little mommy

This morning when I woke up, both the kids were downstairs already. Little C, who's been sick with a fever for the past three days, was watching TV on the couch. Beside her was an ottoman, on top of which was a tiny cordial glass full of water, and a big empty bowl.

"What's all this?" I said to Annika, gesturing at Celyn's setup.

"She was coughing SO hard, I thought she needed a bowl in case she threw up." She looked very proud of herself. "And I got her some water."

"You could have gotten me, you know."

"Nah, it's FINE, mom."

Wow, my little six year old is becoming quite responsible. (Although, she didn't really need to use the new cordial glasses ... )

MultiHyperFocus

Well, it's been a messy week. The day after my last post was spent almost entirely in bed, getting up only for bathroom trips and rarely, to do something child related. My kids are almost of an age where they can fend for themselves in dire straights. I warned them in the morning that I was sick and wasn't going to be doing much, and that I was going to have an instantaneous no tolerance policy on sibling fighting.

Consequently, Annika filled my water bottle for me, then they both came and massaged my hands and feet with their cool little hands. (Their idea, not mine.) I had a fever and I was just useless. Annika even made them both lunch, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, pouring drinks, and putting crackers on the side. So cute. They also fought very little, and were industrious and found plenty to do, even though I forbade screen time.

Yesterday was a little better, and I only did some picking up, vacuuming and laundry.

Today I'm nearly normal, and have been painting the hallway again, and made an apple crisp, and next I think I'll do some laundry and bake something else. Or maybe a pudding from scratch. Mmm.

It was actually really nice having Annika home when she wasn't terribly ill. The kids played really well together. What happened once she went back to school -- and I KNEW this would happen -- is that Celyn is bored and all up in my face the entire day, and then all over her sister the minute she gets home. Problem is, her sister is a pissy little grump when she gets off the school bus, and the fighting and sniping commences.

I'm seriously re-entertaining homeschooling.

I know I've been away from the dojo too long, because I've been feeling the urge to hit things. While I was doing laundry, I walked by this old "heavy" training bag I had in the basement that I'd been ignoring for years, did a double take, grabbed it and brought it upstairs with me. I hung it on a hook in the mud room and started beating on it. See, the problem with this bag is that it's an "aerobic" boxing bag, meaning it's not very heavy at all, and it has a d-ring on the bottom, so that you can tether it down. Well, I have no tethers. So hanging it against the wall is the best I can do at this point. And the thing is pretty useless for kicking. But it's a start. And I need something, especially with Celyn up in my face all day whining because she's lonely without her sister. OMFG. Must! Punch!

Ahem. But with any luck, I can get back in there tonight for a weapons class at least, even though I have a love-hate relationship with weapons right now. At least it's not really strenuous. So there's that.

Now back to painting and cooking, not at the same time.

It's Not Pig Related

So after three days of 102-103 degree fever, I had to take Ani to the doctor to have them check her out. Clear lungs, clear ears, clear throat. Un-fun-swab up the nose for swine flu, negative. Today she's better, but due to the 24 hour fever rule, she's home with me again today.

And now Celyn has her own version, of course, because the concept of isolation in a house with two small children is absurd.

Celyn, unsurprisingly, is a different kind of patient. Her main annoying "sick" habit is her penchant for waking up all night long to have discussions.

I didn't catch their ick, but I do have a slight cough. So last night, during one of her wakeups, she felt it necessary to relate this to me:

"Hey mom? Know what my sister told me? She said that when you hafta cough or sneeze, you do it in your elbow, like dis," she demonstrated.

"She's absolutely right," I murmured sleepily.

After a few minutes, she piped up again.

"Mama? ... you didn't do dat."

"Thanks, Celyn. Go. To. Sleep."

She also woke up to use the bathroom, and that whole process took way longer for me to recover from, sleepwise, and I was awake for probably an hour on top of the numerous random wakings. So ... I'm slightly grumpy today. Celyn's not. She wanted to talk endlessly over breakfast, but her choice of breakfast conversation -- made up knock knock jokes -- while I tried to give myself a blood transfusion drink my coffee, and I started to crack a little.

