new world, big kids

So I guess I need to address the very obvious fact that I've been away awhile. Looked like I jumped ship, didn't it? Not entirely true, because I've been writing half posts and never completing them, thinking about writing posts that I don't even begin. And then there's that other blog still percolating. I'm inclined to believe that intention should count for something, somewhere.

And then in that last post I didn't even acknowledge the oh-so-long break in posts. That's because I got moving with the writing and didn't want to stop for explanations.

Let's just pretend that you're already caught up, shall we? I hate coming back after a break because I feel I have to address the absence in a post that isn't really a post but some space filler of explanation that essentially always means the same thing: blah blah blah. Life takes a winding course and except for tragedy it's all mostly the same. I'll let you know if there are any tragedies.

I've moved into a new parenting time slot, did you know? Since I last hung out with you there have been major developmental changes. I heard this truth most loudly at an event for folks with babies and very young children recently. I happened to be there without kids so my attention was not diverted by my perpetual role as referee (oh the bickering drives me craaaazzzyyy). I looked around at the strollers and diaper bags and parents chasing escapee toddlers, and I thought "I don't live in this world anymore." It was a funny realization, especially since it should have been obvious. Those days were so tiring, a hundred hours each, and ran on one after the other without pause. Although intellectually I knew it wouldn't last forever, I never believed it. Suddenly I felt naked without my stroller: a kind of shield, a buttress, and let's face it - so helpful with the schlepping of stuff.

Things changed and I didn't even notice when it happened. I've moved from babiesandpreschoolers to schoolagedkids. The most obvious illustration of this new world is school, but the most important difference is developmental. It has to do with a mental progression, an ability to understand explanations, to not completely lose one's shit when asked to clean up the legos, to control reactions when frustrated hungry tired overwrought. Mostly.

The immediate down side is that the first of school also (evidently) means a soup of germs, which felled us straight away. Looking back on this blog, I want to acknowledge that I have spent a good amount of time enumerating our illnesses, which are many. I've spent a lot of time complaining about being ill, about fevers and stomach flus and many tv filled sick days in preschool. More weight in illness than a blog should carry. So none of that now except to say that because I've done nothing but lie on the couch or take care of sick kids for over 2 weeks now, my house is a DISASTER. Which makes me Crazy Lady. Just so you know the temperature of our spaceship.

So. Kindergarten and First Grade. A brave new world. I no longer have a child in the Waldorf school, which is sad, but it's also kind of exciting for the next thing, for us to be here.

And where is here? It is with a girl turning seven this minute, a girl who is sometimes overcome with so much love that she just has to say it, "I love you so much, Mama."It is here with a boy who is right on the very tip edge of losing the last of his babyness, and he's scared to see it go, scared not to be a baby and feel coddled, scared to have to learn and accomplish things.

It is here. Here where we all put on our shoes and our jackets at 8 am, leash the dog and trek to school 3 blocks away, watching for the trolls under the bridge. Here where Clark often pulls away from my kisses, where Frances is apart from me all day in a climate I know very very little about. It's odd to have her gone away from me so much, to feel so out of touch with her social life. I have to just trust that she will make good decisions, that she will choose the way that is warmed by the light. I know that often when I ask about their days they will not tell me, and I have to be open and present, so that when they do want to talk I am listening. I don't want to miss it.

the whale bus

I put both my kids on buses today. Separate buses, though they are going to the same school, because one kid is full day (her first full day experience!) and leaves at 8 am (FIRST GRADE!!) and the other has half day kindergarten (KINDERGARTEN!) in the afternoon so doesn't get on the bus til lunch.

While Clark and I waited in the front yard for his kindergarten bus, I took a good look at him. Sometimes when the light is right I can see the toddler I hold in my mind, the toddler that was him before he became. Sometimes, like today, I then look even harder and try to see the man he will become, or even the adolescent, but I can't, because that person doesn't exist yet. When I see pictures of his dimpled toddler self, I recognize the person he is now in that seed, but it's impossible to see it going forward. Right now he is only five. He is Potential for a full sized human, but he is not Blueprint. His five year old self does not guarantee any kind of future. Anything can happen between now and then that will shape who he will become, things that I do and decisions that I make as a parent, and things wholly out of my control, curves the world will throw at him that none of us will see coming.

Parenting, it often seems to me, is a large portion helping and carrying and cooking and arguing and explaining and cajoling (which is different from what it used to be, which was more physical labor - holding, carrying, lifting, rocking, wiping, schlepping.), but the most important part is the releasing. Which is what I watched myself do today. As they each climbed those huge steps onto the bus, one at 8am and the other at noon, I felt they were being swallowed by a whale who was then going to turn in the water and swim away. Right? That's pretty much it. I had to just stand and watch, wave goodbye.

