let's give some thanks, shall we?

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

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

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

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

bbbbbetter

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

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

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

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

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

my undoing

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

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

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

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

He's got a terribly traumatic life.

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

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

It exhausts me.

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

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

venting venting complaining and venting

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

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

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

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

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

I'm done. I feel much better.

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

Okay, now I'm done.

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

time for bed

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

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

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

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

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

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.

hi there.

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

Frances and her constant companion, Cousin Claudia

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

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

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

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

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

the boy talks

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

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

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

Look at dis! (inflection: surprise.)

I do it. (determined, proud)

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

Come wis me. (always, always.)

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

Yes it doooo. (one of my favorites)

Yes I can. (oh so helpful)

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

grouchy #2

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

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

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

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

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

Awww.

But still.

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

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

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

the giraffe and the retriever

Have I mentioned lately my thoughts about how different kids are from each other? It's really astonishing; my kids, their friends, neighbors, kids in her class. All so different. The way you approach each child necessarily has to differ too. It's a rather interesting experience, wandering around in the world of children. And what occurs to me these days is that adults aren't all so different. They come in something like 10 flavors. We’ve been pounded into our round holes, made to fit, and adults often seem to be, to some degree, a type. But children! When you really talk to them, listen to them, you realize they aren’t types; they are wholely and fundamentally unique.

You'd think we'd resemble each other more, adults and children, something like zebras and donkeys. But the difference is greater: more like the rhino and the domestic dog. Four legs both, two eyes, nurse their young. Okay, maybe the giraffe and the domestic dog; they do both have fur.

Still no resolution on the preschool thing for next year, though I’m pulling back from wanting to keep Frances home full time. It was cold and wet for a few days recently and I realized that it does in fact get harder for me when the weather is gross. Winter is long here, you know. Dallying in the grocery parking lot is a lot less fun when it’s sleeting. Just being able to ride trikes in our driveway and draw with sidewalk chalk changes things dramatically. Maybe I can simply relish our non-school time in the summer. I still have a little time to think about it.

success

Success so far! On Friday, after Clark's nap, we took the pacifiers over to our friends with the new baby and Frances was completely unsentimental in handing them over. Then we went to the grocery where we bought a cookie cake with frosting balloons and her name, as well as a pink foil princess balloon for Frances and a blue balloon for Clark. At home we sang "Happy Big Girl to You" and she opened the Cinderella Barbie I fought with myself to buy for her. (The Cinderella wasn't quite the overwhelming hit I expected, though she does like her... It's almost like she has these Big Desires for Things, but when she gets them they sort of lose luster.) We let her stay up and watch movies (it turns out she's not ready for movies. We had to turn off Nemo within the first 15 minutes and reverted to School House Rock.) until it was pretty much our bedtime and she was exhausted. She slept the entire night through.

Yesterday morning she got a little whiny and said something to the effect that she hadn't given the pacifiers away forever. I said, in fact, that's exactly what she had done and that was why we had the big celebration and why her dad and I were so proud of her. The whining continued.

At bedtime last night, exhausted, (giving up the pacifier permanently means we're giving up the nap completely too), she whined, "paci, paci" and then "I'm not going to bed until Daddy goes to bed." After much ado and exhausting her father's patience (which is vast), I lay down with her and talked to her about giving things up, how we're sad and we cry and then let them go. She brought up my favorite green sweater which is falling apart and we talked about how I'll eventually have to put it in the trash and that will make me sad too. Finally I sang to her. The first seven or so songs were rejected with more whining. It was Edelweiss she eventually let me sing; only three times through and she was asleep.

At 11:30 and then again at 2 she stood by our bed, half asleep, saying "paci paci." But she let me lead her back to bed and climbed right in.

There's more whining today, though not about the pacifier directly, and I suspect I'd whine too if one of my two primary comforts was taken from me. The dentist said it all would last only two or three days; given her personality I estimate it will be double that--four to six--which means only a few more to go. Not so bad.

