two pairs, the shorts are often dirty. Today I washed one of the pairs out in the sink and dried them on the heater, and then the last bit with the hairdryer (oh what a sweet mama I am), so they'd be ready for bedtime.

And he found a pair of his now-too-small shoes in a stack of things I've been meaning to ebay, and he insists on wearing them all the time. Even to bed. (I've actually finally won that battle. Score one for mom! No shoes in bed anymore, but he does put them right beside the bed so they'll be there in the morning, or, I assume, if he wakes in the night and needs to glance down to reassure himself of the steadiness of the universe.) Although he wears his snowboots outside (spiderman, light up when walking, bought in desperation at Target months ago when he was refusing to wear his perfectly acceptable blue ones), I often have to carry the too small old shoes with me in my bag so he can change into them when he gets where we're going, like our friend Sophia's house or the kid area at the gym. And if dad's home, he can skip the snowboots all together, because he convinces dad to carry him to and from the car. Which his dad agrees to do. Again, whatever.

His puppy eyes are indeed convincing. He's not even three and he's already mastered throwing the sugary bone. Today he hollered "TV! TV!" while shrieking and flailing in my arms on the way to the car from Frances's ballet class. I told him absolutely not; boys who behave like this don't get to watch tv in the car. He stopped immediately and quietly said, "I not screaming any more." A little too late for that, little man. Five minutes later I said that no, boys who hit mom certainly don't get candy. He looked at me so sweetly and said, "I'm sorry I acted like that, Mama," in the most adorable little voice you've ever heard. "Why, thank you, Clark. I appreciate that apology," I said. "Now we can watch TV?" he asked with just as much sugar. Heh. His girlfriends are going to be in trouble.

Have I mentioned how stinkin cute he is?

I can't figure it out, really. I've tried several different approaches. My latest is to pretend he isn't screaming at all. I dig my earplugs out of my jeans pocket, where they are the minute I get up in the morning, and I just go about my dish-doing, my straightening, my sweet potato slicing for Yam Spinach Bacon soup. He follows me around the kitchen screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and after about three full screaming minutes, he swats me on the legs. I say, "You may not hit me, Clark," and I pick him up and carry him to the time out chair in the dining room. He continues to scream, which I ignore, and then he screams for his blankie blankie, which I scoop from under the kitchen table or up off the family room floor and throw to him. When the blankie hits his hands he quiets immediately, and spends the rest of time out lounging sideways in the chair and sucking his thumb.

(The blankie is fascinating, isn't it? Its like a drug, a deep inhale, the world's edges suddenly softer, life not such a strain, one foot at a time into a steaming hot bath. Ah. I could use a blankie, come to think of it.)

I have to keep reminding myself, keep reminding myself that this is a stage. One day he'll stop all this madness. He won't still be throwing fits like this when he's sixteen (they'll be a different variety of fit then...) I'll even be able to keep a crayon within his reach without fearing consequences.

But as a stay at home mom, dealing with this all day long, every day, several times a day, ad nauseum, it's hard to keep it in perspective. I feel like I'm forever going to live in a house with someone who screams for extended periods at a time. I really do think the noise level is what throws me off. I didn't realize I was noise sensitive, but on the extremely rare and random day when he doesn't scream, I'm a much happier and calmer and better parent. Cheers to that.

dancing without rhythm = stumbling

2011-02-23T13:34:00.002-05:00

Everything is falling apart over here. The kids were both terribly sick, high fevers, congestion, etc etc, and Frances missed school for a whole week. Which meant a week where everything got out of rhythm, a week with ridiculous amounts of TV. Then about the time they started to feel well, I got it too. And holy shit it's a killer of a flu. I now understand why Frances kept waking from her sweaty naps in tears. It just hurt, everywhere. Achiness and fever of 103 and bad bad bad headache and intense sinus pressure and congestion and awful awful. So though they were better, we were still house bound because I could barely drag my ass off the couch to pour them milk. And, again, lots of TV.

Over the weekend Mitch was a single parent because I spent the entirety of both days in bed. I think this was a major contributor to the fallingapartness because Mom was home, but they weren't allowed to see me. How odd that must seem. Once when I was barely awake I heard Frances open the door to the bedroom. She stood in the doorway a moment and watched me, and then quietly backed out and closed it behind her.

Then I discovered that this week is "February break". (What? Who has February break?! Those in the snowbelt, that's who; those in dire need of a trip to the tropics.) So off schedule again, everything askew.

To add to the pile, and in fact perhaps the biggest thing of all, Clark gave up his nap just days before they got sick. He would still like to be taking it, very much, and would gladly sleep 2 hours or more if I let him. But he was staying up until 10pm, which was simply not acceptable. So I cut the nap.

Now he's exhausted and still two and a half, and we have no rhythm to our days. I didn't realize how completely the day hinged on his nap. Now what to do? How to organize? Frankly, I haven't been very good at figuring it out because I can't seem to get well and therefore have no energy for creative parenting.

We have instituted a midday storytime which is helping. But even with that, I'm having to turn on the TV for them so I can nap. I'm just so exhausted....

I've been reading parenting books again, a terrible thing for my morale, this time Waldorf books that insist rhythm is the key to the universe. And to some degree I believe it is, at least when dealing with young children, which is what makes our lack of it so frustrating. I do believe a rhythm to the day gives them a feeling of security and connectedness, and this feeling of security is what they seem to be lacking. Perhaps this is partly the reason for the clinging, for Clark saying, "Mommy, I want you," even as he is wrapped around my leg. Frances said to me yesterday, "Mama, I never want to go away from you ever." I will need to hold onto that 10 years from now when she wants me not at all...

I do have a plan, and it includes storytime and quiet time and a daily walk. I'm waiting for it to either get a little warmer, or for me to feel a teeny bit better before I implement the last. There was one spring day last week (50 balmy degrees!), and most of the snow melted off the yards and up came the mud. We took our trikes outside, and it was glorious. Like coming up from the depths after the bends. Then that night it snowed, and now we're back to our regular 20 degree high and 6 degree low with constant flurries. But for a moment it was spring! It allowed me to see what our lives will be like soon enough. With spring outside the door I think I can get our footing, get a rhythm.

spring please come.

2011-02-21T20:55:00.001-05:00

My son took off his mittens and buried them in the snow and now we can't find them. I'm having trouble finding the humor in this, though I know it's there somewhere.

He also buried his Little People fireman, and he seems to think that loss is much more traumatic than his mittens.

He's going to be three in a few weeks, I really can't believe it. He's lengthened out recently, and suddenly he looks like a little boy, so tall and big and grown. He's not a toddler any more. He speaks so completely and well, except when he's screaming, of course; a thing we're still struggling with.

And he is all boy. Before I had kids I thought gender differentiations were more socially constructed than I now believe. Certainly much is, but so much is clearly instinct; it's weird to me. As Mitch and I were watching him toronado through the family room the other day, Mitch commented that Clark, as a little boy, has to practice for killing the big animal. So funny! And if one is indeed going to hunt big animals, he needs to be good at running and climbing and throwing things. Of course, the girls need to practice caring for the babies. I guess I believed until puberty hormones were absent in kids. Certainly and clearly not the case.

As for the caring of babies, Frances has now constructed a miniature house in our dining room, complete with kitchen, playroom, dining room, and bedroom (which is more like a dorm, baby beds lined up in a pretty row). She's never done this before, not to such lengths. And she's scared to death Clark is going to wreck it, not an unfounded fear.

Finally, I will say it: I'm ready for winter to be done. I'm ready for us to be able to step outside barefoot. I've been sick so long I don't remember what it's like to be well. And taking care of kids isn't the easiest thing when you've got no energy. Back to bed for me.

me the mama, the salve.

2011-02-11T22:02:00.052-05:00

For the past week I've been nursing sick kids--quite sick, with high fevers and empty eyes and no appetite. Everybody's been home from school. Today, however, I had one half-sick kid and one nearly-well kid with buckets of energy. Aaaaannd now I've got the fever. The last two days I've been achy and exhausted and completely unable to do anything more than chop cubes of cheese and pour cheerios into a bowl. Since it's February and we live in upstate NY, the temp and wind have been such that the only time I even opened the door today was to let the dog out then back in.

So today when Mitch got home, I collapsed on the couch and begged to be released from bedtime duties. It mostly went well, until the end. I thought the kids would be ready for bed early, both of them still somewhat sick, but I probably didn't factor in the fact that we hadn't left the house since Tuesday. Poor Clark wailed and howled. Mama Mama Mama Mama! I listened from downstairs, wondered if I should let Mitch handle it, thought maybe it would be good for Clark to have someone else comfort him. But since he was specific in his request for me, after a few minutes up I went.

Mitch was working on his laptop outside Clark's room, and as I passed him he said, "Are you sure Clark's ready for bed?" The minute I appeared Clark got quiet and wiped his wet face with his palms. Poor guy. It's true that he seemed awake. Not strung-out-and-over-tired awake, just awake. He talked about his stuffed pony. He told me about the cricket on his shirt. I wondered if I should just bring him back downstairs and try again later. I thought I'd sing to him first, however.

There are two songs I recently reintroduced into our nighttime playlist, both tunes that I sang to him when he was a baby, when I walked the floor to get him to sleep. It's been interesting: one of the two he wants over and over now, every night, and the other makes his eyes heavy in the first few notes. It's like a muscle memory. So tonight, though he seemed so very awake, I started the first song, assuming he would break in with a request for different lighting or some pretzels.

You can guess where this is going. I wasn't halfway through the first song when his eyes started to droop. By the end of the second round he was so asleep that his thumb had already fallen from his mouth. It took all of three minutes.

When I emerged from the room Mitch said, "He needed his mama. I wasn't going to do, that's for sure." Apparently Mitch had tried to comfort him, tried to hold him; Clark wouldn't even look at his daddy, just pushed him away. And Clark is crazy about his daddy.

He's in a mommy stage, there's no question. I knew that already. (So is Frances, by the way, and the two of them together can sometimes be a little more love than I can handle.) But it's interesting to me that he calmed so quickly when I arrived, that he gave in to the deep rest of sleep so immediately. It's true; he needed me. I don't know why, but it seems odd to me that these little creatures need me so deeply, and not just for the safety and regularity of routine (I get that. I am the one home with him all the time, the one making meals and bandaiding scrapes, the one helping him navigate conflicts with his sister and his fear of the monster upstairs), but for something more intrinsic.

I'm not explaining well. I guess I mean that I'm so focused on providing the physical stuff-- cooking, and keeping the house straight, and organizing craft activities, and ushering folks into snowpants and the minivan--that I don't realize how much emotional stuff I provide too. Yet as I'm writing this I'm aware that much of the physical stuff is the emotional stuff. I keep them on regular sleep schedules and pack snacks and watch for overtiredness. I try to protect them from the bombardment of the world, while also show them what that world is. It shouldn't surprise me that he needs just me the way he does, should it? I could see it more easily if I were the only caregiver, if his daddy weren't such an amazing father... Am I still shortchanging my role in this? Do I not see with perspective who I am to my son? I think I don't.

Frances has lately taken to calling me the "best mama in the world." Every time she does it I hear a little disclaimer in my head. But then, the other day I flipped open the book The Emotional Life of the Toddler to a random page and read that, though the parent's job is to protect the child from emotional stress, no parent can do this all the time because the perfect parent doesn't exist. And it's important to remember that children are resilient enough that they bounce back from emotional strain pretty well.

Why can't I remember that the perfect parent doesn't exist? Why do I (and so many of the women I know) pressure ourselves to be the perfect parent? Feel we've failed when we fall short of perfection? (Why do I hear in my head, when my sweet daughter tells me I'm the best mama in the world, that no, I'm not. Why don't I just hear the love?) Why is perfection, rather than very good solid parenting, the yardstick?

Can't be. Doesn't exist.

I feel like I'm rambling, like I'm circling the core of the thing. Like, if I could say it right, this post would be half as long.

Okay, jumping ship. We'll attribute the ramblingness of this post to the fever, whadayasay? I've got to get some sleep.

Hello Again! (and) Toddler Fashion.

2011-02-10T09:50:00.003-05:00

Hellllooooo virtual world! My computer is back from the dead, all clean and shiny. It's been back for several days, in fact, but I've been having trouble rustling up a post. This minute, however, I need to vent about the insistence of an almost three year old.

He'll be three in a month, and his twos in general have been dominated by his focus on clothes. I've written about this before (see this post). He doesn't change his clothes so often during the day any more, but he is completely obsessed with short sleeved t-shirts and shorts.

