supermom yearning is the pits

I'm exhausted. All from stressing myself out.

Today is Frances's 7th birthday, and I didn't start seriously planning her party or considering gifts until about 4 days ago. Thank you thank you Amazon Prime and your 2 day shipping, else I would be seriously up a creek.

Plus, pinterest. I opened my pinterest app yesterday, knowing full well the danger and believing I could guard against the pressure to be Lunatic Perfect Mama, but still wanting - needing - to get some help and ideas for the party that is going to take place mere days from now. Which I got: thank you beaded fairy bubble wands and mushrooms made from apple slices and marshmallows. But I also - of course - got the other too. The pressure to make a cake like this one, to set up a party that looks like this one (or this one, or this one), to go above and way beyond and create something magical that my child will remember forever. Which of course she won't. Which is why I am having a Perfectly Acceptable party that includes popcorn and grapes for snack, sidewalk chalk on the driveway, and decorate your own cupcakes rather than the masterpiece I usually attempt.

I have to keep reminding myself: Good Enough Mama is actually healthier for the kids, sanely deciding to forego the cake in favor of less stress, being able to enjoy books on the couch instead of rushing stressing short tempered all to win the non-existant pinterest award. Still, I cannot get the voice out of my head that says I'm a bad mama if I can't do this again (the link is the cake I made for her 5th birthday fairy party), when in fact all the kids want to do is play together. That cake does not make me a good mama, although it was fun and I'm very proud of it.

I was going to do away with a cake not only for the party, but even for tonight, the actual birthday night, and was going to take the kids to Wegmans to pick out the these super fancy cupcakes they always beg for. (You gotta see these things. Seriously gross major white flour white sugar all sugar rush and crash. If I ate one of those things I might die. But also amazing for a grocery store. That place may be the #1 reason to live in Rochester. Not kidding.)

Then after school Frances mentioned her cake for tonight, and there I was, 4 pm, turning on the oven and tying my apron. I opened a 1945 Better Homes and Gardens and made a chocolate fudge cake recipe I've never tried before. I used 1/2 whole wheat flour and 1/2 Bob's Red Mill gluten free mix. As we sat down to dinner (take out chinese, at Frances's request) I put the two layers in the fridge to cool enough to frost, which I did with plain whipping cream because I didn't have time to make actual frosting. It was delicious.

And because of the cake, because I was able to whip it up at the last minute, from scratch, a double layer frosted in pale yellow with pink sprinkles, for that evening I felt like Supermom. I keep thinking about a post on another mom blog that admits her strengths (pintrest worthy parties in fact) and acknowledges the things she doesn't do so well, not in a self-depreciating way, but in a so what way. (this is an excellent post, btw. Read it.) Cuz we all excel at something, we are all succeeding somewhere in our parenting. And none of us are doing it all. This is the trap pinterest brings us: the illusion that moms should be doing it all, and doing it with perfectly organized houses and great outfits. It's not true.

But it is true that we all do something beautifully, whether because we prioritize or because we're born with it, or because we outsource. (I make cakes!)

Even with that major cake success, the anxiety about the party 3 days from now has decended. I don't have time for perfect party planning. I don't have time. Last year I when I thought of decorate your own cupcakes (her birthday falls in a really inconvenient time for party planning it turns out) I thought of myself as brillant. This year I just feel like a slacker. Which I'm not - I just seriously don't have time, it is clear I don't have time, just acknowledge your limitations forcryingthefuckoutloud.

Sheesh. I've gotta give myself a break. Sometimes the guilty parenting voices are so loud. And not only do they lie to you and take up space in your brain, but they suck your energy and keep you from being the best mom you can be. The good enough mom. That one.

material joy

For Frances's 6th birthday I fear we climbed a pennicle that will never again be crested. All other birthdays may pale forever in comparison.

There were two sets of grandparents here, much doting, you can imagine. Plus a big gathering for dinner plus a lit and glowing cake that she helped decorate plus a trip to the pet store for fish and a little fish tank with a light. It was a big day. 

The biggest thing, though, was the American Girl doll. It goes against so much that I believe in - predatory marketing, consumerism as status symbols, questionable manufacturing practices. Yet yet yet.  Yet practically the only thing she has talked about daily since her last birthday is an American Girl doll. Maybe literally. 

I made her a lovely and sentimentally valuable Waldorf doll who wears the same size dresses as the AG doll. Over the past year we talked about the RIDICULOUS price of the commercial one, and then compared that price to all sorts of other things that same money could buy. It was a good math exercise. Did we learn anything from it? I have no idea. 