And it hasn't been bad. She's been a pretty good trooper and I would think of this parenting moment as suspiciously easy if it weren't for Clark's unending screaming about everything. All I can think, nearly all the time, is he certainly is two. (Even random people in parking lots ask, "Is he two?" and smirk at the thrashing fit.)

So now I'm off to the massage my sweet husband scheduled for me for mother's day. What better?

Happy Mother's Day to all you reading moms too!

crazy little people

Oy. We went to Wegmans for dinner, because Wegmans is no ordinary grocery. And as we were making our way through the bakery section to the hot food bar, Frances asked for a cookie. I said, "After dinner we can have cookies, but we need to eat first," and she stamped her foot and hollered, "NO! Then I won't live with you anymore." How not to laugh at that? I did laugh, couldn't help it, while thinking that perhaps I should be holding it in.

At that very same moment Clark was quiet, but that's unusual for him these days. I feel like all he does is scream at the absolute top of his lungs, "NO! NONONONO! NO!" Good grief. I can't wait until we're past this. I was going to put him down early for his nap yesterday (he was asking for his blankie at 10am) but Frances's ride home from school fell through so I kept him up until 1 when I went to get her. I needed to get some things from the bulk food bins in the grocery so we went over there to pass time. He refused to ride in the cart (NO! NO NO NO! AAAGGGHH! NO!) so I let him walk. Then we were in the bulk food section (bins of chocolate raisins, sesame sticks, licorice,  gum drops....) and he was a complete maniac. Over-tired 2-year-old loose in the bulk foods. Clearly I didn't think it through. People stared. Some laughed or sympathized, one let me know that his hands were in the M&Ms again. It was horrible.

One of the things he screams the loudest about is not holding hands in parking lots. Screams. I find myself grabbing whatever part of his jacket I can get my hands on and pulling him back, which makes him furious. Today at the library he and Mitch were standing on the sidewalk and Mitch was attempting to explain to him why holding hands was important. Frances and I had trailed behind inside, and as we came out Clark was shrieking a long high pitch, and a woman walking by--who didn't realize Frances and I were with them--raised her eyebrows at me like, "Can you believe this guy? He must be a terrible parent to let his kid behave this way." Yes, that's us.

He's still pretty cute, even when he's hollering.

naps naps no naps

Frances is three and a half and most kids have given up naps by now. Both kids have been great sleepers--I've been fortunate that way--and until just recently her nap was consistently two hours and Clark's was three. (He'd sleep from 1-4 and she'd sleep from 2-4 without fail.) But now she's thinking about giving up her nap and it's not going fabulously.

Most days I can convince her to lie down with me. She says she's not tired, does not want a nap, but once we lie down she's out right away: her open eyes blinking for longer and longer, then opening halfway, drowsing, until they close and her breathing lengthens. It takes all of three minutes. Last night, though, she kept coming downstairs and at 9:20 was still asking for bubblegum, asking why bugs bite, asking to play a game.

So today I didn't have her nap. Mostly the day went well, until bathtime. She hates baths, hates water in her face, hates to have her hair washed, thinks getting any scab or sore or bandaid wet is going to cause her tremendous intolerable pain. Mitch and I, in fact, talked last week about how we shouldn't do baths on days she hasn't napped. Forgot about that.

I don't know how long she's going to be in this middle stage--napping maybe four of five days--but I hear giving up the nap can be pretty excruciating for everyone. Sigh.

At the same time Clark has cut his nap from three to two hours. That's no big deal, though. It doesn't seem to affect his disposition, only means a little less Clark-free time for me, which is okay. I am behind on the ironing, however.

to be two. 2b2.

Clark is impossible these days. Impossible. But when he's not being impossible, he's a real joy--a great stage. Luckily we're looking at about 50/50 right now. If it tips up on the impossible end I'm going to lose it completely, rather than just partially, which is where we are now.

It's like he got a memo--the instant he turned two he began to rampage. It was almost overnight, and it's quite unhinged me.