Let's review. We live in Rochester, NY. It's February. The high on good days is 26 degrees. This minute it's 11. I assume there is grass beneath the snow but I haven't seen it in months. Everything in the world is frozen and still except the frigid and uncompromising wind. And Clark wants to wear summer clothes. For a while we just told him this wasn't a choice, that it was winter and he had to have his arms and legs covered. Then somehow the battle became too much to fight and we slid on the t-shirts. Now he's allowed to wear short sleeves as long as he has his wool undershirt on too. (Which means, by the way, that all the long-sleeved shirts he owns are going to go completely unworn. Whatever.) What is driving me nuts currently is that very few of the short sleeved t-shirts now meet his requirements.

Moments ago he threw a complete fit because the sleeves of the shirts in his drawer were not the right length. Meaning, they are still short sleeved, but apparently they have to have a specific length of sleeve, and I have no idea what that is exactly. I know he's two-almost-three, but the compete unreasonableness of it all makes me nuts. And when I throw up my hands and walk away from him he comes completely unglued.

And it's not about sensory issues, by the way. The desire for short sleeves is not because he has issues with having things around his wrist or anything like that. It's a fashion statement.

I'm having trouble taking his plight seriously.

Poor guy.

Enough about that. I have, of course, a zillion other issues I want to raise here on the blog, things I've been thinking about since my computer's been gone. Hopefully I now will be posting with regularity again. I do have some questions about whether this blog has run its course, especially now that the kids aren't babies anymore. It's something I'll explore a bit here with you. The mom blogs are an interesting phenomena, and its curious to think about the purpose they serve. But for now, hello again! Can't wait to get moving.

whatchagonnado

2011-01-18T20:43:00.001-05:00

My computer has been in the shop for eight days now, though they told me it would be 5-7, which is why I've been so absent. I'm on Mitch's laptop now, writing these words, but I can only sneak his computer away in stolen clandestine moments. During the week he takes it to work with him so I've been without email and facebook and general knowledge of the outside world for some time. It turns out a missing computer is very good for getting projects and dishes done. It's rather astounding to me how many meals I've made for the freezer.

And the snow! I do love living up here for the snow. My mood is noticeably different lately, which is perhaps due to the hormonal output of my IUD but could also simply be the snow. It's coming down this minute, another couple of inches today on top of what we already have. And since it never gets above freezing, the snow just stays and stays and stays. Everyone contracts folks to plow their driveway for the season, and those trucks build big piles at the end of the driveway by the road. The piles grow and grow, and they're lovely for climbing, or digging tunnels through, or sledding. Now we don't have to go far for sledding; it's at the edge of our very own yard.

Things are good. I'm using this computerless time to enjoy that things are indeed good. Frances is sweet and helpful and charming; Clark (he'll be three in March, canyoubelieve?) is screaming less, and instead speaking in bizarrely structurally correct sentences with oddly precise diction (he likes to enunciate); I'm reading. Everyday I lie on the couch for at least 20 minutes (sometimes an hour...) and I read or doze or listen with my eyes closed to Frances's solo-play chatter, which is pretty much the most charming thing of a nearly-four-and-a-half-year-old. And this age has plenty of charm. (Except during the uncharming moments, but that's not this post.)

Btw, I don't feel guilty about my quiet time on the couch. I see it only as lovely. I wish I could give it to every mom (I bet my friend in Utah who just had her fifth would take some of that). It's the kind of thing I used to beat myself up about when Frances was a baby. (We are crazy people as first time moms. Were you? Why is it so hard to see the forest for the trees?) Good grief, we all need little breaks. How many of you do it regularly?

Anyway, today the nice fella at the Apple store told me they're keeping the computer another week. I'll choose to focus on the upside of that situation and fill my freezer completely, though being without email is a serious hindrance to my social and organizational life. Alas, dear readers, I'll be back. Eventually.

things they say. Clark, age 2.5, and Frances, age 4.

2011-01-08T12:03:00.000-05:00

"No!" Clark says. "No kisses."
"No kisses? That's what Mommies are for," I say.
A shake of the head.
"No? Mommies are not for kisses? Then what are they for?"
"Dishes."

"I'm making pancakes," I tell Frances. "Do you want to help?"
"Will you put chocolate chips in some of them?"
"I will."
"And will you put plain in some of them too?"

It's night, and in bed Frances hugs the new babydoll Santa brought her.
"I don't have to hug you, Mommy, because I have this baby to hug."
Then later, when I go in one last time, the baby is on the far side of her, not being hugged at all.
"She'll be fine by herself," she tells me. "Babies are a lot of work. It's better when they're three."
Which is true.

a year in 4 minutes

2011-01-05T20:07:00.004-05:00

Finally got the christmas packages in the mail today. Really. The fella at the post office said with a smile that I wasn't the only one. And I finally got our electronic (and ohsogreen!) holiday card finished. It's a video, and it's pretty interesting to watch Clark go from a toddler to a little boy. Here it is. (And if you have the stomach for it, at the end you get the opportunity to view last year's holiday ecard too. Woohoo.) Happy Holidays!

happy holidays 2010 from cali lovett on Vimeo.

merry christmas!

2010-12-24T21:00:00.000-05:00

pictures!

2010-12-24T14:44:00.003-05:00

Christmas is here. Right here.

Our graham cracker houses

Cut out cookies

Our frozen ornaments, hanging on our teepee.

Aaaand, finally, the tree is up!

I love a silver tree.

Plus, as a bonus, the cutest picture of Clark and Milo ever

here comes christmas, ready or not.

2010-12-22T14:52:00.002-05:00

Well, my christmas tree is not up and I've done almost no shopping. How did it come to this? And now anxiety has gripped my throat so that I can't breathe deeply. It seems I believed making graham cracker houses and chocolate dipped pretzels and cut out cookies were more important holiday activities than shopping. Which, come to think of it, they are. Except now it's December 21st and in 4 days I still have to have gifts for kids and parents and in-laws. Cousins and nieces are simply going to have to receive their boxes after the holiday. Same for the video card I'll be sending out electronically..... there's no way for holiday cards to find themselves done and addressed and mailed. A simple impossibility. Perhaps I'm learning to acknowledge my limitations.

I hope I have pictures of the projects we've been doing. One of my favorites is the outdoor ornaments Frances and I made the other day. The idea came from this blog, and they used cranberries; I didn't have cranberries, and getting to the grocery is yet another activity that's falling off my list, so I used limes which are green and celebratory, I figured. I did use the Artful Parent's learning curve--for example, I put one lime slice in the muffin tin and then water just to cover it. I froze those for a while, then added the yarn and another lime slice, then water to the top, then froze all. Don't they look lovely?

Note that I said Frances and I did this project; I've started to leave Clark out of some of these activities, and without much guilt. He was part of the graham cracker houses (in retrospect, I should have just bought the damn gingerbread house kit since I was not going to commit to baking the gingerbread myself. The graham cracker houses were not as easy as I expected) but I spent a good bit of time saying, "Clark, sit down. Please stop shaking the table. Okay, only one more piece of candy. Don't sit on the table, Clark. In your chair. Could you please stop moving for a moment?!" Man, he makes me nutso sometimes. Constantly in motion, constant activity, constant throwing of things. Constant, constant. In the end I just released him: "Clark, go. Go play over there. Legos. You want legos?" and I finished his house.

Good enough parenting. That's the aim, remember?

addendum

2010-12-14T11:04:00.002-05:00

When my husband read the last post, the one about the woman at airport security with two tiny children, he got rather irritated with me. Since he was with me at the airport he of course knew the whole story, and he called me out for the part I neglected to include, which I didn't because the post was already long and I didn't think it was necessary in order to make my point, when in fact it makes the point even stronger and clearer. Also, Mitch felt I was unfairly ragging on dads, on men, when the problem is much larger than that, as you will see.

So. After the dad came and took the boy from me, and after I'd put my shoes in the plastic bin and my backpack on the conveyer belt, and after I'd walked through the metal detector, I sat down on a bench to put my shoes back on and generally organize myself. That was when I noticed the mom in the middle of a circle of security folks who were helping her take the baby wrap off, patting her down, going through her suitcases. (of course they were.) I stood by the entrance to the terminal to wait for Mitch, and the little boy tried to dart by me (unwatched as he was for the moment, because his mother was needlesstosay dealing with other shit). I sort of blocked his way, trying to keep him in the general security area rather than running loose in the terminal, but he was determined and going toward something specific, and when I turned, there was his grandmother. I assume that's who she was; in any case a woman older than his mom who was smiling and holding her arms out to him, and he clearly knew and trusted her.

So not only had the mom been left by the dad to deal with both kids on her own, but the grandmother (we're going to call her that for the sake of simplicity) was there somewhere too, not helping. Again, I know nothing. Maybe she too was dealing with passports and hassle from TSA and no one meant to leave the mom by herself. But I don't think so. If that were the case, then why was the grandmother not over by the mom and toddler just then, while the mom was being patted down, trying to do as they asked and hold out her arms while also holding the baby? Why had the dad or the grandmother not offered to hold the baby? Why were the grandmother's arms empty, not even a bag to carry? Why wasn't she helping????

The point is that it's not just the non-maternalness of men that mistakenly assumes the mom's got it under control. It's ALL of society that believes moms are the only ones responsible for the children. Maybe in past times, when households and neighborhoods were multigenerational, it looked like the mom was doing all the work, but she wasn't--not if it was going smoothly.

And this is an interesting issue, because I find it bleeding over into my own perception of my parenting. There are times when I ask Mitch to take the kids so I can do--whatever--run errands or go out with friends or go to a doctor's appointment, and I feel guilty, like I'm shirking my duties, because my duties are the children. I feel like I'm not supposed to ask for help with them. The first few days of Frances's life this issue was already in play. I had a rough recovery, couldn't stand for more than a few minutes. But I felt like I had to do everything. Mitch finally said, "I want to help. I want you to tell me how I can help." It was hard for me to accept, to wake him in the night after I'd nursed simply to say, "Would you mind changing the baby's diaper?" I felt like it was silly for us both to be up... I was already up nursing; I should be able to also change her and swaddle her and rock her back to sleep. Truth was, I needed the help. I needed to not be getting in and out of bed so much, because it was painful, and I needed to know someone was there to help me if I asked.

Someone there to help if you ask. Isn't that what we all need? Just to know that?

because we're all in the same big boat

2010-12-07T16:34:00.003-05:00

I've been away from the blog because we've been away on vacation! To LA! Without kids! Mitch was invited to present at UCLA and I went along while my mom stayed with Frances and Clark. Sunshine! Ocean views from our (Santa Monica) hotel! It was fabulous and warm (I left here with a tiny bit of snow on the ground, and returned to much more snow on the ground. I had to dig the car out in just my little sweatshirt and no gloves...), and I got to see two old friends, which was renewing in ways I didn't see coming.

We took the redeye home. Redeyes always seem like a good idea--get on the plane at 11:30pm (which means an extra full day in LA) then sleep while in transit (cuz why would you want to be awake for that anyway?) and arrive at 9am, rested and ready for the day. But the reality is that you step onto the plane already bleary eyed and then only sleep in 2 minute increments because you're sitting upright in a tiny airplane seat forcryingoutloud and besides, the seatbelt sign keeps dinging on and off.

At least my mom stayed an extra day here, so I could sleep once we got home. It all worked out.

At LAX there was a young mom at security with a baby strapped to her chest--maybe 3 months old? I had been watching the baby earlier with a kind of yearning I've become familiar with and will discuss later, and I didn't realize until I heard the screaming that she had a toddler too. My guess is he was not yet two, and the poor mom was trying to get her million bags organized for security and the kid kept running off. She'd go get him and drag him back by the arm, and drag him she had to because as soon as she touched him he went boneless and screamed and flopped on the floor. A couple of times she left him there on the floor for a moment, lolling around on the ground, while she again tried to organize baby crap diaper bags shoes belts phones on the conveyor belt, and the kid would get up and run off. Then she'd go get him, and again with the screaming and flopping. She couldn't pick him up or get a good grip on him because of the baby on her front who thankfully wasn't hollering too; he was rather mesmerized by the lights on the ceiling.

