Clark for President

Yesterday Clark had a nap. He was falling apart completely over - actually, I can't remember: something minor like the inability of his spiderman figure to bend at the waist, and he wanted his blankie, which was momentarily missing. I went to find the blankie and when I came back he was in his bed under the covers. "I'm just resting, Mama," he said.

The nap was lovely. I slept with him, a warm and cozy afternoon rest, and in the background through the cloud of sleep I heard Frances from her room singing Coming Round the Mountain, Itsy Bitsy Spider, and Simon and Garfunkel. She apparently was performing; the crowd cheered after every song.

Because of the nap, Clark was not at all tired at bedtime. So very not at all tired that after the presidential debate was fully under way, around 9:30, he appeared in our family room. Mitch and I were too engrossed in the debate to take him back upstairs, so we let him sit with us while we watched. Among other things, Clark decided he's going to be a president for Halloween. He wants a suit and shirt and tie, and a little american flag pin on the lapel.

The rule in our house is that after 8pm is grown up time, which means if you happen to still be up, it's not playtime. You have to sit on your bottom rather than fling yourself over the back of the couch, and no toys. Clark was left with studying Obama and Romney, which he found pretty interesting. Here's some of his running commentary:

Does everyone get to be president when they grow up? I want to be a president.

I'm already a kind of president because I almost know everything. Do presidents know everything?

I might not do what they're doing. Because they're fighting. 
I might want it to stay the same president. Til I die.

Mommy? I might be on Barak Obama's side. 

insight from the girl

My cousin's child C started kindergarten this year in North Carolina. The teacher - check this - uses a star reward system. If you don't get in trouble all day you get a green star at the end of the day. If you were put in time out once you get a yellow star, and you get a red one if you were in trouble lots. Apparently C was put in time out two days in a row for not raising her hand before talking. Not raising her hand! (So... what? The child has to endure the humiliation and punishment of time out as it's happening, and then again at the end of the day? How is that a good idea? Way for the kids to leave with a good taste in their mouths.) I was telling the au pair about this and Frances overheard us and wanted to know why the teacher would act like that. She kept thinking about it, kept asking over and over, "why would she do that?"

"It doesn't seem very kind, does it," I said.

"No," she said. "I mean, why would she do that?"

"Why do you think?"

"I don't know. I mean, why would she act like that?"

"Maybe someone told her it was a good way to teach kids how to behave."

"Maybe." Pondering. "But why was she like that?"

"Why do you think?"

She paused, and this time really thought about it. Then she said, "Oh, I understand. I know why."

"Why?"

"Maybe that's the way the teacher was to her when she was little."

I tell you, if she knows this already about the world, and Clark knows that you still miss the old thing even when you enjoy the new, they are both going to be waaaay ahead of the rest of us.

good feelings

Yesterday Frances (age 5 1/2) wrote a book for me. She's written books before - have I talked about them here? Her first was about a princess who had everything. Then a robber came and took her things, and then she had nothing. She was sad. Then she had an idea. She would go to the robber's hideout and get her things back. But first, she had to get her equipment. She got her stuff back.

There were pictures for every page. Her equipment was her purse.

The book she made for me yesterday didn't have any pictures. She told me that's because it was for adults. While she was making it she asked me how to spell many words but not enough so I knew what she was writing. None of the lines came from me, certainly. All her words.

It's called Good Feelings, and when she gave it to me she said she thought it could help me if I didn't know what to do. Here it is:

You should spend time with your family and not just hanging around. You should play with them and talk with them tell jokes and go places with them. 
And have fun with them. 

With boys you should wrestle and tell them to push things and tell them to kick a pillow. 
With girls they just will draw a picture. 

And with grown people they will keep a eye on themselves but under the age of 16 you have to take care of them.

The people are all different.
Some are rough and some are gentle. 

Oh my goodness. Oh the joy it brings me.