It's hard to be two. You want to be independent, and there are many things you can now do by yourself, but there are lots and lots that you can't do, that you still need Mommy for. Knowing you still have that need can be scary. It's a big world, and at two you suddenly realize that it's bigger than your little space, bigger than you and Mommy, and Clark woke yesterday from his nap screaming. Not just crying and calling for me, but shrieking. When I got him and his blankie settled on my lap he said a dinosaur and a tiger had been chasing him, and neither Daddy nor I were there. I bet that's sort of what it feels like in general, that anxiety of being suddenly alone and trying to outrun the monsters.

Then my friend W mentioned that her daughter, who is exactly one week older than Clark, has her molars coming in and has been miserable. That hadn't occurred to me, so I checked when I was brushing his teeth, and sure enough he's got half of two new teeth in the back. Ouch. At least he's not keeping me up at night, like W's daughter is her. Could his pain-in-the-ass-ness just be teething? Could my philosophy of two year old development just be over-thinking?

Not that I've done that before. 

because the car belongs in the garage

I'm trying to figure out what is a stage and what is some abnormal behavior that I need to address specifically. This is why the 2nd kid has it so much easier... you realize it's just a stage and just shrug it off rather than drag yourself over the coals of guilt about your parenting and fear that you've screwed up the kid perminently.

The books say that three is hard b/c the kid realizes she is not a baby anymore and is excited about being grown, but is also afraid of being grown. I suppose it does involve much unknown, and the unknown is nearly always scary. One of the books mentions that toddlers are "small, slow, and clumsy" which is the genesis of much frustration with themselves and the world. I can see that. Also, they feed on structure and predictibility. It's the way they feel safe in the world. Hence our meltdown yesterday, which involved my pulling the car out of the garage before trying to load in kids. She absolutely freaked out. Turns out the car must be in the garage in order to climb in and fasten one's carseat. Who knew? Seriously, a complete meltdown.

It's hard to know how to respond. Sometimes what she's asking for seems so small and irrelevant that why not give it to her? If she feels out of control in the big big world and pulling the car back in the garage will help, then why not? But there are other times when I feel like she's trying to test me and see how far she can push, in which case the best approach is simply to hold the line. And then there are the times when I just don't want to.

a-ha...

Now I know why I'm not supposed to sleep with my daughter. It's because she comes in our room at TWO AM and wants to get in bed with us. It's because at TWO AM when I tell her that she must sleep in her own bed, she has a meltdown. It's because when I finally bribe her with music to stay in her own bed, she returns AN HOUR LATER to tell me she doesn't want Hickory Dickory Dock on the CD. It's because I'm tired. We had a little chat yesterday about how much fun it is to sleep together in the afternoon and how much I love snuggling with her, but if she keeps coming in our room in the night then we're going to have to stop sleeping together in the afternoon. I hope she can see the logic.

redeemed

I quit working about five weeks before Clark was born. During that time I couldn't carry Frances because I was so hugely pregnant and uncomfortable, which meant that everywhere we went we walked at her 16-month-old pace. I had a great time with her then. Going to the park, the grocery, the museum, just climbing up and down the front steps. I didn't want it to end. In fact, when Clark was born I mourned the loss of my alone time with Frances, something I blogged a little about here. That blog post doesn't really describe the sorrow I felt. Loss, sadness, something gone from me forever. My relationship with Frances changed, irrecoverable.

But! Something interesting is transpiring. Clark is now about the age Frances was when he was born. (This is hard for me to believe... I CAN NOT imagine having a newborn right now omg.) And now with Frances in school in the mornings, Clark and I have some time to ourselves. Today I trimmed one of the trees out front and he helped me drag the limbs to the curb. He was adorable--so excited to be helping, pulling a leafy branch behind him and then heaving it onto the pile. He'd stand there and look at his success and grin, then turn and toddle to get another. Today it occurred to me for the first time that I'm getting time with him in this 18 month old stage, at just the age when I had to give up time with her. It's redeeming. I'm remembering why I so loved being with her--how much fun this age is. He's still a baby, still so cute in that baby way, but he's also able to point to the doll's ears and then his own, to say "blue" and point out everything blue in the room, to tell me through gestures that he wants pretzels and not yogurt. He has opinions, but he also finds everything so exciting that I can take his mind off trying to follow the cat across the street by suggesting he help me pull the limbs to the curb. It's not distraction with which I succeed (oh no--there's no distracting), but with suggestion of something else enticing. And there's so much in the world to see and discover!