As soon as the security fella checked my ID with his little pen light and scribbled on my boarding pass with his highlighter, I made my way to the mom and toddler. At that specific moment she was simultaneously trying to hold him by the arm and lug a suitcase up onto the conveyor belt, and he was 90% on the floor. I just said, "Let me help you," and scooped him up. I didn't know if he'd let me hold him, but he did, and the crying didn't get any louder though it didn't let up any either. I didn't worry about that, just let him cry and tried to jolly him a bit and simply keep him from running off while the mom dealt with everything else. She looked so surprised when I picked him up, and then enormously grateful, and then she paused and stood there a moment, her hair falling in her face. It took me a minute to realize she was crying.

Before that moment I sympathized with her (and greatly) but when she started to cry I suddenly knew what she was feeling, and I could feel the echo of it in my own chest. I remembered the exhaustion and desperation and trying-my-best-because-what-else-is-there-to-do-but-slog-through and oh I felt for her. I should have known she would cry. That's what I always did when strangers rescued me. The reason the tears come at those moments of rescue is because 1) the sheer gratitude that someone else sees your suffering and simply wants to help is overwhelming, and 2) you would be doing nothing but crying anyway if only you were able to pause for a moment to feel what it is you're feeling.

The mom only cried for a moment and then got it together and thanked me, and thanked me again, and then again, and that was when I realized she didn't even speak english. Damn, she must have been even more overwhelmed than the average distressed mom.

And THEN. The dad appeared. Seriously. Where the hell had he been? Had he just been at a different conveyor belt station, leisurely taking off his shoes and getting his bags in order and ignoring the screaming? Good grief. He didn't even take the kid from me right away. What the hell??? She was already wearing the baby, probably sleep deprived and sore nipples, her back aching from the wrap, and why was she left to drag the toddler around in the first place? Damn. Although we've come a long way, it's true that women are still assumed to be the ones fully responsible for the kids. Hello postpartum depression! And then the dads don't understand why the moms are emotional or overwhelmed. Or worse: sometimes they don't even notice.

Now, to be fair, I don't know anything about their situation. Maybe he was dealing with legal crapola and passports and being hassled by TSA while she tried to get their shit through security. That they were of another culture (unnamed) I see as relevant. It's a culture that's typically rather misogynist. But still, if I can see she's struggling and I don't even know her, can't he?

But the flag I'd like to fly here doesn't have to do with dads, but with us moms and the others we witness. I want to call you to action: Help those moms you see struggling! Help each other! And I think it's important to not just ask, "Do you need any help?" politely waiting to be invited and perhaps uncertain about interfering. Instead, straight up offer: "What can I do?" or "Here, let me hold the groceries while you get the baby in the stroller." When Frances was 5 months old I flew with her by myself to NYC, and as I got to my seat on the plane, the woman in the row behind just stood up, held out her arms, and said, "I'll hold the baby while you get settled." I almost cried then too, so grateful not only for the help, but also that someone would know the struggle inside me.

Being a mom of a tiny baby feels so lonely, so alone. When most people see a mom and a baby, all they see is the baby and her incredible cuteness. What a beautiful thing to have other people see us moms too, and know our struggle behind the sweetness that is the baby. Both exist at the same time: the wonder of a small baby, and the anxiety and fear and exhaustion of being a mom. We need to tell each other we're not alone, give a shout of support--You can do this! and remind each other that there are people around willing to help, to be kind, to offer a hand.

let's give some thanks, shall we?

2010-11-25T10:45:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Good food, good company, no consumerism, and thanks. Here's what I've got to give thanks for today:

Good health, strong marriage, sweet children, clean water, cuddling in bed with my husband and kids while I type this, coming snow, that my husband has the means to support our family plus something extra to save and give back to the community, and the sweet bare curiosity and honesty of childhood.

I'm also extremely thankful that some things have changed. I find myself suddenly in a different space--where I don't long for the relief of a sitter or Mitch's getting home at night, where I look forward to hanging out with the kids, letting Frances help me make the cranberry sauce or Clark help me do the laundry. I'm aware that it was a mere three weeks ago that I thought I couldn't be around them at all. So what changed? it is me? Is it them?

More on that later. For now, just thanks. And off to a hike with my sweet husband, my shrieking son, my cooperative daughter, and our funny dog. Happy day of thanks to you too!

the moments to see

2010-11-16T21:43:00.003-05:00

Ages ago someone posted an anonymous comment on the blog that just said, "You sure do complain a lot." Most likely some random surfing bloodshot human, probably childless, but it bothered me a good bit. I conjured up responses in my head like, "the blog is, after all, about the challenges of being a mom..." In the end I just deleted the comment.

Today, though, I gave the blog address to a new friend, and just this minute I took a look at the blog and read the last few posts to see what she was going to see when she looked it up. And damn, I sure do complain a lot.

That's unfortunate.

Because there are certainly lovely moments. There are transcendent moments. Moments when the light comes in all soft around the edges. Another blog I won't post a link to writes about exactly those moments, and I will admit that when I took a look at it (having been directed there by its being voted one of the top 50 mom blogs on Babble) I almost laughed. Yes, it's sweet, and grateful, and celebratory of life. But it also seemed like a bunch of crap to me, somehow. Not that I believe the blogger doesn't experience things in that light, (though, does she, really?) but why do other people want to read about it? I don't know... I feel like the transcendent moments are more private. The crappy ones are the ones you need company for. They're the ones we need to share so we don't feel so alone in our frustrations. Hence this blog.

However. One might argue that it's good to fine tune the focus on those sweet moments, let our eyes go lazy and our gaze drift on the more challenging ones. That would be nice. An nice way to live, to pay more attention to the laughing than to the yelling. Okay, perhaps I could use more of that.

Yet it's the challenging moments that call us, that ask of us the most that we have, ask us to look hard at the things that need seeing. Isn't there some danger to putting them aside? We can't live our lives in soft focus. (And who knows, maybe she doesn't. Maybe she just wants to capture those moments in the blog. Yet I have to ask: why? Why do you want to share them? Is it a kind of art? Capturing the sweet? The dainty? What about the powerful? No judgement, though.) It is a spiritual journey, after all. It's also a nerve-fraying-screaming-and-petrified-cheese-under-the-carseat journey, which makes us forget it's a spiritual journey. Perhaps we could remember if we could hear ourselves think.

Or maybe the moments that try us are just more interesting. They show us our mettle.

Moving on.

My new camera is lovely. Here is its rendition of JOY, or what we did Saturday morning:

And here's LOVE:

This is Leo. He lives across the street. He and Frances love each other. Love. Like the real, true, affectionate, whole kind. He's moving away at christmas, and my heart will break for her. For now, though, here they are. Happy.

bbbbbetter

2010-11-09T21:38:00.002-05:00

Turns out that particular freak out had much to do with hormones. Did I mention I got the IUD with the hope of eradicating PMS? Oh well, it's early; my body is still adjusting. And currently I blame the IUD not only for the hysteria itself but also for its wacky intensity, because it was way wackier than my usual PMS episodes. Hormones are strange things. Anyway, things are much improved over here, and I'm a much saner person.

In other news: Clark has a stutter. It's kind of cute, though am I allowed to say that? It started maybe 2 weeks ago and the past few days have actually been better. It's only the first sound of a sentence, and as he tries and tries to get it out, he gets louder and louder until he's shouting and red in the face. After about a week he realized he could speak clearly if he whispered, which I found to be pretty nifty of him. But then he started to stutter in the whisper.

It's a normal thing for kids to go though, I know. They say there's only need for concern if it goes on 3 months or longer. I'm not worried.

Also, Frances is a gem right now. Which is particularly fabulous given the terror that is my son. She's so helpful and patient when I have to deal with him. She's also very very affectionate, kissing, hugging, generally wrapping herself around me, telling me she loves me, wants to play with me, wants me to be with her. Aaaah, at least they're not horrible at the same time. (I probably shouldn't write that. My next post could be about what kind of padded cell they're going to put me in since they've both become intolerable.) For now, though, I can at least see that my patience comes and goes, rather than is gone. I was really worried for a minute. Thanks for all the concern and the love. It helps--really.

Plus, I bought a big fancy camera. Results to come.

2010-11-09T21:22:00.001-05:00

Top 50 mom blogs... vote for your favorite (or for mine. :)

http://www.babble.com/babble-50/mommy-bloggers/nominate-a-blogger/

my undoing

2010-11-06T14:45:00.001-04:00

I have no dishwasher and no camera. Damn the modern need for this gadgetry! It turns out I live in a very fragile and procarious tower (midieval stone and tiny window variety) where one brick goes and the whole thing tumbles down. I'm falling apart over here. I couldn't even get it together enough to go vote. And I really wanted to vote.

At first I thought it was the dishwasher that put me over the edge--the final straw--, or simply the snowball effect of sitters who cancelled and Mitch's migraine that put him completely out of commission for bath/bedtime routine the night before my embarrassing emotional collapse in the middle of the gym (while on a machine, no less. I had to flee to find a more discreet place to disintegrate). But it wasn't the dishwasher. It's Clark. Clark Clark Clark, who used to be my sweet baby, my agreeable one, the easy going, the less intense, the one who could adjust and flex and roll. I somehow thought his personality would allow him to bypass this developmental stage. How silly of me.

Let me be clear. He is no longer a sweet baby. He is two and a half, and he is a monster. MONSTER. Perhaps we are at the height of the thing? The most intense it will get? Perhaps he's not still building to his full monsterdom? Oh please let that be so. For everyone's sake, let that be so, and let this peak not last long, let us soon come down the other side oh so gently.

A MONSTER. It's gotten to where I don't want to go anywhere--the library or the carousel at the play museum or the hardware store--because there is a 100% chance he's going to be incredibly difficult about something. Getting in his carseat. Getting out of his carseat. Which carseat to sit in. Which song is on. The fact his blankie fell on the floor.

He's got a terribly traumatic life.

But the thing that undoes me is the 100% chance that once we get to the bagel shop, farmer's market, grocery store, he's going to throw a fit about something he absolutely cannot touch, climb, hit. Mr. Destructo coming through! I simply cannot take it. So we go nowhere.

He still throws fits at home, of course; about my telling him he can't throw Little People at the dog, or hit the cat with the wiffle bat, or climb daddy's dresser. Today we had a fit with Every Single diaper change.

It exhausts me.

It's not that I'm embarrassed about his displays in public. It's not that I feel like an incompetent parent because he's delivering them. I know it's a stage and it will (eventually...!) pass, but somehow the shrieking or the flinging--or something--has tripped my panic button and I don't know how to turn it off. I feel like a crazy person. (A couple of days ago I seriously wondered if I could come back from it, thought maybe we'd have to hire a full time nanny for a month or so, so I could lie in bed and read The Age of Innocence and the New York Times Magazine. I'm way behind on current events.)

I'm trying. I'm doing all the right things; going to the gym, being social, doing laundry. I have absolutely no motivation to organize and prepare food, and that's a bummer for everyone. But a few dinners of mac and cheese never hurt any kid. And a few dinners of cereal for mom and dad never did either. Hopefully the tide will turn and my energy will come back, my motivation will return. This hideous gray rainy weather isn't helping I'm sure. I'm holding out for the pretty white snow...

also

2010-11-01T12:38:00.002-04:00

I've lost my camera again. Or more specifically, Frances has lost it. Just so you know. No pictures anytime soon, unless I cave and go buy the big fancy one I've been wanting. Which I just might do.

what is there to fear?

2010-11-01T12:37:00.001-04:00

Boy, I'm really having trouble these days getting to the blog. Part of that is because in my free time I go to the attic, to my new painting studio, with which I am in love. This is a good thing, of course, but I also need this blog; I need it for for me, for me to process and record and extrapolate, to make some sense and order of the disorderly world. And I apologize to those loyal followers who check back often: YOU! You are some of my favorite people, the ones in it with me.

Sometimes I feel like all I do it try to get breathing room. Each art activity, trip to the park, sitter I schedule, space I declutter, are all done with the goal of feeling calmer, more organized, revived. I can't seem to revive.

But it occurs to me that there is no point in revival, just like there's no front of the line of traffic on the highway; there's always more traffic, and always more space to declutter, sweaters to mend, laundry to fold, dinner to cook. There's never going to be a time when it's all done and I can sit and read my book (or write on my blog) while feeling free and relaxed.

There are things I want to do with the kids--projects--but it's like I can't get myself rested enough (emotionally, physically) to put them together. If I wanted to make excuses we could talk again about my headaches... And it's true; much of the time I'm so depleted from the migraine and hangover after that I'm a success if I get people fed.

