love like the sky

Wow. I've heard that the thrashing threes are harder than the terrible twos and now I know what they're talking about. I mean, really. And it's so odd, a major see-saw: not only is she impossible when she's difficult, but when she's calm she's really loving and wonderful, more affectionate toward me than she's ever been, in fact.

Today when we were leaving Kidtown everyone was in a good mood and I said, "Okay, let's all hold hands!" Clark held my hand right away and Frances wanted to hold his other hand but he was holding his blanket and didn't want to let go, and then we were in the middle of the parking lot and there was a car behind us so I sort of grabbed Frances's hand and hustled her along, and that was it. From then it was all over. Apparently she wanted to walk on the curb where in her mind she wouldn't have to hold my hand and in the end I had to physically force her into the car, which is so much fun. She's so big now too, and much harder to just pick up and carry to the car like I used to. She got so mad at me and wanted "Daddy, Daddy! I want Daddy!" but when he got on the phone he could only talk for a minute and she erupted in a fresh fury because she wanted to "talk for a while." She truly lost control, everything in the world wrong, and I tried my best to help her but I need a new tactic or something. Finally it was listening to her music in her room that calmed her, thank goodness.

A while back I was reading The Happiest Toddler on the Block but I stopped a third of the way through. I'm going to go back to it and maybe find something that will help. I'll let you know if I discover anything.

And then, an hour later she was hugging me around the middle while she stood on a stool in the kitchen and watched me fix lunch, and over and over she'd gaze up into my face and say, "I love you Mommy." When Mitch got out of his meeting and called back she didn't want to talk to him at all.

One major thing that's changed between us is that I've started napping with her. I've always wondered about folks who nap or sleep with their kids and it was not something I wanted to try. I felt very clear about wanting my own space and wanting them to entertain themselves in theirs. Then one day Frances wouldn't nap so I lay down with her. And she was asleep within five minutes. It was amazing. I kept doing that for a bit, getting her to fall asleep and then sneaking away, and then we morphed into napping together on my bed. It's so cozy and sweet and snuggly and I think it's changed some of the dynamics with us. I think she feels closer to me now as a result. Often before she falls asleep she traces my face with her fingers and sighs, "I love you as big as the house and the road and the sky."

Oh, and a halloween picture, because how can I resist?

i am two different moms.

Unacceptable amount of time between posts. I haven't been wanting to write lately, have been sort of coasting along rather than examining my life and mothering--which is a good thing.

I've recently realized that I've been a better mother to Clark than I have to Frances. Clark is easier to mother--that's the biggest reason. Yesterday I had trouble at the end of a play date wrangling two kids into socks and shoes and coats, and we got home late for Clark's nap. If this had been 18 months ago and Frances was the one late for a nap I would have been so anxious, a mess of rushing and panic and irritability, and with good reason: it would have meant a looming tornado and possibly no nap at all (the result of which, as you know, is an entire afternoon and evening of tornados, one after the other). But with Clark it only means a little grumpiness and then immediate sleep. (When I got him out of the car he put his blanket down on the filthy floor of the garage and lay on it...) It was/is in those/these anxious moments that I parent badly--that White Trash Mama appears and tosses the Little Tykes slide down the basement stairs (just as an example). These moments come when I feel out of control--not of the kids, but of schedules, or meals, or other things I believe I should be able to control if only I pay enough attention. I know I'm a little fanatical about things like nap schedules, but now I realize that it's not just me--I had to be because Frances required it if she were to remain collected. Clark glides along much better, and I can relax about these things. And when I relax I yell less, I rush less, I like life more, I parent better.

But it's also timing. Clark and I went to the mall earlier this week while Frances was in school and it was so much fun. I kept thinking how Frances wasn't so jolly and agreeable and fun at this age. Then I talked to my mom on my cell while Clark climbed on and off a bench and squinched his eyes at me, and she pointed out that when Frances was Clark's age I had a two month old and had just moved half way across the country. Oh right. I guess we weren't hanging out at the mall. My mom said Frances was indeed this much fun, I just missed it. Yup, I did.

Today, though, Clark and I were at Home Depot and it's christmas there, all the inflatable yard art displayed. It reminded me that I used to take Frances there when it was too gross to go to the park--to get out of the house and look at the yard art and christmas trees. (Ah, the simple pleasures.) As Clark and I were leaving he stepped into a little shed they had displayed and stomped around inside. I leaned in the door and said "boo" and he laughed and laughed. We had a great time. And that reminded me of being at Costco with Frances--another regular outing of ours--when I was pregnant with Clark. They had some very similar sheds displayed and we played the same game for all kinds of time, in no hurry at all. This must have been during those few weeks after I stopped working but before Clark was born. She was fun. And every bit as charming.