Most of last summer, when Clark was tiny and Frances was not yet two, is for me a blur. I have a picture of them on the front steps of our new house together, but I don't remember what it was like. I don't remember what SHE was like. I was so entangled in taking care of a newborn, so sleep deprived and overwhelmed and drained. That, combined with the loneliness and sheer effort of the move, and I feel like I lost nearly a year of her life, missed it all together. I'm glad to have his.

free to be three

Well, the birthday was a success. We had the party early because her grandparents were in town, and organizing the party left me a little torn. Last year we invited everyone--neighbors, friends, Mitch's collegues with kids her age--and it was a big fun cookout with hotdogs and baked beans and watermelon and beer and cake. This year I was considering the same thing, but when I asked her if she wanted lots of people here or only a small group, she said small. Then she said the same thing when I asked her again the next day. And the next. She gave me a list of four friends of hers that she wanted here and she stuck to it. I suggested the kids of some of our favorite people, people I would want for my own sake to have at the party, and she said no. So asked again (children are fickle, right?), and again no. She really knew her mind. I considered ignoring her and planning the party I wanted for her--I mean, she is only three, but then it was her birthday. So little it was.



I try to let her be herself. I try to let her have her own opinions. Mitch lets her be herself so much that whenever he dresses her he insists she pick out her own clothes. I can't let go of control that much yet. She has some mighty cute outfits that I don't want to go unworn, for one thing, and I do have to look at what she's wearing all day.

So in the spirit of letting her be herself: night before last she asked to have her hair cut. Her hair that's never even been trimmed, her baby hair hanging now long down her back. She'd asked a few days before and I said that we'd see how she felt in a day or two to be sure it was what she wanted. In the morning it was still what she wanted. And the next day. So Monday night when she asked again I said, "You sure?" and she said, "Yup! I want it too look like Sophia's." Sophia is her favorite friend and has a little bob and bangs. I said, "You want me to cut it right now?" She brightened up and said, "Yes I do!" I felt a pang. "Your long hair is so pretty!" I said. "You might not be able to wear it in braids anymore, and I love your braids." From the next room Mitch called out, "You can do whatever you want, Frances." Sigh.

But I do want her to be herself. Theoretically. She wants to be someone else, like Sophia or one of the girls on Barney. "Just like Sophia's," she said. So I sat her up on a stool, got the sissors and a comb, and I cut her hair. Short little 1950s bangs, the rest up to her shoulders, which is still pretty long. "Does it look like Sophia's?" she asked. "It looks a little like Sophia's," I said. "The bangs are shorter, but they will grow." I saw a stray hair I'd missed and asked her to sit still again and she said, "Does it look like Sophia's now?" She insisted we call her Sophia for the rest of the night. Later she asked again if it looked like Sophia's and I said, "It will never look just like Sophia's, honey, because Sophia has wavy hair." "I have wavy hair," she said. "No, your hair is straight," I told her. "I have wavy hair and curly hair," she said. "No, it really is straight, Frances," I said. "Sophia!" she said. I said, "Right. I forgot. Sophia. You have straight hair, Sophia."

happy

Frances is upstairs in her big girl bed. It's naptime and she's been asking lately to sleep in the big girl bed rather than the crib but we've been resisting because of the Last Time disaster. I thought I'd try it today since naptime has been going so well in general: I give her a little bowl of pretzels or cereal or something, plus a small cup of water (okay, watered down juice), plus a couple of books, plus her baby, and blanket, and paci, and 2 Little People (if you don't know what Little People are just play along). And she's perfectly content. I know she's content because I finally got a second monitor so now I can hear her sing Old MacDonald (as she is doing this minute) and tell her baby all about gymnastics before she goes to sleep. She likes getting in her bed for nap now and asks me to cover her and her baby up, tuck them in. So I thought it might be a good time. Before I heaved the crib mattress from the crib to the toddler bed I talked to her about how she would have to stay in her bed and put her head on the pillow and close her little eyes and go to sleep, and she said she would. It will be a major victory if that is indeed what happens. So far I'm very hopeful.