"Please ... I can't talk anymore. I need to be quiet and drink coffee and stare at the ceiling. Thanks."

I know, I'm a bad mom. But this is what a three year old's knock knock joke is like:

"Knock knock!"
"Who's there?"
"What did the other chicken say to the other chicken?"
"What?"
"I SAID, 'What did the other...?"
"No, I heard you, I meant, what did the chicken say?"
"Cockadoodle doooo! ... Mom? Did you hear me? Wasn't that funny? I said, 'Cockadoodle doooo!' ... Knock knock!!"

So you see my dilemma. Ask for quiet to drink my coffee, or have a nervous breakdown.

Argh

I suck at blogging these days. I have no TIME for it anymore. I have no time to keep up with it. Apparently, I used to have way too much time on my hands, back in the day. Which is not to say that other bloggers have too much time on their hands, it's just that I am crap at time management.

This weekend has been a Stuck Around the House weekend, because the Big Kid is sick. She is not an easy patient, which is hardly surprising. She hates every form of medicine out there, which makes her totally hard to take care of. I can't give her much relief. If there is something she HAS to take, she makes a huge deal out of it, and throws up a lot when she has a fever or has to take something she finds objectionable. I was able to con her into eating yogurt laden with ibuprofen, which was an enormous and unprecedented victory. She still has a fever, though, so I suppose we're off to the doctor tomorrow.

I'm pretty much giving up on ever getting to yoga again, since I have had one week since school started where they have both managed to be in school at the same time on their regular schedule.

School is a drag. That's all I'm going to say about that right now.

I'm trying to ignore the tickle in my throat and the tightness in my lungs, because I refuse to get sick. I'm too busy and having too much fun to be sick, dammit.

So we stuck close to home this weekend, and I did a lot of cooking Friday and Sunday. Friday I made a chicken in the slow cooker, warm red cabbage salad with pecans, pumpkin pecan muffins, and pumpkin anadama rolls. Today I made hamburger soup (which is a pretty good soup with a pretty lame name), brussels sprouts with dijon/caraway butter, yeasted dinner rolls, and leftover cabbage salad. (I am in LOVE with this warm red cabbage salad, it's so bizarre.) Tomorrow I will probably be stuck close to home again, except for doctor's appointments, so I will probably be cooking my ass off again. I had planned to do more house painting this weekend, but that didn't pan out. Painting is something that's hard to stop and start and do little bits of at a time ... for me, anyway.

Another reason I don't want to get sick is that I'm learning so many cool new things at the dojo! I got my brown belt two weeks ago, and now I'm working on judo throws, a new kata, and bo staff. I don't want to take any time off for any reason. So there.

Stupid school and its stupid germs.

Differences

Picking up Celyn at preschool is SO different from the way it was when I picked up Annika there.

Celyn sees me and she jumps and runs and clings to my legs, smiling broadly, saying, "Mama!" Then she climbs me like a monkey and bestows me with all sorts of hugs and squeezes and kisses. She is perfectly happy at school, but yet she could really knock me over with her enthusiasm for me at pick up time.

I used to dread picking up Annika at preschool. She'd sulk. She'd hide. And sometimes, she would tantrum. Hey, I was thrilled that she had no separation anxiety and that she loved school, but oh my god, that was hard not to take personally. I'd look around and think,"Jeez, none of the other kids are acting like they're being picked up by an evil stepmother ... "

Staying home with Celyn is much different than staying home with Annika was. Annika is full of energy; it's a wonderful trait, but sometimes her energy agitates me. Celyn has a much more stable sort of energy, a longer attention span, and is much less bothered by having to occupy herself than Annika was at that age. It's kind of delightful.

Celyn was a gift to me, because once I had her, I realized I was not just an inherently crappy parent. I could spend three days cataloguing the ways they are different, and the way parenting them has been different. I think the bottom line is that Celyn is much more easily satisfied than Annika is, although they are both persistent and determined little creatures.