I feel like I'm waiting for the storm to pass, hanging on. But the truth is that there is no storm, and there is no passing. It's just life. Instead of hanging on and waiting, I should be letting go--falling falling, and enjoying the wind and rain.

venting venting complaining and venting

2010-10-18T12:54:00.001-04:00

I know I do a lot of complaining on this blog. I would like there to be more questioning and celebrating and a little less complaining, but there it is. Perhaps that was part of the blog's initial intent anyway--a place to vent. (That's not true. I hoped it wouldn't be just a place to vent--that's for journals and coffee shop napkins--but a place to examine concepts with some consciousness.) One of the reasons I've been absent here for the past short bit is because I couldn't come up with much to write that wasn't complaining: about the strep Frances and I had (deargod did that hurt) or how although she seemed well within 5 minutes of starting her antibiotics it took me days and days of lying in bed without the energy to lift a spoon of soup to my lips; about the two-kids-and-one-me air travel which wasn't actually so bad and involved only a moderate amount of screaming ("Sit down, Clark. You must sit down on your bottom." "AAAAaaaahhhhhaaaahhhhaa!") and only one spilled drink in someone's-not-mine lap and seat, and I even had a change of clothes handy; about how I mistakenly thought that traveling by myself wasn't going to be the same energy expenditure as regular single parenting because we were going to see fun people and do fun things, but in fact it was rather exhausting; and now--now!--after coming home to my sweet sweet husband who not only greeted us at the airport with a rose for me but also straightened the whole house--our first weekend back and the excitement of being with Mitch because it's fun and because it gives me a hand, and Mitch spent most of the weekend in bed with some unidentifiable illness. Sigh.

I mean, really. My life does not suck. I do not live in war torn Serbia. I do not support these kids by myself with two low paying crappy jobs. I am not alone, abused, hungry. I live in a very nice house with a wonderful and supportive husband and disposable income. I have the freedom to choose whether to work or stay home with these children. My family are all healthy. Yet still I complain.

While we were in North Carolina I talked with one of my oldest friends about this: about the frustration and underlying general dissatisfaction that seems to come with caring for young children. My therapist assures me it is particular to this stage of my life and theirs; that staying home with small children is isolating and frustrating and makes you feel the loss of self, of identity, and that eventually the kids will grow and need me less, and things will all change.

Not that I need to tell this to anyone who has ever had a child, but it's just so emotionally exhausting. The crux of the thing is that you're never off duty. Even when they're finally (finally!) asleep in their beds and you and your glass of wine are settled on the couch for some mindless entertaining 30 Rock, they could resurface at any moment. You still have to listen for their calls, their cries, have to be ready to console or convince or clean up vomit, can't drink too much of that wine lest someone wakes with a fever of 105 and you have to drive to the hospital. You listen in your sleep, always ready and trained to act.

I've mentioned before my friend Sylvia's comparison of parenting to the trenches of war: hunkered down, ready to act, sleeping with one eye open. I really don't want to make light of war experiences, but it is a funny way to think about it.

I'm done. I feel much better.

No, one more thing: when will Clark stop flinging across the room everything he touches? When will he stop shrieking in response to any form of correction or suggestion or coercion or discipline? When will he actually play with toys rather than just dumping tubs of them on the floor and walking away? These things will pass, right?

Okay, now I'm done.

And since I'm done, I will tell you one uncomplaining thing: I set up my painting studio! I bought paints and funky gel texture mediums! I can't wait to get up there! I just have to find the time... and that's just a fact, not a complaint.

causality

2010-10-06T15:42:00.000-04:00

Got an IUD. While I know that our contraceptive decisions may not be of any interest to you at all, I tell you this because 1) it brought back some pretty strong emotions and memories from our infertility days when I had to have that horrific test done where they tell you it might feel "a little crampy"as dye is shot into your uterus, and in fact you end up nearly coming off the table, and 2) it hurt like a motherfucker. Really hurt. Really. For several hours. Even though the gynecologist told me it would feel nothing like the dye test, liar she is. I'd even taken six (six!) ibuprofen an hour before. The plus side, besides contraception, is that it could help enormously with my PMS and mood swings (which, for everyone involved, are more trying than I want to tell you) and even with my headaches. I'll take almost any help with my headaches.

I didn't start this blog until Frances was 8 months or so, so I wasn't blogging when we were going through the 4th circle of hell, otherwise known as Infertility. Before I participated in that particular train wreck, I didn't understand when people said it was hard. Hard how? Why would it be hard? We didn't end up having to go the distance: Frances was conceived on our fourth try with Intra-Uterine-Insemination (IUI) rather than In-Vitro-Fertilization (IVF), so I still tasted the bitter pill, but didn't have to injest bottle after tiresome bottle. There are people out there who do a better job talking about it than I... the blog A Little Bit Pregnant is wonderful (and very funny) in exploring what infertility does to a person and how one slogs through it with some amount of sanity intact.

It's Hard because it makes impersonal and clinical something that should be the realm of story and fable, something surrounded by deep heart desires, by yearning. It's a private thing, this desire for children, for creating history, for connection and relation and love, and here you are on a table with your feet in the stirrups.

Also, you have no control.

But not only that: the logistics of infertility treatments provide a lovely roller coaster of hope and emotion. The third day of my cycle (day 3 of my period) I would begin taking oral hormones, and I would nurture this tiny sprig of hope that perhaps this time... Every few days I would go in for an internal ultrasound (a rather phallic wand, not very comfortable) where on the screen I would see the number of eggs developing that month. There they are. Hope. Each time I was there they would get bigger and bigger, until it was time. Then I would give myself a shot at home which guaranteed ovulation so precise the doctors knew the moment the egg was released. Hope hope hope. The insemination part was a turkey baster type of thing, just at the right time, no better opportunity, and now just up to the swimmers to get there. I didn't have to--as with IVF--have my eggs "harvested", removed and fertilized in the petri dish, a painful detail from what I'm told. After the insemination there was the waiting. Waiting. Ten days, which might seem short but absolutely is not. Then. After all that, after you're up up up at the top of the hope hill, you wake up one morning to the bright beginning of your period, and down down down you come. But lest you get too comfortable down there in the pit of hopelessness, in two days you will start another round of hormones and "this time," you think. "Maybe this time."

Oh god it's hell.

Why was I telling you this? Oh yes, the IUD. Well, enough about that.

A Little Bit Pregnant brought up an interesting question recently: does going through infertility hell make you a better parent? (ostensibly because of the sheer gratefulness of finally being pregnant.) But I say no. Grateful as you may be, blessed as you may feel, success granted through all the times you pledged to be a perfect parent if you could only become one forgodsakes, regular day to day parenting still puts you in that spot. That spot without much forest for the trees. You still have the regular frustration of unending care for someone else, and the needs of these little people are great as well as immediate.
The abovementioned blog says it nicely:

I don't think infertility has made me a better parent. If anything, it's made me acutely aware that I am an average parent. If I'm more grateful than I'd otherwise have been -- and whether that's the case is utterly unknowable -- well, so what? Sometimes the only thing the gratitude buys me is the knowledge that I should do better, and the sadness when I don't.

Which sounds like a big damn downer. But I actually think it's beautiful. Isn't this what we all hope for when we seek to become families? The chance to try, maybe fail, and then grow?

That's an awfully nice way to frame it. Yes, I believe that no matter what you go through to get here, here is where we all are. Welcome! I think I'll stay awhile.

happy happy birthday birth day.

2010-09-28T21:28:00.004-04:00

A nice little quote to start us off:

The most important thing she’d learned over the years was that there was no way to be a perfect mother and a million ways to be a good one. — Jill Churchill

Oh, I've been thinking about this quote, and every time I do it makes me feel better. Because, of course, I am a good mother in a million ways, but somehow I so often forget that and focus on my lack of perfection.

Being the good mother that I am, I spent all of last saturday--and I mean all--baking a castle cake. Frances was four on sunday and the party was by royal invitation. We had mostly princesses, one knight, one prince, and one determined royal firefighter. I was a little surprised by the lack of kings and queens. Perhaps these little people recognize their true lack of power and go instead for simple prestige.

And I made princess hats (what is the actual name for them? the cone shaped things with veils out the top...) out of elmo birthday hats from Clark's party last year: I covered them with foil, cut the tip off, and pulled netting and ribbons through. I cut a few crowns for the fellas out of posterboard and covered them with foil also. They got to decorate these with little stick on gems from Michaels. Mitch erected a "castle" in our family room from a tent, a big blanket, and a broom, and inside we spread out the tea set on a footstool. It was the hit of the party. (Frances is third from the left in this picture, in the lighter pink.)

After the party Frances kept telling me, "You're the best mommy in the whole world." Ten hours on a cake will do that to you, it turns out. I'd been thinking about the cake for some time, trying to figure out how to put it together, or perhaps how to decorate the yummy Ultimate White Cake I was going to buy from Wegmans. Somewhere I heard the suggestion to use upside down ice cream cones for castle turrets and that seemed like a good idea except that I couldn't figure out, once you've frosted the thing, how to get it from your hand onto the cake. You see what I mean? In the end I felt brilliant: I thinned out the frosting with milk, used a pastry brush to paint it on the cone, and then rolled the cone in silver and purple sprinkles. They were lovely. I do wish I'd used a different color of gumdrops, maybe yellow, for the tops of the turrets... the purple doesn't really show up, but I'd already been to the store twice and wasn't going back again.

The party was lovely. I boycotted the tradition--at least around here--of pizza before cake, which made me a little nervous and feel a bit like an outlaw. (When I brought out the cake, Frances said, "Mommy, where's the pizza?") And I boycotted the goodie bag, as I plan to do for the rest of my kids' lives. Good grief, they've just gotten free cake and drinks and maybe pizza, plus bouncing or painting or some other intentionally fun activity, and now they need goodies in pretty bags too? I don't get it. Isn't the party enough? But I digress.

Just before cake I had the kids line up outside the Entry to the Royal Ballroom and I recruited an older sibling as a trumpeter while each child was announced and introduced to the Royal Court. It might have been my favorite part. Really, can it get any cuter than happy agreeable four year olds?

So four years ago today I had a newborn and no sleep and ice packs between my legs. Four years ago today we brought Frances home from the hospital and put on on the bed in her room where she lay mesmerized by the light through the gauze curtains. Four years ago I was a new mom and the light came down a little differently through the trees. Happy birth day to me.

sleepy toddler update

2010-09-24T22:14:00.001-04:00

A big THANK YOU to everyone who responded with suggestions! (there were also about 25 more suggestions on my fb page...) It was interesting: all of it was helpful, even if I disagreed with it, because it helped me frame what I believe would work for us.

Here's what's happened: I unplugged the lamp in Clark's room (he has no overhead) and told him it was broken, and then I hung up a pretty little string of multi-colored japanese lantern lights. When I brought him in the room to show him the lights he said, "So beautiful!" That night in bed he stared up at them for ages and was so entranced with them that he let me leave before he was asleep.

The next night we had a harder time when Mitch told Clark he was leaving the room. There was screaming. Mitch left anyway and Clark screamed for a while more before he climbed out of the bed and came downstairs. I took him back up and sang him a song and told him I was going to leave. He protested, as expected. I got the bear off his changing table and put it in his crib, and told him the bear was very sleepy and he wanted to be sung a song so he could go to sleep. I asked Clark if he would sing the bear a song, asked what song he thought was the bear's favorite. Clark thought Row Row Row Your Boat might be, so I suggested he sing it to the very sleepy bear, and then I left. From downstairs the monitor told us that he sang and sang to the bear, and then happily talked to himself until he was asleep.

The next night Mitch was the one putting him down again, and when he told Clark he was leaving Clark screamed, but only for a moment. Maybe we've turned a corner. Aaaand in the middle of the night Mitch dreamed Clark had climbed up into his arms, and then he woke, and Clark indeed was in bed with us, wrapped in Mitch's arms.

Since then we've been up and down... most nights we leave before he's completely asleep. Since we turned out the bright lights he definitely sleeps more consistently until morning, rather than getting up and 2 or 3 or 4 and wanting to get on with the day. Some nights he has a harder time than others, and we adjust; we stay with him a little while, or we make some kind of deal like we'll leave the door open and books in his bed as long as he will stay there, and some nights we just muddle through. But! Overall we're in a better place. Yay!

Frances's 4th birthday is the day after tomorrow and I'm busy now with the making of princess crowns and the creation of a castle cake, plus family is in town for the festivities, so it might be a few days before much more.... Though I do want to say that the birthday ceremony today at her Waldorf school was the sweetest thing I may have ever seen and it was all I could do not to blubber right there in the middle of it. I'll try to post pictures.

looking for suggestions!!