But oh the joy when she opened the package. Many parents need it like a fix. They go to crazy lengths christmas after birthday after christmas to see that response on their child's face. It captures something we've mostly lost as adults, some kind of faith that we can be fixed, that joy is pure, that our wishes can indeed be filled, that we can - in the end - be happy. 

And since, of course, the doll was all she wanted, everyone else got clothes and accessories to go with it. We filled her every single wish, mostly because her wishes were so few. And because I am a sucker. 

It sure was fun. 

2am

(I wrote this a few days ago - just found it and it made me smile. Still intend to write more soon about the gift and what it means, and perhaps what it doesn't mean.)

It's 2 am and I'm awake because Frances had a nightmare that I wouldn't talk to her. She wept and wept, and then she would quiet, but the memory would come again and up came a wail that broke me. I'm right here, I said over and over as I brushed the hair off her sweaty face. I will never not talk to you. I will always be here for you.

6 years ago this minute I was strapped to an IV spittiing out pitocin, laboring hard, miserable. I think it was about this time that I freaked out and turned off the machine myself, told the nurse to unhook me because I was done; I was going home.

That didn't happen.

And now there's a box at the foot of my bed, wrapped and bowed, with an american girl doll inside. It is going to make one 6 year old very very happy.

I still have all kinds of reservations about (and some outright hostility toward) that particular company, but I've chosen to let that fall away for the moment in the service of giving her what may be the only material thing she really wants on this earth.

That will be in the morning. Six years ago when morning came there was no baby, and wouldn't be for a good while yet. But tomorrow morning there is a family here where there was none. Six years. Is that a short time or long? Both, I think.

birthday drama

Well, I'm not baking the crazy fancy cake this year. I have a much more brilliant idea: decorate your own cupcakes! How's that for getting out of it? Let's hear it for cutting stress! I am quite excited.

I already made the cupcakes, as well as the cake that was for the family gathering on Frances' actually birthday (Wednesday), but the latter was simply decorated like a regular birthday cake, lavender frosting with trim and writing. For both the cake and the cupcakes I used a very risky blend of whole wheat and gluten free flours. Vanilla. She wanted vanilla with vanilla frosting. Tastes pretty good, so good in fact that I threw the rest of it in the trash last night because I could not stay out of it.

Two sets of parents were here for the actual birthday and in the 36 hours before they arrived I moved nearly every piece of furniture in this house. Shifted everything around. Clark got a new room in the process. It's like having a whole new house!

......Aaaaand I lost an entire post. I had written at length about the controversal gift we got Frances, many paragraphs examining my motives and ideas, and now there's a blank page below these three paragraphs above. Very frustrating. Will have to recreate.

But not this minute. This minute I am recovering from the kid party this afternoon. More on it all to come. 

Fairy cake

I'm starting to think about Frances's party this year, a month away. I don't think I ever posted a picture of last year's fairy cake, so I'm doing that now. Cuz it's lovely!

superhero cake!

I didn't use fondant because I think it tastes horrible, so it's just confectioner sugar frosting. I got it so smooth by dipping a palate knife in hot water and smoothing it over. Worked pretty well. That's royal frosting on the hershey bars for windows. I tried to use melted white chocolate but it just melted the hershey bars. Royal frosting is amazing stuff - it will do just about anything. It even worked for mortar on the broken hershey bars - you can see one on the far side of the cake. 

Superman on top, Batman and Robin guarding the buildings below.

Red, blue, yellow insides! Very exciting. 

Sweet four year old birthday boy. 

cake on the way

Clark will be four in a couple of days. He is adorable and very difficult these days, and he makes me crazy. But it's a much lighter version of crazy than I used to have parenting them. It's colored with more humor. I'm definitely better cut out for young children rather than babies. I did not wear sleep deprivation well. BUT ALSO, my headaches.... It is no little deal that I have found a sort of solution for my headaches. I never thought I'd visit this mountain, frankly, but for a solid month after I have a botox treatment I not only have no headaches but also can eat ANYTHING. It's heaven. Chocolate chocolate chocolate. And peanut butter is WAAAAY better than I remembered.

So Saturday is the party, which means I'm elbow deep in cake making. I do love the creative release of a crazy cake every 6 months (how handy of them to have spread out their birthdays!) but the focus I give it means I sort of forget I have an actual party to plan. And then the party is upon me and all I want to do is shape chocolate into rocks or turrets or skyscrapers (as it happens to be this year) but I'm overcome with anxiety because I can't seem to remember to buy the plates.