Yesterday Annika started kiddie basketball; she was one of two girls there out of 30 kids. I could not believe my eyes. Celyn was pissed off that she could not go. She came to the dinner table with a furious scowl, sat, and poked at her soup. I asked her several times what was wrong, only to get her growling face.

Finally I asked, "Are you upset because Annika is going to basketball, and you aren't?"

She bared all her teeth and hissed, "She. Always. Gets. To. Go. FIRST!"

It's hard being the little one, I guess.

To make it up to her a little, I played t-ball with her today in the yard, despite the fact that it was 51 degrees and the backyard is a giant puddle. She loved it. She can really smack the ball for a tiny mite.

Best quote from her from today:

"Know why I'm wearing dis cap? Because I am awesome at sports."

It's Always Something

Our weekend was fabulous. We had lots of great family time, lots of good food and conversation, and everyone enjoyed themselves.

Which is why it was so surprising when I woke Annika up for school on Monday morning and she started to cry, then sob, that her stomach hurt and she didn't want to go.

Long story short, it seems her new first grade teacher is a screamer.

She'd mentioned this in passing in the middle of last week, but in a lighthearted way, and I thought, "Hm, it's odd that she'd mention something like that so flippantly." But I figured maybe the teacher is just ... loud. As long as it didn't seem to bother her, I wouldn't worry about it.

Well, now I'm worrying about it. I kept her home yesterday because she was such a wreck, and we talked about it all day long. I provided her with lots of suggestions -- mostly subversive and antiauthoritarian -- to cope with her feelings about the yelling. She came home today saying she was okay, but that she "had a belly ache all day long." She also said her teacher "screamed" during math and would I please "send a note to tell her to give us the directions BEFORE we do something, not after?"

Dude.

I'm sure I don't have to tell you that this pisses me off. The kid is SIX. They've been in school SEVEN DAYS. I should not be hearing about this. It's especially hilarious in light of the school wide "no put downs" policy they're always bragging about, one of the critical bullet points of which is, "stay cool." Only applicable to kids, I guess; adults can do whatever the eff they want, huh?

So now I get to write a note. (That worked wonders for me last year with even less troublesome issues [not.]) I'm very curious to see how the heck a teacher justifies yelling at six year olds several times daily. Or whether she'll just deny it, which -- I'm going to believe my kid. She's sensitive, but she's not the type to sob over fabrications.

Whee. Welcome to another school year.

Saturday

I love Saturdays.

Today was just a bliss fest over here. I give the weather a lot of credit. We rolled out fairly early to walk to the farmer's market where we get our coffee beans, then wandered over to the park for a while, where we ran into a family from the dojo. The kids found and inspected dead crayfish, tried to pry out a live one from its watery dwelling, and saw two groundhogs peeking out from a hiding place under a rock wall. Watching those two little chubby, fuzzy faces, squished together, staring blankly out at us was unexpectedly comical. Well, for me. I'm easily amused.

We spent the rest of the day kicking around, and I made another Turkish meal because I'm obsessed with Turkish cuisine. We had Hünkar Begendi, lamb stew served over a creamy, buttery, cheesy eggplant puree, with a shepherd's salad on the side. The kids, who -- between the two of them -- hate everything, ate a lot of it. Annika ate the stew and asked for seconds, even though it was half lamb, and she claims to hate lamb. Celyn ate everything, and Quinn repeatedly exclaimed over it. So the long prep time was worthwhile. I grew parsley and mint outside the kitchen this year, and have been finding myself going out there at least once a day to pick some for something, and I love being able to do that.

I even managed to make some progress on my friend issues today, and saw the error of my ways. Yeah, really, I do that occasionally.

Ani started to struggle before dinner, and was acting up, and we were cross with her, and she had a really spectacular meltdown when it came time for her bath. Realizing that our attitudes -- well, mainly mine -- probably had a lot to do with it, I went up and held her in her bed for a long time, and talked to her, and the storm passed. She feels things very intensely, and I need to be more careful with her in general, being more sensitive to how she takes things personally.