2010-09-14T10:23:00.005-04:00

Serious sleep issues, and I need some help. At two this morning Clark was standing beside my bed saying "downstairs! downstairs!" and this did not work for me. In the end I was only up with him for about 40 minutes, but the night before it was an hour and a half. I'm starting to feel like when he was an infant and I was sleep deprived for legitimate reasons.

Here's what we've got:

First, he sleeps with his light on full, which is a problem because when he wakes up he doesn't know if it's morning and insists that he's ready to get up and go downstairs. I've thought about just taking the bulb out, telling him it's broken, and putting in a small night light. That means we'll have to read books at night somewhere other than in the armchair in his room, but that's okay. Another option is to put in a clock and tell him he can't get up until the first number is a six or seven or whatever, but honestly I don't think he's going to go for that at all. He'll just get up anyway. Or we could try both.

The next issue is that he wants us to stay in the room until he falls asleep. He doesn't do this at nap, by the way. He asks sometimes at nap and I tell him "no, at nap we don't do that," and he accepts it. So we're going to have to have a talk about how mom and dad are not going to stay in the room anymore. I could deal with letting him cry it out (and I think it would only take a day of this....) but he won't just cry it out; he'll climb out of the crib. This all started with his climbing out in the first place: we tried the supernanny thing of putting him back, putting him back, not speaking to him and just putting him back, but he just became more and more hysterical and worked himself up into what seemed an unnecessary panic. When that would happen and I would stop and just put my arms around him, he'd quiet immediately. We figured it was just a stage, some kind of anxiety that would pass, so we started to stay in the room. It isn't so bad to sit with him when we put him to bed, especially as we've taken to watching netflix on our iphones with headphones while we wait, but the problem is that he expects it again when he wakes in the night.

AND I CANNOT KEEP DOING THIS AT 2AM.

Okay. So when he wakes at night and screams, I tell him it's the middle of the night and everyone is sleeping and he needs to sleep too. He shrieks. If I say I'm going back to bed he shrieks and then climbs out of his bed. Here are the options as I see them:

1) Get a crib tent. Zip him in. Ignore the possible hazard were there a fire. Make him feel powerless but dominated. Get some sleep.

2) Get a new toddler bed he loves, a fire truck or pirate boat or something, and tell him he can only have it if he stays in it. In order to enforce that, however, I'd also have to get a crib tent so I can move him to the crib if he won't stay in the bed.

3) Leave the crib the way it is but put latches on the door so he can't get out of the room. This will probably mean he will cry until he passes out on the floor. Again with the powerlessness.

4) Is he old enough (2 1/2) for a sticker chart? I don't know... I don't think he'll get the idea of accumulating stickers toward a goal. But maybe there's something I can bribe him with immediately? I don't know what. He doesn't sleep with any stuffed animals, nothing I can take away if he won't comply...

5) Dose him heavily with narcotics every night before bed. Kidding. Sort of.

6) Gear myself up and do the supernanny sleep training for a couple of nights: simply put him back in bed every time he gets out. The problem with this is that I have to stay nearby to put him back in, and that's just what he wants. He doesn't mind being in the bed as long as I'm there too.

7) Take him into the bed with me in the guest room. (you note the absence of the option to put him in bed with us... both of us are light sleepers and it simply would not work.) I fear this would mean I would forever sleep in the guest room, which just creates another problem rather than solving this one.

8) Is there something I can get for his room that would make him more comfortable, less needy? Suggestions????

He used to be a great sleeper. He used to just wave to us from his bed as we said goodnight. He would wake up and sometimes call out in the night, but then go right back to sleep. All by himself. And I don't feel this is any longer about anxiety and separation and fear; now it seems to be about control, the way he is trying to assert control over his world. Maybe one solution, or part of the solution, is to help him feel in control in other ways, give him choices or let him make other decisions. Thoughts about that?

So, please, if you have any suggestions at all, please please offer them. Helpful or unhelpful, tried or absurd, I'll take em.

By the way, I'm writing this while both kids are at preschool! All on my own here in the world, for a little while. Maybe this space will mean I can keep up with the blog better. That would be nice.

brainfizz

2010-09-13T21:44:00.000-04:00

I think my brain is deteorating. This is mostly why I haven't been posting... sometimes interesting issues come up, but then I can't think through them or something. This is what too many diapers will do to a person. Or maybe it's the volume of the screaming; maybe it's not just my eardrums it's damaged, but my actual brain cells too. I'll buy that.

Recently I made a new friend, a childless friend who is a PhD and new faculty here. She uses her brain on a regular basis for more than estimating the fullness of a diaper or how many snacks are necessary for a given outing, and while talking with her I felt like I was sprinting to keep up. It was pitiful. I need to take a class or something.

We are in transition. (We are actually all in transition all the time, but some transitions move more earth than others...) For one thing, school just started for Frances. We visited for a bit on Wednesday and then she had regular school days Thursday and Friday, though Thursday afternoon I was rather shocked to realize she was going again the very next day. I felt like it should be once a week or something....

Wednesday morning was going along fine, everyone wearing their own clothes and generally behaving, then Frances started losing her shit. "Is she hungry?" I asked Mitch. She cried about the toy Clark was playing with. She cried because the 6 page paperback book she was reading 'pinched her finger'. "Did she not sleep?" I asked. "Is she nervous about school?" And she was. It took awhile for her to admit it, or discover it, or something. She appears to be blessed with my complete inability to know what it is I'm feeling while I'm feeling it. I'm trying to help her with this, which is hard since I don't know how to do it in the first place.

So I told her about my scary first day of school, embellishing with all kinds of real and possibly real details. I reminded her I was going to be with her at the school--this was just a visit, not the actual first day--and then I realized she might not remember being there before, so told her what the school looked like, about the play kitchen and the dress up clothes and the baskets of rocks and wood and the chickens in the back. She calmed down, and when we were there she had a lovely time.

Thursday morning at the beginning of school they had a ceremony with this rainbow bridge, where the children, holding flowers, stood on one side of the bridge with their parents and the teacher stood on the other. One by one the children kissed their parents and crossed over the bridge where they gave the flower to the teacher who collected them into a bouquet. It symbolized their spirits going from their parents to the care of the teacher while in school, and at the end of the year ceremony they will walk over the bridge in the opposite direction. It was very very sweet. Frances had no issue at all with it and marched right across the bridge. Later in an email, the teacher said Frances had a really good day and was so confident. How funny to me that she is. The school is a Waldorf Kindergarten which is mixed ages, 4-6, and she's the youngest there. I worried a little that this would show and she would feel out of her element somehow, but I guess not. She's already attached to one other girl whose name is Francesca, interestingly.

So there's that. We've been getting along so well the past few days and Mitch suggested it's because she has school, something of her own away from me, something to make her feel independent. Or maybe we're just in the next (and much improved) stage.

But Clark! The stage we're in now is not so fabulous. I know I've said it before but since I think it every third minute of the day, it can bear repeating here: I cannot WAIT until no one in this house is two. Just the noise level alone is enough to put a person over the edge. I've taken to putting tissue in my ears first thing in the morning. (earplugs seem to be a bit too effective.) It does help with my patience.

There's the sitting in his room until he falls asleep thing; I worried we were creating a monster and indeed here it is. Now he's waking up in the night and wanting us to sit with him until he falls back asleep. Actually, that's after all the arguing; last night he was up from 4-5:30, wanting to go downstairs, wanting snacks, wanting different pajamas. Every time I told him no, explained it was the middle of the night, he screamed. A being attacked 5 alarm kind of scream. I think we're going to have to pick a night, a couple of nights, and just let him scream. It's going to suck. But he's old enough now to understand it, old enough that it will probably only take one night of that kind of hell for him to realize what it means.

Oh when there are no more two-year-olds. But he's so charming and sweet when he's not screaming. When he's not out of sorts he is lovely to be around. I remembered this last week when Frances was in school and I had him all to myself. When they're together they kind of rile each other up, but alone with me he was only joy. Except when he was screaming, as I've said before. I swear I think he's louder than most children.

Yet! Tomorrow! Tomorrow is the first day with both of them in school. I drop Frances off at 8:45, then Clark at 9. What will I do with myself? And then! It will happen again on Thursday! Oh blessed day.

toddlerland

2010-09-03T16:58:00.002-04:00

Lots I want to post about; no time, no time. Which is mostly because I've been spending all my time helping Clark with his outfit changes. Seriously. We go through probably 8 different outfits by 10 am. It's currently the way he's attempting to assert 2-year-old control over his out of control world. I can't remember how Frances did it, though I do remember trying to come up with ways for her, things like letting her choose which sippy cup she wanted. Clark has come up with this all on his own and it's simply impossible (or at least unadvisable) to fight. His clothes, her clothes, doesn't matter. It even extends to pajamas. Last night Mitch put him down and when I got him up this morning he was wearing three shirts and two pairs of shorts over his onesie. We don't have air conditioning; he had to be hot, silly guy.

Clark is the same age now as Frances was when she was tantrumming in full. There was a stretch months that were very loud and volatile, plus an enormously long couple of weeks when she tantrummed about once every 30 minutes. All day long. Sometimes the tantrums would last 20 minutes, which meant only 10 minutes or so of reprieve between. It was seriously exhausting.

It's that age where they are so proud to be big (Clark tells us all the time, "I a BIG boy.") but also want to still be a baby. Being big is exciting and wonderful--to realize you have power and are ultimately separate--but they also are frustrated by how little actual power they have. After all, I make most decisions for him all day long: where we go, what he eats, when he eats, when he watches tv, when he gets his diaper changed, whether we get to go see the train in the grocery store though he begs and begs and begs. He wants to make some decisions. His clothes have taken the focus.

But being separate can also be scary, all exposed and vulnerable in the big world. He's back in his crib now, wanted to be in it rather than the toddler bed, and he wants me to carry him everywhere, from room to room, up and down the stairs, to the car, through the parking lot, which is a problem since he's a full 30 pounds now. "Uppy! Uppy!" he says, and I try to explain that I will hold his hand but I can't carry him, and he loses his mind. It's not just the wail of not getting his way; it's a lament of deep sorrow, keening, stamping his feet, tears. Sometimes I just give in and pick him up, but my back is suffering for it. I can't do it much longer.

I'm struggling with my headaches again, a thing that puts me out of commission on the blog completely. Hopefully they'll let up soon. I'm trying to post at least twice a week but clearly have not been meeting that goal lately. Yet! Next week Frances starts school! Four mornings a week! Clark starts the week after that--two mornings. Which means I'll have two whole mornings to myself!! It may be a whole new world.

boys will be girls

2010-08-24T19:21:00.008-04:00

Clark is all boy. Climbing, jumping, running, tumbling, car-zooming, rocket-blasting, tiger-growling, monster-roaring boy. But he also LOVES his big sister and wants to do whatever she does, which these days means wear her clothes.

"Sissy's clothes!" he says, and pulls open her drawer. "Princess dress!" It started with the dress up clothes, pink tutus and velvet leotards, but now it's Frances's actual clothes he demands, usually a skirt and tank top. His favorite tank top is orange with a bejeweled pineapple on the front. It's lovely.

I let him. Everyone thinks he's a girl, of course, what with his long hair and stick on earrings. I don't correct them. (The stick on earrings were a big thing for a while and looked particularly funny with his regular boy clothes, but now that Frances has her ears actually pierced he's not interested in the stick ons anymore, I assume because she's not.) It occurs to me that it's a good thing his hair isn't buzz cut short--I'd really have to deal with comments then. He looks so funny to me dressed in poofy pink while zooming cars all over the family room floor and walls. I try to squint and see him as a girl but I can't--he just looks so boyish, despite the frills. Handsome as he is, he would not make a pretty girl.

Salon recently did an article on this, from the point of view of the dad who was much more distressed about it than I am. His son was four and in school, and he was worried about whether the other children would tease him. We start school in about 3 weeks and we'll see then if it's still the fad. I might make a we-wear-our-own-clothes-to-school rule. Then again, I might not care.

My mom was here recently and she bought him a spiderman shirt for dress up. I think she hoped having some dress up of his own would mean he would abandon his sister's. He loved it. He accessorized with a wand and fairy wings. Very nice.

time for bed

2010-08-23T12:21:00.000-04:00

Finally, FINALLY we've got a new functional bedtime system. (All parenting is about systems, isn't it?) For ages bedtime around here was pretty easy. Clark was a dream: plop him in his crib and wave goodnight as you close the door behind you. Frances sometimes argued and negotiated but you can't have everything.