The german university student arrives Monday. The kids are so excited. We skyped with her a couple of days ago and the kids love her to death already. I am hopeful it will go as well in person.

It's the heat of summer here and we have no air-conditioning. I love it. I love it as much as I love the deep snow, and both of these things are probably my favorite about living here. (no sarcasm) In the south the heat is so staggering that you can't not live in air-conditioning. And you have to carry a damn sweater with you although it's a thousand degrees outside because every restaurant / grocery store / indoor-facility-of-any-kind is kept at 50 degrees. Right now as I write this all the windows are open and the crickets are full on in the dark. I hope our German friend doesn't wilt up in the attic bedroom. But never to fear: we provide fans.

Full service, that's how we like to think of ourselves.

state of the union

I've gotten word that my far flung friends, the ones who use this blog as a way to keep up with the general tilt of my life, have been wondering what became of me. I've been stuck lately - unable to put down my thoughts, perhaps to collect them in the first place. And so, this here post will not be a theoretical comment on the general state of 21st century parenting, but a simple state of the union.

About 8 weeks ago, during the end of my last botox cycle - the time in which the migraines come back and I forget all about the miracle of being without them, and the noise that is my children feels like a thousand horses galloping across my brain - I called a friend who has his hands in a bunch of projects to ask if he needed help with any of them. One of the things he's doing is running a CSA (community supported agriculture - see here if unfamiliar), and he said one of the farms he uses needed folks during the spring crunch time. (Actually, he first said, "You want to work on the books?" to which I said, "Noooooo!!") So I set up a sitter for 2 afternoons a week and off I went to transplant seedlings to containers to sell at farmers' markets. I had been inside the greenhouse for all of five minutes, my hands in the dirt, before I thought, "Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh. This is heaven."

I wanted to keep my two afternoons out there forever, and I somehow tricked myself into thinking that was going to be the case. Then a couple of weeks ago the crunch time ended, the college students came home to work their full time summer jobs, and the farm didn't need me anymore. I cried. 

Working out there did my spirit enormous good. It was a very very good thing for me to have something outside of this house. Something of my own. Adults with whom to interact. Sunshine and vitamin D and open sky. And relative quiet. 

I was only away from the kids about 10 hours a week, yet it felt like ages, and it completely revived me as a parent. (Vacations don't even do that.) I've said before that bedtime is the worst time of day for me. The. Worst. I read a blog post about this issue recently and the author said bedtime should be in the morning when everyone still has their patience and good humor. Yes! But it's not. It's at the very end of everyone's rope, including mine. I've accepted this and no longer berate myself for passing off this time of day as much as I absolutely can. But! When I left the house after lunch and came home around 6:30, I found I loved bedtime! So much so I even told Mitch more than once that he could stay and work late if he needed.

I've been thinking about asking the other farms here (and there are many) if someone else can use my help. But then, the kids struggled with the change. Yet as I write this I am aware that their struggles were probably temporary - adjustment is hard - and the specific issues are ones I could certainly address with the sitter. For example, they discovered a new game - a sneaking game. Sneaking candy, sneaking into the attic into things packed neatly away (disaster in their wake), sneaking into my make up, sneaking off and covering Clark's face with marker. Maybe it's just a stage that would be happening with me here? Anyway.

Yet, they would adjust. And as I write this it's plainly clear to me that their having a mommy who hasn't run through all of her emotional patience would be a good thing.

In other news, we have a German university student coming to live with us for two months beginning in August. We got hooked up with her through a german colleague of Mitch's, who is a friend of the family. She forwarded us an email from this student who was looking for an au pair position. We emailed her back to say that we can't offer her that since I don't work, but if she just wanted a place to stay and a little spending money for sitting the kids now and then... We've skyped with her, and the kids are so excited. I'm excited too - it seems like too much to ask that I will be able to just say, "you okay w the kids while I make a quick grocery run?" Oh my. Not having the shlep everyone over there? Oh my. What worries me is how I'm going to take it when she leaves. I think everyone had better be prepared for the winds of depression to blow in.