Although she unwound, I could see that, considering the stress of a new grade and all, she needed more Mommy time. So I brought her down for some melon, then brought her up for a bath. She wanted me to get in, like old times, so I did, and we played water guns. The way she plays water guns is that the three water guns make up a family, and they swim around and talk and get into mischief and get rescued by their daddy watergun or mommy watergun and ... yeah. I just wanted to shoot each other.

After, she was very happy and relaxed, and I read her stories and put her to bed. (Cel got the Daddy bedtime treatment.) She needs a heck of a lot more from me, emotionally, than Cel does, and sometimes it's really a struggle for me. But I'm 35 and she's 6, so I have to be the one who sucks it up and deals.

Now the kids are asleep, I'm done with this entry, and I'm going to get another glass of rockin' cab sauv and go watch a movie with this man here who is going to rub my feet throughout. Yep, things are working out just fine.

No Clever Title Required

I always feel compelled to make some excuse as to why I'm not posting more. In my blogging heyday, I posted every single day. Part of the reason why I don't is that I've voluntarily given up my niche. I don't consider myself a "mommy blogger" anymore and I don't want to talk about my kids all the time, for a variety of reasons.

Almost everything else going on at the moment is a bit repetitive, and not really worth extensive obsessive updating.

Anyway, we're all recovering from "Week from Hell, the Second" of this winter. Can't wait for the next one. We all still have coughs, and the grownups have lingering sore throats, but I'm blaming either the low humidity or the mold for that.

Speaking of mold! It's a long story, but we were finally able to prod our landlord into acknowledging our existence, and we have a mold remediation company coming out on Wednesday. It's not much, but it's something. Supposedly we are to hear from some chimney/flue companies as well, but that hasn't yet happened. Things are moving, though, and I think we have some leverage. Keep your fingers crossed, if you do that kind of thing.

I was only off my normal exercise routine for four or five days, but apparently the illness was pretty thorough because I wasn't able to charge right back like nothing had happened. The first class I went back to I had to take pretty slow, and I kept up with yesterday's okay, just a little slower and weaker than usual. I'm not sure if this was a good idea, or very stupid (and honestly, I can't bring myself to care) but I started a T-Tapp bootcamp (Google it, too lazy) on Thursday. It's only a measly 15 minutes of exercise in the morning, so I can't believe it's too much, you know? I don't know why T-Tapp feels so unbelievably corny and silly to me, but it's supposedly a pretty impressive workout, and again, takes up very little time, so what the hell. I'm on Day 4 of what I hope will be a 7 Day Bootcamp, but if it ends up being less, I don't care. Four consecutive days is supposed to be the important bit, and that's now done. Yay.

The children really need to go back to school because they are kind of driving me crazy. Baby C has this new atrocious habit of speaking continuously in a totally random way. It goes sort of like this:

"Daaaad?"
"What?"
...
"Daaaaaaaad?"
"What, Cel?"
...
"Daaaaaaaaaaaaad!"
"If you want to talk to me, come here. I don't want to keep shouting!"
"What?!"
...
...
"Daaaaaaad!"

Repeat every three minutes indefinitely. Side effects include irritation, unpredictable fits of rage, inexplicable helpless laughter and hair loss. And presumably, if left untreated, insanity and death.

Another part of her plan to drive us all mad is her curious refusal to take herself to the bathroom to pee. If she has to poop, no problem. We don't hear about it until she's ready to be cleaned up. If she has to pee, she begins an elaborate song and dance routine. She denies she has to go, then she starts to whine that she needs help, then she bursts into tears because OMFGSHEHASTOPEE! but will not make any attempt to bring herself to the bathroom. You know, that same bathroom she just used to take a crap all by herself a few hours previously.

Fortunately for her, she's very, very cute, what with the dimples and the curls and her natural inclinations toward ducking her chin and batting her eyelashes, so we haven't yet sold her off to a traveling carnival.

(Though to be fair, it's a slow season for traveling carnivals.)

Effing Things Up, Old School

I seem to be sliding away on this little slipstream through time, where I'm losing track of things and forgetting important stuff, and even though I'm grasping at the sides trying to slow down, it's not really working. It's something that just happens every now and again, and the best thing to do, it seems like, is stop fighting it and just cancel as many commitments as I can until things regain equilibrium.