In fact, I'm hopeful in general these past few days. After that last post I've been feeling pretty good and even before that post I'd noticed that although Frances and I were sometimes going head to head, we are also upping the frequency of good harmonious times between us. I'm getting in the rhythm of being home with them both and am almost feeling like maybe I don't want to send her to preschool this next year. Which I'm pretty sure is an insane thought. My friend Melissa reminded me that right now we can play outside and go places and do things with them and yes, it's fun, but that the winter here is very very different. A good point.

I won't make any drastic changes or new decisions. I finally did sign her up for the new preschool... something that I obsessed and obsessed over but don't think I wrote much about on the blog. For some reason I got completely stuck in the decision and just couldn't see my way out. I think it's because both choices (where she was last year and where I was considering moving her) were both fine options... neither was bad, and so how to go about making the decision? It didn't really matter which I chose--neither would radically affect the person she becomes, neither would be a failure. But it seemed so HUGE when I was trying to decide, as if ultimately it DID matter, as if one school would lead her down one life path and the other a different path, and how was I to choose when I could not yet see either? Anyway, made the decision now. Feel fine about it.

Just so you know: she's asleep. Didn't get out of the bed once. Yippee!

above average cuteness and candy

Frances spent the ENTIRE Memorial Day parade today with her hands over her ears. I wish I had a picture.

This morning before we went she told me she didn't want to go to a parade. This, after so much parade discussion and youtube parade watching and general parade excitement. I suppose the parade at the Lilac Festival demonstrated that the ones on the street in person aren't as exciting as the Rose Bowl on TV. "We're going to go with Ruby and Henry, isn't that exciting?" Ruby (4) and Henry (almost 3) are my friend Carrie's kids and Frances literally follows Ruby around mimicking her. I thought Ruby's presence would be a sure thing but it didn't sway her. "You know what, Frances?" I said, "I think there's going to be candy." I had heard that they throw out candy at this parade, unlike the Lilac Festival which is just a regular ole parade. I'm not a fan of the candy thing--it's not mardi gras. But! I was right. "Candy!" she said. "I LOVE CANDY!"

This conversation happened while Mitch showered and got ready. It was my job to convince her to go to the parade. I also thought I would coach her on the holiday in general. "Do you know what the parade is celebrating? Memorial Day," I said. "Do you know what Memorial Day is?" Then I wondered if I should continue. I went the easy route: "Soldiers," I said. "Do you know what a soldier is?" It occurred to me she might not know, and she didn't. How to answer that question? I wondered what I was getting myself into. I went with: "It's someone who protects our country." Among other things. Anyway.

When we were in the car I thought I'd show her off a bit for Mitch so I asked, "What is the parade celebrating, Frances?" And she said, "CANDY!"

Maybe they give out candy so parents can convince their kids to come.

Turns out they did in fact have candy. They also had loud marching bands and loud gunfire and loud police motorcycles tooting their loud high-pitched horns. Someone told us they might fire canons and I'm very thankful we missed that part. I thought Ruby's presence would carry more weight once we actually got there but no--. In fact, most of the time Frances was on Mitch's shoulders way way back from the road. She felt safer there. Once in awhile she would get down and sit on the curb (hands still on her ears) in hopes of candy, but as soon as some tootsie rolls came spinning her way she was up again asking to "go away from here." Poor girl.

Clark, on the other hand, had a ball, though it had very little to do with the parade. I spent most of my time following him around, pulling him out of the paths of double jogging strollers on the sidewalk and making sure he didn't walk into the street in front of the marching band. He's in a painfully cute stage, mostly steady on his feet and marching all over the earth to see what's what. One woman on a bike going by said, "Above average cuteness." Yes, yes it is.