One day. One day I will just make a regular cake with regular frosting. But for now - for the magic time of four year olds - there are buildings and sky and superman, and how much fun is that??

the Overview Post

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.

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. 

the cake

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.

siblings and cakes and stuff

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.

happy happy birthday birth day.

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

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.

I'm having blogger's block.

But have faith. I'll muck through it soon. In the meantime, here are two photos taken right after each other that speak well one of the many truths of my life.

my baby is two.

The gym. I finished stretching and was headed to the shower, passing the cafe. There on top of one of the tables was a baby. Sitting up, big eyes, curious, watching. His mom at the table, and another lady too, both of them aware of the attention they were (rightly) drawing with this incredible cuteness.

He looked so much like Clark had. The baldness, the plaintive expressions, the chubbiness. I hesitated, circled back for another look. And then I was crying, surprised that I was. What I thought was: my baby is gone, vanished, lost from me. Something that was mine and is no longer.

In the shower I put my hands flat on the tile wall and cried in full. I was in the shower a long time, and I thought about how this loss of mine wasn't just a personal loss--it also belongs to every woman with a child. Every mother. A whole segment of the population.

I finished with my cry, was ready to move on, dried off and dressed. I was walking out, my bag over my shoulder, when the non-mother woman from the table (the grandmother? a friend?) passed me in the locker room carrying the baby on her shoulder. Oh he was cute. Cute cute cute. Serious cuteness. I stopped her and said, "I have to get a look at this guy," and to him, "Hi there sweetness," and then suddenly again I had to turn away for the emotion. It came up so quickly! I ended up having to sit on a bench by the locker room door and just try to let it pass. Every woman who left the locker room couldn't help but see me there and I wondered how many would pass me before someone stopped to ask if I were okay. (which I was, and felt pretty silly for all this emotion over something so obvious and normal.)

All of that was last week. Today, however, is Clark's birthday. Two years ago I was very tired and large and uncomfortable, and then while cooking dinner I had a contraction that made me stand still. Two years. Time is a funny thing, a slippery thing, and now my baby flips himself over the back of the sofa, shouts SCHOOL BUS and CITY BUS from the back seat, eats his gnocchi with a spoon. Self, self, he says, and hauls himself up and into his own car seat. This afternoon he and his sister and our neighbor kids were playing, and when they said they were going to the attic he turned and pointed to me, said no come. 

My baby. My last one.

It's okay, though. A couple of days after the thing at the gym I found myself laughing with him, getting him to say words that were hard for his mouth wrap around. He said zweebwra, and we laughed and laughed. And I thought, this is better. That baby was sweet, but this is more. It is life. Going forward. Because that's what it does.

enduring chaos

Dear god I'm getting sick again, the cough-nose-sore throat-achy kind, right on the heels of the stomach flu plus Clark's illness which by the way he's still not over. He's thrown up as recently as Friday morning which makes it 5 whole days of no solid food and the poor guy is too weak to even walk. It's 5 am and I've been up with him twice and now I just can't sleep because of the stuffiness and general crappy crap and I think I'm going to hang myself.

My mom is here for a few days thank the heavens because I've got to get some sleep or at least lie on my bed and read a book or I'll lose my mind. At first carrying Clark around was sweet but now it's just exhausting. Poor Frances has had a rough week--having to be so patient and she getting so little attention as I strip and bathe and reclothe Clark and mop up vomit and mix sugar into water and hold the crying baby oh my god. She's really over it all and is letting us know. She's excited about seeing my mom, and now she'll get some undivided attention which will be great.

Yesterday afternoon my mom and I took Frances to the birthday party of one of the little girls in her preschool class while Mitch stayed home w/ Clark. It was at this place called Jump Club which has those big inflatible moon bounce things plus lots of screaming kids and germs and general chaos. This was the second party we'd been to like this and I was not particularly excited about it. When we got there my mom said, "oh, I see why you were moaning about this." These things are so weird to me--these parties. I just don't get them. After playing for awhile on the moon bounce we all pile into this tiny room, kids and baby siblings and parents with flashing cameras and the staff pouring sprite into paper cups, and the kids sit at these little tables set with princess plates and napkins and party hats while the adults line the edges of the room. There is pizza that Frances eats none of, and then at this particular party there were cupcakes plus pink princess cake plus heart shaped sunglasses plus party favor bags with candy PLUS a pinata. I started to tell her she couldn't have any candy because she'd just had a cupcake (well, the frosting and some of the cupcake) as well as gross strawberry princess cake, but then I thought what the hell. We got home at 5 pm, just in time to fix some dinner and ineffectively coerce her to sit at the table and eat some of it. (meaning: sit at the table with our dinner and holler at her to come eat something while she chased the dog.) She was a complete lunatic. She's never having sugar again.