Earlier in the week, I was supposed to go volunteer in A's classroom. I completely forgot. The teacher didn't send me a scolding note or anything, so it was actually three or four days before I realized my mistake. I almost forgot my coffee date Wednesday morning, and last night I fell asleep putting the kids to bed and slept through another commitment. I have something scheduled for Sunday and even though it's something I want to do, with people I want to be with, I desperately want to get out of it.

I think a lot of it is that I haven't been getting enough alone time lately. Any, actually. 24/7 I am with people. Even at night, one of the kids has been crawling into bed with me (kindergarten rant to follow), and I'm woken up by people touching and poking me and talking in my face. Too much of this always results in a caged bear feeling and reality beginning to detach around the edges. I've been getting OUT plenty, which is good and important in its own way, but it's not alone.

It's funny to me now that I used to think working a full time job was extremely demanding on the socialization front. At least then I could go take a lunch break by myself, or go home and decompress for an entire evening if I wanted. I suppose the upshot is that my socialization tolerance has vastly increased. And I do enjoy socializing, I can't stress that enough. It's just ultimately very tiring, and I can't recharge unless left alone quietly with my own thoughts. I find myself lately uttering, barely aware of it, "Please Stop Talking to Me!" to the kids when they are just doing that verbal meandering that kids do.

When I suffered socialization burnout pre-marriage and pre-kids, it was an easy fix. I'd turn off the phone, ignore the doorbell, stay in my pajamas and read books in bed for a few days until I felt like facing the human race again. This approach no longer works.

So I'm left with trying to figure out a way to get alone time without it taking away from something or someone else.

So far, I'm coming up pretty short.

Wednesday

So, today dawned with my big kid protesting going to school. Her list of complaints kept changing, however, and she had no fever, and whenever we were not actively talking about school, she was quite animated and energetic and cheerful. So after some waffling, I said, "Get dressed, you're going."

She knows if she's really feeling bad, she can go to the nurse and get picked up. It's not like we haven't done THAT several times already. Bleh.

And it was important to me that she go, darnit, because I had a coffee date with a friend I haven't seen in weeks and who is leaving to go out of town until January, and I wasn't going to miss that for a kid who wasn't sick and was just feeling like skipping school. I know that's horribly cruel, but I've missed enough due to rampant sickness, thanks.

And! It was my little kid's birthday! She is the Big 3 today, about which there has been much build up for months, and she helped me bake her cake and get everything ready for her big birthday To-Do. It's just us, alas, because I still don't have the hang of squishing in a birthday party at this time of year. And she's little, and doesn't care, and I'm all about simplicity until I can no longer get away with it. So there.

We had hot dogs (organic uncured hot dogs, tyvm) because it's such a little kid meal, and because oh, right: I was lazy. I made a black magic cake with white frosting. I veganized the chocolate cake recipe, and though even when veganized, it remains The Best Chocolate Cake Ever, it is very gooey and hard to frost as a general rule. This time, it kicked the difficulty level up a notch and a big chunk stuck to the pan. So her heart-shaped cake had a random hole in the center, which I filled up with frosting. No one noticed the difference.

She got a post office playset from her Dad and me, and a Curious George Jack in the Box from her sister. I got so many excellent "OMFG WHAT HAPPENED?" pictures the instant after the jack popped out, which I will hopefully Flickr tomorrow. (Well, "excellent" is relative, since my camera is a PIECE OF SHIT.)

She thinks she wants to start karate now, as there is a 3-4 year old class 2 days a week, but I am not convinced she will participate without much coaxing yet, and I'm not really willing to tack an extra $40 a month onto my bill. I'm poor enough as it is.

We were reading in bed tonight, and reading a book that focused on sight words. On a particular page, we were looking for words in signs and no one could find "milk." C pointed to the sign and said, "There! MILK!"

Q said, "Hey, how did you know that said milk?"

C shrugged. "Its just 'cuz I'm a big girl now."

File Under "Duh"

This is going to be a new tag. Honestly.