Then a couple of months ago everything changed. It's all Clark's doing--we moved him into a toddler bed and he literally could not stay in it. It was like his feet were physically pulled to the floor. There was lots of carrying him back to bed, back to bed, back to bed, discussing with him, possible threatening, then more simple repetition. Finally we moved him back to the crib, which helped for about 2 days. (For a split second I really thought we were onto something there--that maybe he didn't feel safe in the toddler bed or something, and that being in the crib would solve the problem.) Then he just climbed out of the crib over and over.

Finally he impressed upon us that he wants someone to sit in his room until he falls asleep. Some new fear / insecurity that he's developed, also probably related to his insisting that all the lights stay on like it's daylight in there. (For a short time I would sneak in after he'd fallen asleep and turn them off, leaving a closet light with plenty of light to see by, but he'd just wake at 3 am and insist that the lamps be turned on too...) So these days someone sits in the armchair by the crib until he falls asleep. We'll only stay if he doesn't talk or sing or bang on is crib in an effort to keep himself awake. Now that he trusts we'll be there, doesn't have to argue with us and chase after us, he actually falls asleep pretty quickly. I bring reading material--it's certainly bright enough to read, after all. I have Frances read to herself on her bed while I sit in Clark's room; I tell her I'll come back and lie with her for a few minutes after. And sometimes by the time Clark's fallen asleep, Frances has too.

So. Whew. It's funny the way things move in stages with kids. So often it's hard to spot; you think this new thing is some personality flaw or parenting failure, something you need to address and fix, only to discover a month later that it was a phase and just passed on its own. It would be so much more helpful if the phases would announce themselves.

For now, though, bedtime is no longer a 2 hour ordeal. So happy.

brave big girl

2010-08-17T16:06:00.000-04:00

Frances got her ears pierced. She's been asking for a couple of months and decided she wanted to do it when my mom was here visiting last week. I told her it would hurt, tried to impress this upon her so she would be prepared--she is a big wimp when it comes to pain, the tiniest scratch can bring hysteria. Some random person told her it would be just a "little pinch" and she kept repeating this to me. I said, "It's going to be more than a little pinch, Frances. It's going to hurt." "Just a little pinch," she said. So we went.

She was beside herself with excitement while they drew the dots where the piercing would go. They use two folks for the actual piercing so that both ears are done at once (thank goodness) and it was only when they told her to look straight at me and hold very still that she realized it was serious business and nervousness crossed her face. Then the guns clicked and she looked stunned for a moment. Her face crumpled and she leaned into my chest and cried very softly. She tried not to cry, tried so hard to be big and brave. I said, "it's okay to cry, honey," and she did only for a minute. Afterward there were lollypops and she was so proud. She's shown them to every single person she's come into contact with, strangers in the grocery included. And she's very into taking care of them, reminds me when we're supposed to clean them. What a big girl she's getting to be.

it's not a competition

2010-08-07T01:32:00.003-04:00

Saw a friend of mine last weekend at a birthday party and she said she had a question for me. She had read my blog post that mentioned Frances' writing the alphabet and wanted to know if it was something we'd worked with her on, if she initiated interest herself, etc. My friend had recently taken her son for his 4-year-old check up and the doc scolded her because her son wasn't writing yet. Later in the visit when they discussed some other developmental strength, the doctor said, "See? You're doing some things right."

Ack! This makes me nuts. It's a wonderful example of the pressure we put our kids under. WHO CARES if he's not writing yet? He's only four! If he were eight and not writing, then perhaps someone should take a closer look at what's going on. But it's not a competition!!!!! It's the very same thing as parents who brag that their kid walked at 7 months. WHO CARES?!

Kids are different. They develop at different rates. I have a friend whose son didn't walk until he was 22 months old. (He's now four and walks just fine.) When I asked her if this had worried her at the time, she said no, that he was very verbal and she just trusted that he would do things in his own time. She's a wise woman, and an exception, I think. There's so much pressure for our children to be successful in the very same ways, and so much assumption that we parents are doing something wrong when they are not. (This doctor, someone who should know better, pointed this out to my friend specifically--"See? You're doing some things right!" Funny that she'd meant it as an encouragement, because it actually was a condemnation. Which, now that I think about it, pisses me off even more--even if this child were delayed somehow, the doctor assumed this was the fault of the parent, and not the result of many many different and complicated factors that make up this particular child.)

I just wanted to put that out there. It made me wish I hadn't mentioned Frances's alphabet writing in the first place. And for the record, her dad has been working with her on it, and she did initially show interest that led him to work with her (mostly she wanted to use the computer, so they started spelling things on it, which led her to writing...) and at her school they do no letters or reading at all, which means she's felt no pressure from that direction. I mention the school because I firmly believe that teaching letters and reading in preschool is a detrimental thing for those many children who are not yet interested. It just makes them feel pressure and many times eventual dislike for reading and writing. Frances will be attending a Waldorf school in the fall and the Waldorf philosophy specifically holds off on any reading until age seven. I'm for it, but maybe it's easy for me to say that since my kid loves to read and write.

At the risk of sounding like a Waldorf advertisement (which I don't intend to be), I'm going to include a response from the website linked above about the question of why Waldorf teaches reading so late (I just happen to agree with them strongly here...):

"There is evidence that normal, healthy children who learn to read relatively late are not disadvantaged by this, but rather are able quickly to catch up with, and may overtake, children who have learned to read early. Additionally, they are much less likely to develop the "tiredness toward reading" that many children taught to read at a very early age experience later on. Instead there is lively interest in reading and learning that continues into adulthood. Some children will, out of themselves, want to learn to read at an early age. This interest can and should be met, as long as it comes in fact from the child. Early imposed formal instruction in reading can be a handicap in later years, when enthusiasm toward reading and learning may begin to falter.

"If reading is not pushed, a healthy child will pick it up quite quickly and easily. Some Waldorf parents become anxious if their child is slow to learn to read. Eventually these same parents are overjoyed at seeing their child pick up a book and not put it down and become from that moment a voracious reader. Each child has his or her own optimal time for "taking off." Feelings of anxiety and inferiority may develop in a child who is not reading as well as her peers. Often this anxiety is picked up from parents concerned about the child's progress. It is important that parents should deal with their own and their child's apprehensions.

"Human growth and development do not occur in a linear fashion, nor can they be measured. What lives, grows, and has its being in human life can only be grasped with that same human faculty that can grasp the invisible metamorphic laws of living nature."

My truest hope is that I am able simply to see my children for who they are, to allow them to be who they are before the pressure of who they are told, by other people and by my own expectations, they must be. One of my jobs, as I see it and hard though it may be, is to protect them from those expectations and to remind myself--and them--that they are more than the sum of their abilities. They are worlds unto themselves.

perspective from below

2010-08-03T19:32:00.000-04:00

My son is in love with a pinata. It's a Dora pinata (rather large) and he drags it everywhere behind him by a string.

And I'm depressed.

Those are the main news items coming over the reel.

I hate that I get depressed. It's just a part of my life, something that comes and goes, and these days as long as it doesn't hang around for too long, I can ride it. I've been so tired, so tired all the time. I thought at first it was because I hadn't been exercising, but then several days of 40 minutes on the elliptical at the gym didn't seem to change much.

I'm having trouble keeping in perspective that I won't have a 2-year-old forever. One day, no one in this house will scream at the absolute top of his lungs anytime he disagrees. Somedays I feel like this, this, is my world forever and ever, packing snacks and cajoling into carseats, wrestling hollering toddlers to the ground simply to change a diaper, pulling dimes out of mouths to screams of protest.

But then there are clear moments when I can see my life in a long flat plane, and I realize that This Time--with babies--is a distinct phase, and one day (and not that long from now) I'll look back on it as some previous lifetime. When I think this way it all feels so sweet, their chubby little cheeks, their tight hugs, the way Clark smashes his entire face into mine. There are people, certainly, who are best cut out for this work, who in previous eras served as wet nurses and nannies for an entire career lifetime. Though I sometimes wish I were, that's not how I'm built. And, frankly, I suspect most women aren't built this way. Isn't that the trouble, though? That we all expect ourselves to be good at all the jobs, or at this one in particular? We think we are somehow less if we can't easily do this mom thing.

But all that is another issue. For now, I just try to see them. (They are both so sweet. Yesterday Clark brought Frances his own cherished blanket when she hurt herself, because we were at a friend's house and it was the only blanket available. He tucked it under her chin and then patted her back.) I focus and feel my smile every single time Clark says "No dis going," the cutest phrase ever, which means several things from "this toy isn't working" to "I can't get the lid off the applesauce." Cute cute cute stage (except when it isn't), even when he's mad. One of my favorite moves of his right now is his hollering: MOMMY! BAD! GIRL! when I lose my cool and holler at him for hollering at me. Nothing like being called flat out on your stuff.

here.

2010-08-01T14:05:00.000-04:00

I feel like the summer is going by too fast. I know that's crazy anxiety talking, but anxiety about what? Frances is going to camp this week--9-12 every morning--and I'm all flubbered about that too. What's my problem? It's like I fear summer will be ripped away, my time with them gone, my children suddenly grown and I missed it. Is it just all those people (ALL. THOSE. PEOPLE.) who KEEP telling me that it goes faster than you realize...?

I KNOW THAT. Life goes faster than you realize (unless you're a prisoner of war, then it moves much too slowly).

But the truth is that even after her week in camp, and then a week with my mom visiting, there will still be almost 4 weeks of summer. (School here doesn't start until nearly mid September. Don't know why.) It's like I somehow think this is the only summer I'll get to have with them... and I suppose that's true to some degree; this is the only summer I'll have where F is 3 1/2 and C is 2. But--comeon!--that's not such a fabulous thing. Summers to come will be better, more fun, filled with more activity and less screaming. (Oh I can't wait to move past the screeching stage. It's hard on everyone for a household member to be 2.)

the little things

2010-07-25T22:23:00.000-04:00

Who knew how much enjoyment could be provided by a construction paper balloon on a yarn string?

We were unpacking (finally... I know...) the stuff from Frances's school at the end of the year, and in the bag was a construction paper balloon with her name on it that decorated the classroom door. Clark nearly lost his mind with excitement about it and Frances got very upset because she didn't want it torn, so I got out the construction paper and let him pick a color for his own balloon. We taped on some yarn just like the school balloon. Frances wanted another one of her own so I made a second and they ran around with them for something close to an hour. For a while they flew them in the fan wind, and then dragged them around outside behind their trikes. Sometimes I feel like there is a secret book of tricks like this to entertain them when it's late and they're hungry and waiting for dad to come home. Where is that book? It took me all of 30 seconds to make these balloons. (I waved aside their suggestion to help me cut it out, though I suppose that could be a project in itself...)

Summer here is fabulous. Have I said that before? Really really lovely. We can be outside all day, every day, very few bugs, not too hot but hot enough for the sprinkler or kiddie pool. And cicadas. I missed them out west. They make everything sound like summer.

only kid blues

2010-07-21T21:26:00.003-04:00

Would you look at this child's art space?! Officially jealous. And trying to remember that a year from now I will not only have children old enough to do projects without pouring the paint on their heads, but also a couple of days a week when they're both in school to organize such a thing. Gotta give myself a little slack and try to keep my story in perspective.

That said, we've done a couple of fun things lately--Did this art project a few days ago. We only had a few minutes to fill and so just did the muffin tin, not the pie plates and other larger items. I painted the paint on the back of the tins (she told me where to put which color) and then I had her draw in the paint with Q-tips. She made some pretty nifty designs but some of them were lost when we did the print.

We also did this art project with coffee filters, markers, and the rain. I loved it and so did Frances. It was particularly fun because it was multi part (meaning we colored the filters, then waited days for it to rain, then left it out and watched the colors run, then had to wait for them to dry)--it sort of kept the fun going. Will post a picture of the result soon.

Note that I did the above things with Frances alone.... while Clark was napping, or playing with his trucks.

While I'm here I might as well bitch a bit, because I do that so well. SO MANY of the art activities in the blogs linked above would be SO MUCH FUN if I only had one kid. Really. Much of my life, in fact, would contain less stress. I sometimes imagine my days would be filled with patience and connection and love and sunshine. I know it's ridiculous. And I know why I had more than one kid--it was on purpose, and because I'm likely to fall into some of the traps of the parent of an only child. (None of my friends with only children are likely to do this, of course.) I fear I would attach too firmly, unhealthily. I suspect I would put even more pressure on myself for the child's success in whatever area. I am an only child; I know the burden.