Change of subject again: I think - I think? - that this blog is nearly done. I think, unless I go crazy and decide to have another baby. It's pretty clear to me now that this blog has been about how to exist in our adult bodies while caring for baby humans. How to do this thing with some grace. And although grace is what I'm trying to achieve now too (always, always), I'm not doing it with baby humans anymore. I'm doing it with small children. They are different creatures; it's a different planet, with a different colored sunset. I'm finding I'm not prepared to talk about it, at least in the same way. I would need to talk in riddles, or verse. Maybe that will be the next blog.

I'll leave you with:
Last night at dinner I was commenting that, because of my fabulous sinus infection, I can't taste anything. Dinner tasted like nothing.

Frances: What is nothing?

Clark: Nothing is nothing!

pause.

Clark: Mama?

Me: Yes?

pause.

Clark: Nothing.

want

Mommy? 

I want a Spiderman costume. 

Mommy? 

I want a robot costume and a batman flashlight with a bat on it. It's a craft. 

I want a robot costume and a yoda costume and a stormtrooper costume and a spiderman costume.

Mommy? Mama!

I want a BAD robot costume. A bad one has red eyebrows and does this (fierce scowl). 

Mama?

I want a guy that transforms into a car. A yellow one. 

Mommy? 

I want a remote controlled airplane, a lego remote controlled airplane that I push a button and the wings SHOOT out whoosh. And it flies like this.

Mommy? 

I want a snowboard. I want to go swoosh fast.

Mama? 

I want goggles and a helmet and gloves. 

Mommy? 

I want a flash costume and a whole superheroland. A whole set.

hello there!

I don't know why I've been absent here so long. I do have excuses, though they're not interesting enough to share. Mostly, I think, my creative outlets have shifted to material production - like baking the crazy biannual birthday cake. Or these balls I sewed from old sweaters. (Aren't they cute? I was so tired of telling Clark not to throw things in the house and decided he needed something he was allowed to throw. The green and gray one was for him. Then Frances wanted one (left). Hers has embroidery from a kit she was working on while I made the balls. The one on the right is for our favorite 2 year old. She loved Clark's ball when she was here last, and she happens to be having a birthday this week. Frances did the embroidery on that one freehand, and it was her idea to write with a fabric pen on the heart. The little one was just cuz. I'm doing one more for the birthday gift, and I need to find a bell to put in it. I've got one around here somewhere.)

I've been reading old posts, ones like this and this, mostly when Clark was a year to a year and a half, and Frances was 2 and a half to three. It was like living with two wild animals. No wonder I was out of my mind. Things are so different now, calmer, more sane. I can take my eyes off my children to do things like shower or have the stomach flu. A couple of weeks ago when I was horribly ill I even napped while they were awake and playing in the house. A new world!

I've also been reading these old posts to Frances, like this one and this one. She thinks these stories about herself are hilarious. "More, more!" she says. It's the first time I've read any of the blog to the kids; I saw for the first time the weight of this thing in their lives that I've created, this record of their babydom, something they are going to be able to have. Until now I hadn't thought about it much. More, I've thought about the depression and frustration the honesty with which I've written here. I've thought of how I will feel about their reading that. (I feel okay about it, by the way.)

So it was lovely, reading to her. She was a funny (and intense) toddler. One of the posts mentioned something about a 'stage', and Frances asked what a stage is. I answered the question, then told her some stages are good and some are not so good. Then she said, "I'm in a really good stage right now, right Mama?" "Yes, that's true. You're really fun to be around right now," I said. "And Clark's in not such a good stage," she said. "Also true," I admitted. You can't argue with the girl.

one of each

Here's what I overhear verbatim while washing dishes after making chili this afternoon.

(Girl Child - age 5yrs 5mo
Boy Child - age 3yrs 11mo.)