I used to worry about this discrepancy in my mothering, worry that perhaps Frances is difficult because of my anxiety and Clark is easy because of my lack, but I think that's backwards. No, they are different kids tempermentally, and I can't help but react to them differently. Truth is that my temperment is more in harmony with Clark's. And that's just something that is, just part of my story and each of theirs.

pacifier love

She's three years old, there are sores around her mouth, and her bite has a gap she can stick her finger in. It's time. A couple of weeks ago I tried to change the rule so that she only used it upstairs in the house--anywhere upstairs--but she was so distraught and anxious that I told her we could wait to set that rule. Turns out she was getting sick. But for a few days I talked to her about how we were going to have to change the rule soon, told her about her teeth and about the sores and how the paci was causing these problems. I told her how sorry I am that she can't have the paci forever. I also told her big girls don't use them. I don't like playing the big girl card--I believe it often backfires and encourages them to just act like and decide to be babies. Also, it's so much pressure--to be big and grown perhaps before they're ready. But it's also the truth. She's three now, she's getting to be a big girl, and the truth is that big girls don't use them.

So I waited a few days, talked about it, and got her sort of on board. The doctor says we should just have the paci disappear one day, just get lost. He says there will be a few rough nights after that (yeah, I'd say!) but I don't know. I don't know that I like that approach. It seems heartless, for one thing. She's having to adjust to many new things, to new skills and the idea of being big, which is scary to children. And just then to take away the thing that gives her the most comfort...? I don't know.

She doesn't ever need it at school, or at the kid area at the gym, or at her sitter's house, so clearly it's just a habit. But the anxiety of not having it at bedtime or when she's really really upset is very real to her. Just because I think it's not necessary does not diminish her very real feelings about it. It seems to me that having it just vanish is disrespectful to her, and also doesn't give her very much credit for being able to do this on her own. It is her paci, after all. And I think she's capable of understanding the problems it causes. My next step is to get her to the dentist and let the dentist tell her about how she's going to have to let it go. Maybe an authority figure that isn't me will help things along.

She's definitely got an oral fixation. Downstairs, now that the paci's not allowed, there's much gum chewing. I'm fine with that. But if we can break the habit down here, and when she's watching tv, and when she's in the car, it will be great progress. Then maybe we can restrict it just to bedtime. Mitch says it's kind of like quitting smoking by cutting down to fewer and fewer cigarettes and the feeling I got from that was that he thought it was a bogus approach, but come to think of it I quit smoking that way. Funny.

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.

indian summer

It's been 80 degrees here the past few days. A nice little kick before the cold sets in. The trees are already turning, a sharp bright orange against the blue blue sky.

Our favorite activity is popsicles. Really. After naps (sometimes before depending on how things are deteriorating, but generally after) I give them each a popsicle and we go outside. They sit in their little chairs or cram together in the little tikes car or we draw with sidewalk chalk while they eat their popsicles. I can even leave them out there by themselves a bit if I need to organize things for dinner. The rule is that they can't go down the driveway past the dogwood. Frances is very good about hollering to me if Clark tries to test this rule. She likes being a big sister.

Anyway, popsicle time takes up something like 45 minutes and makes everyone happy. They can be after-nap-crabby crabby crabby but when I say the word popsicles, everything improves. We go out into the sunshine, get some fresh air and vitamin D, eat a festive popsicle. I mean, really. What can be more festive than a popsicle? I bought these little molds at the grocery at the beginning of the summer and just fill them with fruit juice-- I don't ever feel bad about giving them a popsicle because no cane sugar (and certainly no hfcs!). Since we always water down the juice in the kids' cups, full strength juice is something yummy.


What will we do when it's cold and popsicles are not an option? I've loved this little ritual of ours.

not much

I know I've been posting infrequently these days. I think it's because things are going well. Ha! The trap of good times. I mean, when everything's skipping right along there's not so much to wrestle with here in writing, you know? I'm feeling good, I seem to have an extra parcel of patience, I find the kids interesting rather than exasperating.

