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 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.

a parenting book to set you FREE

I figure since I espouse and talk about it I should probably read the actual Free Range Kids book. So I checked it out of the library last week (though I've interestingly been on a waiting list for a while... it's a popular item around here!) and have been motoring through it. And I LOVE it. It may change my life. So many of the things she suggests are things I was already practicing (I don't hover near my 2-year-old on the playground, for example, and he's a climber. Yes, he might fall, and he might get hurt, but he won't kill himself, and the independence he gains is worth more...) but I felt guilty about them, even while believing they were right.

Oh if she can lift my guilt. So far it's working.

Also, she's got the statistics. She tells you how many kids have been abducted randomly (it's fewer than you think) and what the actual risk is if you want to let them walk down the block to Josie's house by themselves. She addresses directly the hysteria about not being able to let them out of your sight, gives you the actual numbers and lets you decide if our reactions are out of proportion. (Okay, she goes ahead and tells you they are in fact out of proportion, and even how we got to this ridiculous place.)

She has a whole chapter about how you should not read parenting books (except for hers, of course, she says cheekily) because parenting "experts" only serve to tell you what you're doing wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. Well intentioned though they may be. (She also points out how completely absurd and unfounded and incorrect some of their suggestions are, and though they may go against our better judgement, we feel the "experts" must know more than we do, and so, if not trying to implement something because it feels wrong to us, we feel guilty....)

She's got a lot of good sense. Go read it! Or at least look at her blog.

tv siren song

All right. Over tired why is daddy not home yet meltdowns. Oh the tv called to me, sang sweetly from its little corner. I will help you, it said. I can make it better, quieter. I can soothe them, wind them down for bed, even make the transition to bedtime easier. I can, I can. I resisted, I did. But it was not easy, let me tell you. But then, now that I think about it, it's not as if these dire moments didn't exist before we turned the tv off, its just that I had a tool to quiet them that I no longer have. A crescent wrench removed from the toolbox. Can you make a regular wrench work? Maybe, but your wrist might seize up in the process.

no tv update

Last night there was a meltdown born of exhaustion that with 100% certainty would have been avoided by a little Winnie the Pooh DVD time. But it didn't last long, and it's not such a bad thing for Clark to learn how to deal with these stresses without resorting to passive entertainment.

And I want to say that though I am trying this no tv thing, I judge no one for using it with their own kids. I know how very very helpful it can be in quieting the masses so that the rioting does not begin, or even just so you can hear yourself think. Sometimes you just have to get things done, things like bills or dishes or laundry or simply sitting on your ass for a moment to collect yourself, and the tv does indeed help. You do what you've got to do. Just for me, now, we've gotten to a place where I wanted to try it out, wanted to see what our lives would feel like without the pockets of reprieve the tv offers. It does indeed feel different.

Clark has been asking for it a lot now. I think he uses it as a way to regroup, to settle himself when he's tired and sort of strung out. I'm reading more books to them, that's for sure. I like that time on the sofa, one of them on each side of me. It soothes me too.

i got rid of the tv

And the upshot of it is that the kids are actually requiring LESS interference from me. The true role of the tv, of course, is to allow you a specified amount of quiet in order to cook dinner w/out having to referee or field questions come play with me play with me why can't put the cat in the dishwasher Clark hit me took my toy stepped on my hair please don't carry the cat by his neck please use your inside voice who is crying for godsake no climbing on the bookshelf. My friend E thought it would take about 2 weeks, then they would settle in. And I was pumped up; I was ready to muck through the requisite hollering to see what was on the other side. We just got back from a very refreshing vacation and it was a good time for me to be feeling optimistic about how much I could take.

We usually watch George when we eat our breakfast. The first morning when I said "Oatmeal's ready!" Clark said, "George! George!" I said, "You know what? We're going to do something new, and we're not going to watch tv anymore. But you know what else? Later today we can have popsicles! Yay!" (Gotta give em something to hang onto you know.) They looked at me for a moment, a sort of kid version of a shrug, and Frances said, "That's why there's a dishcloth covering the tv," as if she knew already. There was no mention of the tv again that day. The next day around lunch, when Clark was very ready for his nap but fighting it and trying to figure out a way to stay awake while being immobile, he asked for tv. Frances piped up, "Clark, we don't watch tv anymore." She knows most things these days. "Do you know what Daddy told me on the phone two seconds ago? That he'll be home early enough for us all to go to the playground!" I ask, and she says, "I know, Mom." She's not even four. 

But today, despite a couple more requests from Clark for the tv (interestingly, he's the one that loves it less. I guess he's also the one who is two and therefore less on board with reasons and rules), they are playing better. And better. It's like the practice of it is making them more interested in it. Hurray! I suppose I shouldn't celebrate yet; it's only been a few days. But seriously--I'm refereeing less. Their play is calmer, fuller, more content. How about that?