So I've got a little of the wish-I-had-only-one-kid blues. My friend D (who ironically desperately wants more more more but her husband won't have anything to do with that idea) is spending the summer with her 4 year old son, going to farms and playgrounds and swimming pools, having a great time. I'm refereeing screaming toy ownership and trying to keep people from dashing out in front of cars in parking lots.

Oh yeah, and to enter a drawing for a kids craft book giveaway, I'm linking to the post on Paint Cut Paste about using bubble wrap to do ocean themed prints, which is pretty cool. We've done bubble prints before, but not used them as ocean or any other specific thing. This is the same blog that did the coffee filter flowers above. It's a GREAT source for art projects, my new favorite. That one and The Artful Parent (where the post about the fabulous kid art space came from) are where I get most of my kid art ideas these days.

There are a lot of blogs out there with great ideas about things to do with your kids, and I love reading them. They give me great ideas, but they also produce a good bit of I-should-be-doing-more-with-my-kids guilt. Then it occurred to me that--I'm pretty sure--every single one of these blog moms has only one kid. Or they have one kid with whom to do the projects, and one baby--at least 4 years apart. Why didn't anyone tell me about having them close together?

Okay, enough of that. It's what I've got, and it's got its plusses too. And everyone says the plusses grow in number as the kids get older. I'm holding onto that idea with something akin to hope.

hi there.

2010-07-15T16:32:00.002-04:00

Lots of time since my last post, lots of summer in between. We were traveling--visiting my dad, then Mitch's brother and family, then we were at the beach in North Carolina with my mom, and aunt, and cousin, and cousin's husband, and three kids (making 5 in total, all 5 and under) which was wonderful but also full of company and little time for reflecting and then posting about my reflections.

Frances and her constant companion, Cousin Claudia

We're home now, after a 17 hour drive that Frances announced to her sitter was her favorite part of the trip. (I laughed out loud and asked her what she liked about the drive home and she said the music. Hm.) I had the post vacation blues in a bad way, suddenly again alone with my children, no adults around to talk to, no grandparents who enjoy putting my kids to bed, no husband because he's vanished back into the unbelievably demanding world that is academia. It's better now. I'm getting back into our rhythm.

The news: Frances can swim! Actually keep herself afloat while propelling forward across the pool! She started lessons on Monday, four days ago, four swim lessons ago. On Monday she couldn't swim, and was actually scared of putting her face in the water. (Clark, by contrast, has not even healthy fear of the water and flings himself in with abandon. He's not bothered in the least by water in his face, by going under completely. This was the case in the ocean too...) Today she jumped in without my catching her, just jumped in by herself, went under, came up and paddled herself back over to the side. This means I can actually take both kids to the pool by myself, though the showering part is still exhausting.

More news: Clark is a screaming lunatic! Oh, wait. That's not new news. But man has it amped up the last couple of weeks. Screaming. About everything. All the time. I can't wait for this stage to pass.

Also, Frances wrote the entire alphabet yesterday without any help from me, without my even telling her what letters come next. She's getting so big. And when she gets mad at me she tells me I'm not her mom.

p.s. We have an active television in our house.

the lure of disney magic

2010-07-06T21:36:00.004-04:00

Frances: Mommy, why can't I do magic?

What do you mean?

I say the words but nothing happens. Abracadabra. See?

What kind of magic do you want to do?

Turn the couch into a bouncy house.

Well, that sounds like a fine idea to me. Too bad those words don't work, hm? So there's some interest in magical thinking. Then they saw the new Mickey Mouse Clubhouse show for the first time when we were in Michigan (oh the grandparents with cable!) and she's suddenly interested in Disney World too.

We left last Wednesday for another long trip: a couple of nights with my dad and stepmom in Virginia, a night with Mitch's brother and family in Greensboro, then to the beach for a dreamy relaxing week with my mom and aunt and cousins, five children 5 and under included. The day before we left Frances came into the bedroom first thing and said, "Mommy, we're going to Disney World!" Don't know where that came from. "Well, actually, we're going to the beach," I said. "NO! DISNEY WORLD!" An actual whining argument ensued as I tried to explain that we wouldn't be going to DW for a while because it's far away and a trip we have to plan and costs money etc etc, none of which meant much to her.

Later that afternoon she went with her sitter to her sitter's parents' house where she announced, "We're going to Disney World tomorrow!" She told them how we were getting there and how long we'd stay and about the hotel and everything. They were so excited for her and got out their old photo albums from past Disney vacations and on and on. Later, after the kids were in bed and I'd come home from my errands, my sitter said, "I didn't know you all were going to Disney World." Which we, as said previously, are not.

What a nut. Was she trying out her magical thinking? Did she think saying it would make it true? I didn't know if the next morning would be harder or easier, if she would be more convinced or would have become sated some from seeing the pictures and have people believe her.

The next morning we were packing up and getting breakfast and she said, "I can't wait for Disney World!' I said, "Frances, we're probably not going to Disney World until you're about 8." (That's the age beyond which she can imagine nothing; eight years old might as well be a millennium away to her) She said, "Yeah, because the characters are big." Which means, I'm pretty sure, that when she saw the pictures, she realized that Mickey Mouse and Winnie the Pooh and the princesses are these towering bizarre figures that will in all likelihood scare her to death. She won't even go into the WING of the mall with Santa, you know. Covers her eyes if a clown comes on tv. Right. I could have stopped that argument right away, just by pulling up Google Images.

a parenting book to set you FREE

2010-07-03T21:29:00.001-04:00

I figure since I espouse and talk about it I should probably read the actual Free Range Kids book. So I checked it out of the library last week (though I've interestingly been on a waiting list for a while... it's a popular item around here!) and have been motoring through it. And I LOVE it. It may change my life. So many of the things she suggests are things I was already practicing (I don't hover near my 2-year-old on the playground, for example, and he's a climber. Yes, he might fall, and he might get hurt, but he won't kill himself, and the independence he gains is worth more...) but I felt guilty about them, even while believing they were right.

Oh if she can lift my guilt. So far it's working.

Also, she's got the statistics. She tells you how many kids have been abducted randomly (it's fewer than you think) and what the actual risk is if you want to let them walk down the block to Josie's house by themselves. She addresses directly the hysteria about not being able to let them out of your sight, gives you the actual numbers and lets you decide if our reactions are out of proportion. (Okay, she goes ahead and tells you they are in fact out of proportion, and even how we got to this ridiculous place.)

She has a whole chapter about how you should not read parenting books (except for hers, of course, she says cheekily) because parenting "experts" only serve to tell you what you're doing wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Well intentioned though they may be. (She also points out how completely absurd and unfounded and incorrect some of their suggestions are, and though they may go against our better judgement, we feel the "experts" must know more than we do, and so, if not trying to implement something because it feels wrong to us, we feel guilty....)

She's got a lot of good sense. Go read it! Or at least look at her blog.

tv siren song

2010-06-28T17:56:00.000-04:00

All right. Over tired why is daddy not home yet meltdowns. Oh the tv called to me, sang sweetly from its little corner. I will help you, it said. I can make it better, quieter. I can soothe them, wind them down for bed, even make the transition to bedtime easier. I can, I can. I resisted, I did. But it was not easy, let me tell you. But then, now that I think about it, it's not as if these dire moments didn't exist before we turned the tv off, its just that I had a tool to quiet them that I no longer have. A crescent wrench removed from the toolbox. Can you make a regular wrench work? Maybe, but your wrist might seize up in the process.

no tv update

2010-06-27T10:43:00.000-04:00

Last night there was a meltdown born of exhaustion that with 100% certainty would have been avoided by a little Winnie the Pooh DVD time. But it didn't last long, and it's not such a bad thing for Clark to learn how to deal with these stresses without resorting to passive entertainment.

And I want to say that though I am trying this no tv thing, I judge no one for using it with their own kids. I know how very very helpful it can be in quieting the masses so that the rioting does not begin, or even just so you can hear yourself think. Sometimes you just have to get things done, things like bills or dishes or laundry or simply sitting on your ass for a moment to collect yourself, and the tv does indeed help. You do what you've got to do. Just for me, now, we've gotten to a place where I wanted to try it out, wanted to see what our lives would feel like without the pockets of reprieve the tv offers. It does indeed feel different.

Clark has been asking for it a lot now. I think he uses it as a way to regroup, to settle himself when he's tired and sort of strung out. I'm reading more books to them, that's for sure. I like that time on the sofa, one of them on each side of me. It soothes me too.

i got rid of the tv

2010-06-25T21:45:00.001-04:00

And the upshot of it is that the kids are actually requiring LESS interference from me. The true role of the tv, of course, is to allow you a specified amount of quiet in order to cook dinner w/out having to referee or field questions come play with me play with me why can't put the cat in the dishwasher Clark hit me took my toy stepped on my hair please don't carry the cat by his neck please use your inside voice who is crying for godsake no climbing on the bookshelf. My friend E thought it would take about 2 weeks, then they would settle in. And I was pumped up; I was ready to muck through the requisite hollering to see what was on the other side. We just got back from a very refreshing vacation and it was a good time for me to be feeling optimistic about how much I could take.

We usually watch George when we eat our breakfast. The first morning when I said "Oatmeal's ready!" Clark said, "George! George!" I said, "You know what? We're going to do something new, and we're not going to watch tv anymore. But you know what else? Later today we can have popsicles! Yay!" (Gotta give em something to hang onto you know.) They looked at me for a moment, a sort of kid version of a shrug, and Frances said, "That's why there's a dishcloth covering the tv," as if she knew already. There was no mention of the tv again that day. The next day around lunch, when Clark was very ready for his nap but fighting it and trying to figure out a way to stay awake while being immobile, he asked for tv. Frances piped up, "Clark, we don't watch tv anymore." She knows most things these days. "Do you know what Daddy told me on the phone two seconds ago? That he'll be home early enough for us all to go to the playground!" I ask, and she says, "I know, Mom." She's not even four.

But today, despite a couple more requests from Clark for the tv (interestingly, he's the one that loves it less. I guess he's also the one who is two and therefore less on board with reasons and rules), they are playing better. And better. It's like the practice of it is making them more interested in it. Hurray! I suppose I shouldn't celebrate yet; it's only been a few days. But seriously--I'm refereeing less. Their play is calmer, fuller, more content. How about that?

Now, I am the first to acknowledge that summer here is amazing and would keep anyone in a good mood despite that their tv had been snatched away without warning. Will see what happens in the winter when we're stuck inside for weeks at a stretch lest the arctic wind freeze the moisture in your eyeballs. The winter could loosen my resolve. As well as the kids' ability to play well without my interference. Cabin fever does strange things to people.

But for now, not hearing the Dora map song is a wonderful thing.

the boy talks

2010-06-24T22:29:00.004-04:00

Still not the language explosion from Clark. Boys are later, I know, and people are always commenting on his language ability, saying he's advanced (his diction is rather amazing, and now he pronounces his Rs strongly too: no change die-purr, he says) but by this time Frances was talking in paragraphs, in monologues. Her word explosion happened at 20 months. I'm not worried or anything, just surprised and fascinated.

He's talking in sentences now, some of the time. But it's like he's memorized several key ones rather than able to construct them from his available words.

Where we going? (nearly every time we get in the car, even if he knows where we're going.)

Look at dis! (inflection: surprise.)

I do it. (determined, proud)

Watch dis MommyDaddy. (the latter being one word.)

Come wis me. (always, always.)

No can. (can't open the illustrated door on the house in the book, for example; said with the tone of "oh well.")

Yes it doooo. (one of my favorites)

Yes I can. (oh so helpful)

Somesing. ("I have something in my shoe.")

Found you. (sweetly said when I return after being out, or when he comes home from a venture with the sitter.) And if he cried while I was gone: I call for you.

The one i hear the most frequently, sometimes said as a statement and sometimes yelled in fury: No like dat! NO LIKE DAT!

He's definitely got more thoughts than words, and sometimes when I ask him a question he makes a noise in the back of his throat, starts to speak and stops, doesn't know how to say it. It frustrates him. And when he tries to put words together he gets jumbled. The other day he said, after some stammering, "put on the feet this," which meant "put your feet on the footstool." He also speaks slowly, saying things very deliberately. Now he not only has to tell his sister he's sorry, but has to say what for: Sorry for hitting. Sorry for knocking legos over. which comes out more like: sorry for. knocking. legos. o. ver. sis. ter. You have to be a patient person to get to the end of the sentence. Then she says, hug? and lifts him off the floor.