They make me think of two different productions sharing the same actors lot. Frances and Clark use each other as placeholders, warm bodies, almost like the other isn't speaking at all. Can you tell who is who?


Do you want to buy some cake? I also have lovely muffins. What would you like?

Pretend she's flying over the town and then she turns into a monster.

Do you want a wedding cake or a beautiful birthday cake?

I used to be a princess but now I'm a mermaid who swims underwater fast. I do go to a lot of weddings.

So a wedding cake, then?

Yeah, a wedding cake.

You can sit right here at this table and eat your cake. Would you like a piece of birthday cake too?

And then the city got swept up. Sheblam!

funny kids

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

hilarious.

a just us thanksgiving

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. 

controlfreaky

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. 

august day

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. 

wear and tear

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. 

pirate love

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.

sibling unity

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.

lockers and swim clothes; fear and pride

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. 

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

"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.

perspective from below

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.

the lure of disney magic

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.

vacationing

Clark is turning into a toddler. Willful. The other day the cashier at the ice cream shop asked Frances what her brother's name was and she said, "Maniac." Perhaps we should stop referring to him as that so often.

Last summer when we did this nutty 2-week all-over-the-place vacation I swore we wouldn't do it again, but here we are. It wasn't so bad this time though. Last year I had a 4 month-old and a toddler not yet 2, and this year things were much easier to handle. For those of you wondering, we were at a family reunion (Mitch's) in West Virginia for 2 nights, then my dad's in Virginia for 2 nights, then 4 nights in Winston-Salem while Mitch flew to California and back for a conference and we took day trips to Durham to see friends, then a week at the lovely beach in NC.

Then a hell drive home, which was hell mostly because the kids were done done done with traveling (Clark trying to physically bust his way out of the carseat), I was very premenstrual, and I95 was a traffic jam. A stop at Ikea in Virginia, since we were practically sitting still on the highway and we thought we'd get some meatballs and let the kids run around the showroom, turned into a 3-hour rest stop (during which we did acquire a very nice easel for F for her b-day. and the meatballs were yummy). Mitch wouldn't let me look at the textiles.

But the beach! Oh the beach is a wonderful place. It was still tiring, schleping both kids (my cousin and her husband were also there with their kids: 4,2, and newborn) to and from the beach. I kept fantasizing about how much fun the beach is going to be 3, 4, 5 years from now. Fun! We'll be able to play with them in the water rather than being on constant watch, build sand castles rather than constantly trying to keep them from eating sand (or throwing it on her brother), go to the water slides, the ice cream shop, the surf shop without having to worry about naptimes. At the beginning of the week someone would stay at the house in the morning while Clark napped, but by the end of the week we let him sleep in the stroller on the beach which was nice as we could play while he snoozed, but sleeping in his wet swim diaper gave him a yeast rash that was unbelievable. The kids all got along really well and we reserved a much bigger house for next year that's even closer to the beach. Yay!

big

We're potty trained! Well, mostly. In any case, we are 100% out of diapers during the day. Still use them at night, and we're still having occasional accidents, but we're done with diapers. I say this loosely, of course, since I have a 12 month old who is not even close to done with diapers. Still! Frances is so pleased with herself, and anxious and frustrated with herself when she has an accident. She's clearly struggling with this new direction, this new independence. She often talks in baby talk and wants to be rocked, and she also frequently announces that she's a big girl and a big sister. Today while the babysitter entertained Clark inside, Frances and I jogged together down the block ("Run, Mommy! Run!") and she said, "When I get to be big like you Mommy, I can take care of Clarky and I can chew bubblegum."

"What would you do to take care of Clark?" I asked.

"Fix his bottle, and carry him, and put him to bed, and fix his bottle, and help him, and wipe his face, and take him outside, and bring him inside, and fix his bottle, and take care of him."

Then she said, "And when I'm big like you I will kiss your booboos."

Mighty sweet.