My husband asked me recently what I do when I get in really cold water. You can seize up, clinch your fists, tense all your muscles to try to block the cold from getting into the deeper parts, or you can relax into it. Force your muscles to go soft, your breath to release. It's not hard to do - the releasing - but it's hard to want to do.

I told Clark this morning that it was amazing that this big boy in front of me (KINDERGARTEN!!) is the same little tiny baby I held 5 years ago. I told him that five years doesn't seem like a long time to grown ups although it seems like forever to him. (for good reason: it is forever to him. It's all he's experienced of ever.) The only constant is change, right?

And now I get to leave this blog post to walk to pick them up. We are fortunate to live in the same neighborhood as the elementary school, and I love walking to get them in the afternoon. Last year Clark walked with me to pick up Frances, and now I am going to get them both. I'm excited for them to start this new adventure, to hear how the world comes to them, what they've learned about life since being carried away from me this morning. It's a big ocean. 

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.

great

Ok, so the last post really just caught everyone up on the facts. And facts are important, right? I suppose so. But the real truth I need to express - and that all those facts were supposed to express - is that right now, for this sliver of time, this very moment, things are GREAT.

I read another blog post about an email the blog author had received, and the email asked, among other things, "...DO YOU HAVE ANY ADVICE FOR PEOPLE LIKE ME WITH BABIES OR PERHAPS REFLECTIONS OF HOW YOU GOT BY WHEN YOUR KIDS WERE BABIES?  HOW DID YOU NOT JUMP OFF A CLIFF?  ..." I remember those days. I remember wondering how any moms were standing upright, because I certainly felt any uprightness of mine was a trick of light. 

The blog author's response was, "STICK TOGETHER. KEEP BREATHING. ESCAPE OFTEN. TAKE PICTURES and then LOOK AT THE PICTURES AFTER THE BABY IS ASLEEP. IT’S EASIER TO LOVE PICTURES OF BABIES THAN ACTUAL, AWAKE BABIES." Excellent. 

It all reminded me of the first few months, or perhaps years I suppose. 

A friend of mine has a 5 year old and a 9 month old and always feels like she should be accomplishing more than she is. When she's at my house and our daughters are playing together, she's always offering her help while I'm fixing snacks for them, as if she isn't already trying to keep the baby from killing himself by swallowing legos. I mean - really. She has enough to do. Recently she said, "How long will I be tied down like this?" I had enough presence of mind to remind her it's until the kid turns 3. "Oh right," she said. "That's about when I started to feel out of the weeds with the first." So funny how we forget. This forgetting is necessary for survival, I'm certain. 

But Frances will be 6 next week, and Clark is 4.5. I am officially out of the weeds. I still have to tie shoes and sometimes chase and tackle a naked one who's refusing to put on jammies, but really - I'm not in danger of cliff diving any longer. 

Of course, now that I'm out of the weeds, being back in them seems awfully attractive. Thankfully I have reasons not to do it again. The main ones are my age (too old for sleep deprivation), my migraines, and the medications I'm on to control them. Good reasons. But the real reason, when I'm being honest with myself and my brain is functioning well enough for me to remember accurately, is that having a new baby is hell. Hell. Those of you who are saying, "Oh no, it wasn't that bad," are suffering from a case of Refusing To Remember. (It's also Amazing and Wonderful, and thankfully we don't forget that part.)

So here is where I am. Here, where my kids dress themselves (mostly) and feed themselves, though they do not yet fix the food and put it on plates. They can (sort of) clean up messes, and can (generally) quiet down when asked. I can leave the house (with them of course). I can shower without interruption. I can eat an entire meal sitting down. 

Great. That is how I'm feeling. I'm slightly worried that this feeling greatness is due to the help I'm receiving at home with the au pair here, and that when she leaves in 2 weeks I will be feeling a lot less than great. I tend to anticipate the worst that way. I'm trying my best to simply enjoy the weather and the wonderfulness of this place I am in for but a moment. Because it always changes so fast, doesn't it? Whatever the stage is, it will pass. Fabulousness and all. 

big changes afoot

Everyone loves school! We are a success! What a relief!

I haven't written since Karen the german girl arrived. She's here not to go to school, but on her break between semesters. It's a kind of language emersion for her, an extra family member for us.

When she first arrived I was in heaven and meant to write a post saying only that, but I never sat at the computer. She does the dishes! All the time! I fix food for the kids, turn around, and the dishes are already done! It's like magic.