There was an interesting incident yesterday morning. I was on the phone trying to place an order of cupcakes to take to Frances's school on Friday for her birthday, and at the same time was slapping together grilled cheese for the little people. Clark was having a general meltdown in the background because he was hungry and tired. And Frances wanted me to find her a balloon to try to blow up. I asked her to wait until I was off the phone. She cried. I explained that I didn't know where one was but I could help her after I was done on the phone. She wailed. She whined. I finally told the bakery I'd have to call them back. Clark was still melting down and I was hurrying with the grilled cheese and Frances was still whining. And I snapped. I turned and hollered, "Frances, I am trying to get lunch together and I can't help you find a balloon right now! I told you I would help you later. If you want to cry about it you'll have to go upstairs." And she said, "You're yelling at me." Which was the most perfect response. I sighed. "Yes, you're right. I was yelling. I shouldn't yell," I said. As I was putting grilled cheese on plates she brought it up again. "Why did you yell?" she asked. "I was frustrated," I said. "I was trying to order cupcakes for your birthday, and you were yelling at me, which made me upset." She nodded. "I'm sorry, Mommy," she said. "I shouldn't have yelled." The look on her face said she'd had some sort of realization, but who knows.

She's been hollering at Clark a lot these days. She yells in his face, "Give me that back!" and he puts his hands over his face and sobs. Poor guy. Mitch thinks she's learning it at school (she can't possibly be learning it around here...) and maybe she is. In any case, I need to point it out to her, need to help her hear herself. There have been a couple of times when I've asked her not to yell at him and she's said, "I didn't." And she really didn't hear that she did. Habits, habits.

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."

my time

Okay, I'm doing it. I'm sitting beside the pool at the gym eating a tuna sandwich, the kids in Kidtown. I did not work out. I came in, dropped the kids off, showered (!), then stretched out on a lounge chair and opened my laptop. They even have music out here, something I've never noticed before, what with the shrieking and splashing that usually accompanies my time here with kids.

I am not without guilt, but now that I'm sitting here--sunshine, light breeze, blue water, crisp pickle on the side--my guilt is thinning. This is just lovely. We took a 40 minute walk in the stroller this morning so I'm alleviated the specific guilt of not exercising. Any other guilt I have is born solely of not being with my kids, not doing more, playing more, being more.

Sometimes I think that the guilt that mothers feel is just part of the job description. Sometimes I think that rather than fight it, try to free myself from it, I should just accept that it's going to be there and then ignore it. Which is what I'm going to do this minute as I close my eyes and listen to the cicadas behind the music.

monetary cost of sanity

We took a babysitter with us to a 5-year-old's b-day party a couple weekends ago. The issue was that we had two parties that night... the 5-year-old's at 5:30 and then the second at 7, an adults only party on a boat so we couldn't be late (lest me miss the debarquement). Which meant we didn't have time to take the kids home in order to leave them with a sitter, so we had the sitter come to the first party and then she took them home from there while we went on to the 2nd party. Following?

Anyhoo, afterwards I swore that I'm never going anywhere without a sitter again. Oh my it was fabulous. I got to talk to people. And eat food. Seriously. There were crafts at the party and Frances requested that the sitter come do them with her instead of us, and later when Clark was crazy crazy crazy I was able to just ask the sitter to fetch him or make sure he wasn't flinging himself from the porch railing while I continued my conversation with a friend.

Then last weekend we went to a big picnic and I forgot about my previous assertion and I spent the entire time either entertaining one child or chasing the other. Every conversation I had was no more than 3 sentences long. I only ate half my piece of cake. I told Mitch we should have brought a sitter and he just shook his head at me.

The issue is -- what kind of people does it make us if we bring a sitter to a social gathering? Honestly, I think I would look a little sideways my friends if they did it. I would think of it as excessive, as luxurious, and maybe ridiculous. On the other hand, maybe I don't care. Maybe it's worth $20 to be able to enjoy myself socially.

It won't be like this forever. One day, probably sooner than I realize, the kids will be old enough to entertain themselves running around the field with the other kids while I chat with a friend about the chickens she's keeping in her urban backyard.

Does the fact that it won't be like this forever mean I should bring a sitter with me or that I shouldn't? Hm.

why?

Frances: Why is Milo barking?

me: He's barking at those other dogs.

Frances: Why is he barking at those other dogs?

me: Because he wants to play with them.

Frances: Why does he want to play with them?

me: Because he likes playing with other dogs.

Frances: Why does he like playing with other dogs?

me: I'm going to stop answering questions now, Frances.

Frances: Why you going to stop answering questions?