NEW HAVEN - Children need more exercise and less medication to offset the symptoms of attention deficit/hyperactivity disorder (ADHD), according to a new study of a local doctor's fitness program.

Seriously, does this come as a surprise to anyone? I have been bitching for years about the way schools keep kids in their seats and following directions and walking in the hallway, blah blah blah, while cutting recess down to the bare minimum or NONE. Does anyone really think it's normal and natural for (most) kids to be sedentary most of the day? Is anyone surprised when some kids just CAN'T?

I'm sure that more exercise (especially outdoors) during the day would also help regulate sleep, cut obesity, and fend off other childhood disorders.

I find it difficult, at this time of year, to get the kids enough outdoor time and exercise on my own. So I find it more than a little frustrating that the school, which keeps my oldest for most of the day, with the nice big gymnasium and playground, can't be bothered to give her recess on most days. "Free time" is not the same thing. It's nice and it's necessary too, but it's Not The Same Thing.

The amount of research out there on the benefits of recess and exercise is overwhelming and obvious. Why are the schools ignoring it? I really don't know: is there any research that indicates that standardized testing really improves educational outcomes or offers some long term benefits to the student? Dropping recess to spend more time prepping for the tests seems counterproductive.

I'm still working on addressing this at our school, but I have to admit not having much hope. There is a board member actively working for mandated recess, and it appears at the last meeting the board overall decided that it wasn't really necessary and should be managed at the building level (principal's discretion).

That is not a good sign.

Potential Mutiny Syndrome

I never thought about it, until I read a blurb and then this article about strollers. But now that I think about it, how disorienting and weird must it be to ride in a stroller when you're a baby? Especially up until you grasp that whole "object permanence" thing. You get strapped in and your parents -- as far as you know -- disappear, and then you're being wheeled and swiveled helplessly through strange environments and sometimes throngs of people. That sounds like one bad trip, dude.

Neither of my kids were especially keen on the stroller until they were past the baby stage and well into toddlerhood, and even then, only for short durations. I was all gung ho into the slings and things anyway, so I didn't care, but it would have never occurred to me that they'd be happier facing backwards.

They sure as heck hated being rear facing in the car. Especially A. C was better with it, once she learned to use her hands and could hold toys. I'm sure it helped that A was back there with her. But A, alone in the backseat, would be okay for about ten minutes and then start screaming her freaking head off. I'd sing, or play music, or talk, to no avail. A few times on drives I took a friend with me, with her baby strapped in next to A, and if anything, that made her worse. That went on until I turned her forward facing, which I think wasn't until she was close to 2.

I don't miss that. Driving a car with a baby screaming in the backseat ranks pretty high on the stress-o-meter. I had a few friends who would always insist that they would stop their car every.stinkin.time the baby cried to nurse or resettle them before starting on their way. That never worked for me. The minute I would get back in the driver's seat, the screaming would start again. It was more realistic to just get where I was going more quickly. Or, if the destination wasn't especially necessary or desirable, just avoid the drive in the first place.

(I also had a friend who espoused this method and was chronically and seriously late for everything, which didn't give it a lot of points in my book.)

I have to admit, even though they find plenty of tihngs to be pains about, at (almost) 3 and 5, the kids are pretty darn tolerable in the car. That is one facet of babyhood I do not miss at all.

But now that I have this new interesting perspective on strollers, maybe I will have another baby just so I can buy a really posh perambulator.

I just can't get enough

Sickness, that is. Whoooowee. Somehow, I knew there was a very good reason I didn't get into the shower in a timely fashion this morning. Had I done that, I'd have still been upstairs primping, and not heard my cell phone's delicate ringtone, when the nurse told me to come get my vomiting kid.

I had been planning to go get lights (yes, I know) for the tree, maybe pick up a latte, and grab some groceries we were low on. Instead, I'm making chicken soup and homemade play dough. Which is okay; I'll be moving on to cookie doughs next, I think. I'll make chai to cover for the latte. Not the same amount of caffeine, alas, but the sugar ratio is about the same.