The second week I had a hard time adjusting to having someone else around all the time. I kept thinking I needed to entertain her, thought of her as a guest. It was funny - we are putting her up and feeding her but since I'm not paying her for babysitting I kept feeling I couldn't ask for her to watch the kids while I went out. And she felt like we were going so out of our way to provide for her that she owed us as much help as she could be. So for a while both of us were working our asses off, neither of us taking a break.

Not long after she got here we loaded everyone up and traveled to Washington DC and that was nice, and back home Karen came along with me on some adventures with the kids, and that was wonderful. Now that school's started we've gotten into a rhythm and I'm really feeling it. It seems like she's been here forever and I honestly don't know how the adjustment is going to go for me once she is gone. I'm rather in love with her company and she's an ENORMOUS help around the house and with the kids and oh my goodness what am I going to do when I'm alone again??


Here's what's the what on school:

Both Frances and Clark are at schools new to them, whole new worlds. Clark had tough transition, missing his old school and friends, and my heart felt for him. He loved his old school, knew the rules and the expectations and the people, and he loved those people. At the new school (the Waldorf school Frances went to the last 2 years) he felt so shy. Shyness is painful, and who wouldn't want to end that feeling by running back to that other thing you already love and feel close to? Why take a risk? Thing is, he didn't even realize it was a risk, didn't realize there was possible gain on the other side. He just did it cuz mom made him. Still, I knew he was going to fall in love with it. The first day when I picked him up his shoes were completely and totally covered in mud and sand. They had been buried. I had to take off his shoes and socks and rain pants and let him walk barefoot to the car. (It's amazing how those rain pants keep everything dry underneath. Clark was amazed too. His feet were soaked through but his shorts were completely dry. "Look at that!" he said.) The Waldorf school is a place where that kind of activity is expected and even encouraged - sometimes when it's raining only lightly out they go to this hill nearby that's more dirt than anything else, and they take turns sliding down on their butt. In the mud. He's going to be in heaven. I love Waldorf because it is this joyous celebration of the earth and the natural world, a kind of love affair. You can't help but respond.

Mitch told me on the way to school yesterday Clark said he loves his school. When I asked him about it Clark said, "yes, I LOVE my school." "What do you like about it?" I asked. "The whole thing," he said. There's so much motor skill activity - grinding grain on the mill, churning butter, chopping veggies, sweeping, balancing on logs and climbing swinging ladders - all stuff that will please him at a deep physical level.

Frances is thrilled to pieces with kindergarten. She wasn't nervous to go, didn't seem apprehensive at all, and loves everything about it. The first day I walked her to school and I hope I remember that moment always. She was so happy and excited and the weather had been perfect but a storm was coming so it was cooling off. We stopped at the corner and chatted with our neighbors in their pool, then went on. After dropping her I walked home while the gray clouds gathered. It wasn't until I was on the sidewalk right in front of our house that I felt the first drop. And then the downpour. It was all very symbolic and lovely.

The interesting part is that Clark is in school in the morning (Tuesday - Friday) and Frances is in school in the afternoon. (I wrote about this here.) So far I'm in love with the setup. Of course, Karen is still here, which means I can leave Frances with her in the mornings while I take Clark to school or go to the gym or the grocery. When I'm on my own again the lack of a break may be trying, but I'm trying to enjoy the moment. Having the kids each alone is SO DIFFERENT. They are civilized people! And when Frances gets home from school at 3 they are so happy to see each other and they play so well together, since they've been apart all day.

My challenge now is to enjoy them each and not spend all our time running errands or doing dishes or laundry. Which means this school year I may not get much done. I'm trying to be okay with that. Trying to spend my time sitting on the floor playing old maid and doing puzzles. Frances will be in school full day next year, then Clark the year after that. It's all coming to a close, this time of our lives. It sounds so dramatic when I say it like that, but it's true. That full time baby-toddler-preschooler segment of my life is nearing an end.

When Clark said he loves his new school he also said he still misses the old one. I told him it's that way with a lot of things in life. Including this one for me. I'm excited to move on to the next stage - with activities and no naps and the ability of children to become hungry without turning into screaming maniacs. We can travel! And go out to dinner! And talk about issues! Frances is already there, and Clark is mostly close, and I can see the bright lights glimmer. Still, I'm aware I'm going to miss this. This time when I am their world, when they rely on me for so much, and when they give so much love. It's a sweet time, something I've looked forward to my whole life. That it is ending is why the baby urge strikes now, I believe. Still, the shine of what is to come lures me more. I don't want to stay here in baby land. (I mostly don't. Except when sometimes I do.) In any case, I'm still here now, and I plan to cherish it while it's happening.