Now, I am the first to acknowledge that summer here is amazing and would keep anyone in a good mood despite that their tv had been snatched away without warning. Will see what happens in the winter when we're stuck inside for weeks at a stretch lest the arctic wind freeze the moisture in your eyeballs. The winter could loosen my resolve. As well as the kids' ability to play well without my interference. Cabin fever does strange things to people.

But for now, not hearing the Dora map song is a wonderful thing. 

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.

second guessing

Yesterday Mitch gave a talk at Michigan State and I went with him. While he was at the university I spent all kinds of money at Urban Outfitters and then walked around looking at things. Michigan State was one of the schools that made Mitch an offer at the end of his PhD, but we decided on Rochester instead.

As I was walking around this time I was struck with an overwhelming and profound feeling that we made a mistake; that we should have moved to East Lansing instead of upstate NY. Mitch's parents are an hour and a half from there and would that have saved me? The house that we looked at to buy and loved was one block off campus and the kids and I would have had all of campus as our playground. We could have walked to the little college shopping strip and could have gone to Mitch's parents' when things got overwhelming. I cried and cried, and then cried more when Mitch was done and I told him my thoughts. I cried for my deep sadness in Rochester that first year; I cried for the whole year of Frances's toddlerdom I feel I missed. I cried that she didn't have me that year, and that she didn't have a grandparent or her old sitter Carol, didn't have someone who loved her then like I couldn't. 

The truth is, of course, I have no idea if it would have been better. It could have been worse; who knows. And it doesn't matter, because Rochester is where we went, Rochester is where I am now, where my life is now, where I am now happy living. It's kind of a silly exercise, thinking about what it would have been like to have made a different choice. I just didn't know. I didn't know how to make the choice at the time. I was pregnant with Clark then and scared to death, and I didn't know how much help I would need. We knew being closer to his parents would help, but I didn't realize I would need it so badly. I've got to forgive myself for it: for being depressed, for not being present for Frances then.

Besides, I wouldn't have had Wegmans. I'd have had to cook! Oh my. 

freestyle

We're in Michigan now, staying with Mitch's parents. Mitch is going to Germany for a conference and so we scheduled for him to fly out of Detroit and the kids and I are staying here while he's gone, which means in all we'll be here almost two weeks.

And! I packed without a list. I made a list, interestingly, and then I forgot to use it. I see it as a good thing, a kind of relaxed that I'm usually not. So far the only things I've forgotten are the broadcasting end of the monitor (though I brought the receiving end...!) and tampons, neither of which were on the list in the first place. I bought both at Walmart, as that's pretty much the only store within a hundred miles. It's a quiet place in the country (on a lake!). I feel like I'm at camp. How great is that?

nightmares and Clark the Menace

Something's up with my girl, and I don't know what it is. Nightmares? Fear of being alone? Simple anxiety about independence? Her terrible hay fever? Here's what she does: goes to sleep just fine, then an hour/ two hours/ the middle of the night later she wakes up whining. I want a drink, or I wanna have a sleepover, or ahlsimfiemthtnelfiibktyy. She seems like a thinking wakeful person, which generally leads me to ask, "What is it you want, honey?" But that is the wrong approach. This much I've learned. Asking her how I can help her only ratchets up the whining until it turns into screaming (4 am screaming is really not pleasant) and then, full tantrumming. Honestly, I don't think she's even awake.

What does work is picking her up and putting her on the toilet (with a guess that having to pee is perhaps what woke her in the first place), then carrying her back to bed. I cannot, as I have learned, tell her to climb on the toilet seat herself, or pull up her own pants, or walk back to her room even though I am right beside her holding her hand. Verbal communication only escalates everything.

Mitch thinks it's her brother. Clark hits her all the time, randomly, not just out of irritation but also out of boredom. I don't know why it doesn't occur to her to turn around and hit him back, but it doesn't. Instead she just gets this pitiful exhausted helpless look on her face and whines, "Mommy, Clarky hit me again."

I try my best to get him to quit this shit but am obviously not being effective. I get down in his face and make him look at me and I tell him that we can't act like that etc etc. (the frown he gives me during this is quite theatrical). Anyway, I do that when I have enough wherewithall not to simply shriek, "Clark, no hitting!" He generally goes into time out which is not such a bad place in the pack-n-play with toys and sometimes even his blanket. Two minutes, until the dinger dings. Then he very willingly (and adorably) says he's sorry, everyone hugs, and five minutes later he's hit her again.

This morning Mitch noticed her tone of voice and facial expressions when she's upset in the night are just the ones she uses when Clark hits her and she feels powerless and frustrated. Hm. What to do?

I've been focusing on trying to get Clark to quit it dammit already, but it occurs to me this minute as I write (a-ha! the intended result of blogging about the stress of being a mom!) that maybe I need to give her some other skills. I've been trying to tell her to tell him how it makes her feel, but maybe I should teach her how to say that if he's going to hit her she's not going to play with him, or going to go into the other room, or whatever. That would be a much more thorny consequence to him (oh he loves playing with her. To him the hitting is just part of that play somehow) than listening to me or going into timeout.

Oh yay! I'm going to talk to her about it tomorrow. I hope it works. Or something works.