(Today I told him we were going to take the van in tomorrow to get fixed and he said, "And the birds!" but I think that was a different issue. I have no idea what he meant at all. And he said it with such conviction!)

I'm interested to see if he just keeps progressing at this steady pace, or if he takes a sudden leap. That leap surprised me so with Frances.
________________________________________

Okay, so I wrote the above a couple of weeks ago and didn't get around to posting it until now. And things have in fact progressed, as evidenced this morning when we tried to pull into the honda dealership for service. The moron car in front of me was acting generally moronic and I was patient for a few moments, and then my patience ran out. And from the back seat, Clark said, "Why you say fuck, Mommy? Why you say fuck, Mommy? Why you laughing, Mommy? Why you laughing, Mommy?" So he does seem more able to put a sentence together. Cute thing.

second guessing

2010-06-17T11:31:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Mitch gave a talk at Michigan State and I went with him. While he was at the university I spent all kinds of money at Urban Outfitters and then walked around looking at things. Michigan State was one of the schools that made Mitch an offer at the end of his PhD, but we decided on Rochester instead.

As I was walking around this time I was struck with an overwhelming and profound feeling that we made a mistake; that we should have moved to East Lansing instead of upstate NY. Mitch's parents are an hour and a half from there and would that have saved me? The house that we looked at to buy and loved was one block off campus and the kids and I would have had all of campus as our playground. We could have walked to the little college shopping strip and could have gone to Mitch's parents' when things got overwhelming. I cried and cried, and then cried more when Mitch was done and I told him my thoughts. I cried for my deep sadness in Rochester that first year; I cried for the whole year of Frances's toddlerdom I feel I missed. I cried that she didn't have me that year, and that she didn't have a grandparent or her old sitter Carol, didn't have someone who loved her then like I couldn't.

The truth is, of course, I have no idea if it would have been better. It could have been worse; who knows. And it doesn't matter, because Rochester is where we went, Rochester is where I am now, where my life is now, where I am now happy living. It's kind of a silly exercise, thinking about what it would have been like to have made a different choice. I just didn't know. I didn't know how to make the choice at the time. I was pregnant with Clark then and scared to death, and I didn't know how much help I would need. We knew being closer to his parents would help, but I didn't realize I would need it so badly. I've got to forgive myself for it: for being depressed, for not being present for Frances then.

Besides, I wouldn't have had Wegmans. I'd have had to cook! Oh my.

freestyle

2010-06-16T20:16:00.005-04:00

We're in Michigan now, staying with Mitch's parents. Mitch is going to Germany for a conference and so we scheduled for him to fly out of Detroit and the kids and I are staying here while he's gone, which means in all we'll be here almost two weeks.

And! I packed without a list. I made a list, interestingly, and then I forgot to use it. I see it as a good thing, a kind of relaxed that I'm usually not. So far the only things I've forgotten are the broadcasting end of the monitor (though I brought the receiving end...!) and tampons, neither of which were on the list in the first place. I bought both at Walmart, as that's pretty much the only store within a hundred miles. It's a quiet place in the country (on a lake!). I feel like I'm at camp. How great is that?

nightmares and Clark the Menace

2010-06-11T12:31:00.000-04:00

Something's up with my girl, and I don't know what it is. Nightmares? Fear of being alone? Simple anxiety about independence? Her terrible hay fever? Here's what she does: goes to sleep just fine, then an hour/ two hours/ the middle of the night later she wakes up whining. I want a drink, or I wanna have a sleepover, or ahlsimfiemthtnelfiibktyy. She seems like a thinking wakeful person, which generally leads me to ask, "What is it you want, honey?" But that is the wrong approach. This much I've learned. Asking her how I can help her only ratchets up the whining until it turns into screaming (4 am screaming is really not pleasant) and then, full tantrumming. Honestly, I don't think she's even awake.

What does work is picking her up and putting her on the toilet (with a guess that having to pee is perhaps what woke her in the first place), then carrying her back to bed. I cannot, as I have learned, tell her to climb on the toilet seat herself, or pull up her own pants, or walk back to her room even though I am right beside her holding her hand. Verbal communication only escalates everything.

Mitch thinks it's her brother. Clark hits her all the time, randomly, not just out of irritation but also out of boredom. I don't know why it doesn't occur to her to turn around and hit him back, but it doesn't. Instead she just gets this pitiful exhausted helpless look on her face and whines, "Mommy, Clarky hit me again."

I try my best to get him to quit this shit but am obviously not being effective. I get down in his face and make him look at me and I tell him that we can't act like that etc etc. (the frown he gives me during this is quite theatrical). Anyway, I do that when I have enough wherewithall not to simply shriek, "Clark, no hitting!" He generally goes into time out which is not such a bad place in the pack-n-play with toys and sometimes even his blanket. Two minutes, until the dinger dings. Then he very willingly (and adorably) says he's sorry, everyone hugs, and five minutes later he's hit her again.

This morning Mitch noticed her tone of voice and facial expressions when she's upset in the night are just the ones she uses when Clark hits her and she feels powerless and frustrated. Hm. What to do?

I've been focusing on trying to get Clark to quit it dammit already, but it occurs to me this minute as I write (a-ha! the intended result of blogging about the stress of being a mom!) that maybe I need to give her some other skills. I've been trying to tell her to tell him how it makes her feel, but maybe I should teach her how to say that if he's going to hit her she's not going to play with him, or going to go into the other room, or whatever. That would be a much more thorny consequence to him (oh he loves playing with her. To him the hitting is just part of that play somehow) than listening to me or going into timeout.

Oh yay! I'm going to talk to her about it tomorrow. I hope it works. Or something works.

grouchy #2

2010-06-07T17:26:00.001-04:00

I'm so grumpy I can hardly stand myself. At this very minute both kids are in super needy mommy stages and no one else seems to be able to do anything for them. Things like wash their hair or read bedtime books or hand them their sippy cups off the counter although dad is standing right beside the cups and I am all the way across the room.

Today when Frances was trying to get me to play with her and I was being a stickinthemud about it, I said, "You'll be glad when Katie (her sitter) gets here, won't you? She's a better player than I am."

"No, you're a better player, Mommy."

"Why?" I asked. "How am I a better player?"

"Because I love you, Mommy," she said.

Awww.

But still.

And we've seriously got to get Clark's screaming thing under control. I am that parent in the grocery store parking lot, the one you shake your head at, whether from disdain or sympathy it's hard to say. He's old enough now (2 plus 3 months) that he can understand it's not okay (though I say that very thing a hundred times a day... apparently I need a different approach). The screaming really gets to me and contributes heavily to the grumpiness. It feels so invasive, almost as intrusive as when he climbs me like a jungle gym (which is often). Plus, he's getting really willful. Mitch pointed out that Frances used to say NO a lot, to which you can at least respond, "yes you will". But Clark just acts like I haven't spoken, doesn't turn his head when I call his name, walks off doing the thing I'm hollering for him to stop. To which you can only say, "dammit Clark!"

I'm touched out. I just want to sit by myself in our little woods in back of the yard and have no one touch me. Multiple times a day I find myself carrying them both because neither one agreed it was enough to just hold my hand. "Hold hold!" Clark says. "Uppy!" Sometimes I've got Clark on my hip and Frances in a piggy back and I just hope I don't slip as I'm coming down the stairs.

PLUS, as I mentioned before, Clark's climbing out of his bed and staying up until all hours of the night. It won't be like this forever. One day I'll have time to myself again. This is my mantra.

oh how our lives change overnight

2010-06-05T22:00:00.005-04:00

One day last week Clark woke from his nap as he always does and he called for me. Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY!!!! When I got up to his room he was relaxing in his armchair, the reading light on. Instead of in his crib.

Hi Clark, I said.

I get down. Down from bed, he said. (I love that he uses first person rather than referring to himself as Clarky now...)

I see that. And you didn't fall.

No. Hold on railing. Hand.

Bedtime that night was the first diddy in the musical that is to comprise, with certainty, our evenings for a good while.

First he climbed out of the crib, turned on the light, gathered books from his bookshelf, climbed up the changing table, and threw them one by one over the table. Then he made a nest for himself on the backside of the changing table and hung there a while. At one point I had to rescue his foot from the crib rungs as he tried to climb back in to get his blankie. It took him longer than I expected to figure out he could leave the room. And then he was on the stairs saying, "Come downstairs!" with no little bit of wonder.

So we've been spending our evenings putting him back in bed. And then doing it again. And again. Then sitting outside his door or even in his room until he finally gives in and lies down. This is time I used to spend doing dishes, or blogging, or watching mindless tv, or having an actual conversation with my husband. Sometimes we just give in and let him stay up with us. It's a good thing he's so cute.

grouchy

2010-06-04T19:14:00.002-04:00

Okay, so when I have a headache I'm a more complaisant mom, but when I'm on prednisone, the steroid they eventually give me to break the headache chain, my irritation and the quickness with which I holler cycles out of proportion. My body's got to find a middle way.

Plus, I was certain we were moving forward regarding Frances' agreeableness and her tantrums, but now we're definitely going in a non-forward direction. Sigh. I suppose sometimes you have to go back a few steps before continuing on. Today she woke after only 30 minutes of nap, actually woke already in full tantrum. Perhaps she's tantrumming in her dreams?

babies abound

2010-06-01T18:16:00.002-04:00

I have four friends with new babies. Four baby girls, soft and snuggly and warm, now smiling and cooing, though not fully holding their heads up yet. All of them born within four weeks of each other. Oh they are sweet. Which has of course got me thinking about having another.

And it's a funny thing. With Frances nearly 4 (in September) and Clark now two plus a couple of months, it occurs to me that I could actually have another without losing my mind. Not that I want to. But before, (and this is why we decided to stop at two) I thought that my struggles with having an infant were particular to the infantness, that I was just one of those people not cut out for it. (And maybe I'm not remembering just what that particular struggle feels like. Possible.) But it strikes me now that my depression had more to do with the move than anything else. Now that we're settled finally (finally! It took me two full years to feel like I belong in this house and town and I still don't have anything hanging on the walls, a stack of frames in the corner of the living room) I believe it wouldn't be as taxing as I thought to add a baby to the mix.

I was depressed with the first one, but that's not surprising. The first baby is so hard because it's such a shock, such a complete change of your life, and it happens overnight. The second for me was hard because Frances was only 17 months and a baby herself, but I think I would have handled it with much more grace had we not moved two months after Clark was born. That wasn't the plan: we had in fact planned for the baby to be born after we'd been here several months, but it didn't work out that way. The stress of two babies close together is a lot, but the move--the emotional energy you have to expend when you don't know how to get to the grocery, or your way around once inside, when you don't already have your go-to spots for coffee or pizza or takeout or a good walk, or friends. No wonder I had such a hard time with the babies. If Mitch hadn't been working 14 hour days, perhaps he could have helped me figure out some of these things, or at least held the baby while I did.

I feel like Frances was the one who suffered for it. I think back on it and feel so sad for her--I just had no patience then for a toddler. But I've got to let it go. I feel now like we are mending, Frances and I. In general she is entering a much more comfortable place. She feels everything so strongly, with such passion, and when I was struggling just to make it through a day (lonely, baby-up-at-night unrested, anxious about newness of the town, depressed), her overwrought sensibilities just undid me. They seemed so excessive (and, frankly, intrusive) and for a long time I was irritated with and maybe resentful of her.

We're healing because I'm healing, because I'm happier; because she's getting older and can control herself more (most of the time, anyway); and also, interestingly, because she copies Clark. He is different from her: so affectionate and open (as, I hear, boys tend to be). Now, instead of a disinterested "hi" when she's with a sitter and I come home, she does what Clark does and hollers Mommy!, runs and hurls herself at me, arms around my legs. In general I kiss her more, she snuggles more. It's good for us.

So maybe now I could handle a baby. Still, I don't want one, am happy with the decision we've made to stop at two. When I hold one of those new baby girls--adorable as they are--so many things return that I've forgotten: the smell of spit up, cradle cap, diaper rash, milk spots on your shirt, all the other stuff that vanishes so quickly from your brain. I tend not to hold her for long, except when she's sleeping. Then she's a lovely warm hot water bottle.