I swear I'll never throw one of those parties. My kids will think I spoil all their fun but they can just share in others' birthday experiences at those places. We'll see if I go back on this...

change is hard

What to do when one starts walking and weens and turns one all at once? Take refuge in a teddy bear, I suppose. Clark's never had an attachment to a stuffed animal or blanket or anything, and suddenly he's got both. It's very sweet. The bear was given to him by his babysitter which I think is relevant because he loves her so much. It's a white bear. White. Which it probably won't be for long... It's funny to me that he's sort of out of the blue attached to the bear and the blanket also (light blue, satin trimmed) but M pointed out that until recently he had the boob for comfort.

I'm sad about the weening. I had thought I might nurse him a while longer, a few more months, a walking nursing baby. I was pretty sure I didn't want to nurse a talking toddler though I have friends who have done that. But it doesn't seem my style. Still, I wasn't quite ready for it to be over. When we were in Michigan last week and Clark clearly didn't want to nurse anymore I felt I should have some sort of ritual to mark the end, but I couldn't think of what.

Today is his birthday. I'm having trouble with this one and I wish we'd planned a party for today. My mom's coming next week and we thought we'd have a little celebration then (it's not like the kids know the difference...) but I think it would have done me good to have something today--something to mark the year's passing, to note that he's not just one but as of last week also walking and weened. How did that happen all at once? Today at the gym I chatted with someone and when I told her it was Clark's birthday I started crying right there between the elliptical machines and the stair-steppers. Embarrassing. I've been crying for the past few days, in fact, and I didn't know why I was depressed and emotional. Guess what? Not only is today Clark's first birthday, but just tonight I started my period. You may be wondering why that's noteworthy, and it's because this is the first period I've had in THREE AND A HALF YEARS. I'm serious. And sad it's back. *sigh* A year after giving birth, and something else to mark the occasion.

The past few emotional days I've been wanting another baby. I've always wanted another, I suppose, and now that Clark's turning into a little person it's coming on strong. Still, I don't know if it's a good idea for us. As I've said before, if family were near things might be different. Alas.

In other news, I got a new laptop! Which means I'll probably be posting more regularly now... Off to straighten up the crazy mess that is kids in the house.

Party today!

Today is Frances's birthday party! Her birthday was last week but since my mom was going to be here now, we scheduled the party for this weekend.

The anxiety comes and goes, freefloating. Some mornings I wake and find that it descended in the night. It sits heavy in my stomach and I eat very little for breakfast. Yesterday was one of those days, and no reason for it. Today is better, and no reason for that either. One side effect of it all is that the pregnancy weight I had left is falling off me, sliding away in the wake of anxiety, and I'm able to wear some of my clothes again. I'd been wanting to lose the weight but it's funny--I feel ambivalent about it, almost disliking the way my jeans hang on me. I think it's because it's the anxiety that's caused it rather than exercising and eating well. Still, I'm losing weight, which is good I suppose.

The first couple of days back Frances had a bit of a hard time and I think that was just adjustment. She'd been away and perhaps resented us a little for leaving her for so long, though she had fun, but now she's great (most of the time), a real joy. I love this stage. Two years old is a great age--finally able to tell me that she wants to be the one to open the door to let the cat out, to understand that if she pulls the dog's ears again she'll go into time out, and to bring me the wipes for the baby. She can hold up two fingers and say "two years old" about herself and she can hold up six fingers and say "six months old" about brother.

My mom's here now and it's been a great visit so far. I don't think I'd be able to do this party without her. Speaking of which, I've got to go frost cupcakes!

she's 1 today

I'm at school, thinking about how my girl is having a birthday and she doesn't even know it. We had a party this past weekend--balloons and streamers and cake and guests and presents, and Frances in the cutest dress that ever was. I keep wondering what it was like from her point of view. It was her same house, after all, but there were all these people. While the other babies sat on the living room floor and played with her toys, she tottered around from one grown up to another, asking someone to hold her for a moment then put her back down, or take her hand and come with her while she pointed to the photos on the bookshelf. She was very social but also very independant. She's not like I was as a baby, not afraid or cautious or tentative. She looks the world full in the face, unblinking. I like that about her.