I am doing this annoying thing, that I do every single year, of putting on the local "All Christmas Music, All the Time, All Freakin' December" music station on for most of the day. Somehow, even though I am a crabby old crank, I don't mind overdosing on Christmas music. (With the notable exception of "Christmas Shoes," which I find so appallingly maudlin and saccharine and exploitative that it makes me want to shove knitting needles into my ears while retching. I mute the radio every time it comes on.) The kids eat it up, too. The playlist isn't that great, though, so I really need to assemble my own and get it on the Sansa so we can have some variety.

The Christmas music and the snow lightly falling outside, combined with the spottily lit tree and the Yankee candles burning makes it quite nice and toasty and cheery inside.

Vomit and all.

Little Miss Fussbudget

Little C is heading right into the age of three. At two, she was at the absolute pinnacle of cuteness. Not just in her two year old rosy rotundity, but in her sweet mannerisms and halting, accented babyspeak. She was SO profoundly adorable that I had already scheduled out in my mind just exactly when I would be trying for -- or at least pestering my husband about -- baby number three.

Now, as I said, she's heading into three. And while she is still perniciously adorable, while she still sends me into raving fits of nervio, this newly intense phase of stubborn sensitivity is wearing a little thin.

She is potty learned. The problem is that she doesn't want to take herself to the bathroom. She wants to be escorted. If I refuse to escort her, she will refuse to go. And she will dance around, grabbing her crotch like a small, unmutilated Michael Jackson, until she pees in her pants.

Except, oh wait, not her pants. She won't wear pants. She hates and despises pants. She will wear tights, and she will wear shorts, and she will wear dresses (with or without tights), and she will happily wear panties, but if you put pants on her, she will cry and moan and whine continuously while wearing them. In winter, in Western NY, this is going to be a problem.

Today she put on stretchy cotton pants, because I told her it was cold and to pick out pants. And then she rolled the pant legs up as high as she could, to her upper thighs. She wore them like that outside, in the car, in Target, and back home again. Whenever the pant legs would begin to slip down, she would groan and yank at them and say in the most exasperated tone, "I haaaaate dese pants!"

As soon as we got home, she stripped them off.

Her pants disdain also extends to pull ups or training pants. I insist that she wear them, because although she is well trained, she also has the bladder of a chipmunk and can't go all night long without peeing. Every night, she complains about them.

"Dey bunch UP," she groans, pulling and squishing at the front of the pull ups.

It doesn't matter what kind they are. I have tried every cloth trainer in my considerable stash, and just about every disposable variety. The only ones she will consent to wear are the Wegmans store brand, because they have Shrek and Donkey on them. For no other reason will she wear them, and she will complain about them endlessly, but at least she won't shriek and tear them off and try to run away buck naked.

She is also very particular about her shoes. In September, we bought her a pair of brown Stride Rite mary janes that she loved. Until she started wearing them regularly, and then she complained vociferously that the straps on top were too loose. Every time we'd put them on her, she'd yell, "Tighter! Tighter!" until the straps were tighter than they were ever designed to go and there was three inches of strap hanging off the side of her shoe. If I didn't put them on to her exacting standards, she would moan and refuse to walk and take them off in the car.

Disgusted with the amount of maintenance these shoes required, I took her to the Crocs store in the mall. She tried on every pair of kids' shoes in the joint, and hated them ALL. Even though she previously loved her little pink pair of Crocs that she just outgrew.

Okay.

Today, we bought her a pair of cheap-o Dora sneakers from Target. I hate branded stuff, but they were the only pair in her size. I put them on her, and put her on the floor, and her eyes went wide.

"I LOVE dese shoes," she gasped. "Dey are GREAT!"

I asked her to walk back and forth, and she moonwalked.

"Is dis walkin' back and forf?"

So then I took her on a jaunt up and down the aisle, and she fell in love with those silly sparkly Dora shoes. She spent the rest of the afternoon at home, no pants, socks pulled up to her knees, and the Dora sneakers.

"I'm gonna wear dese to gul (school)!" she exclaimed.

She is not picky about food, thank All That Is, but she is demanding about drinks, and she is constantly asking for drinks. Although, I think part of that is because my husband gives her drinks in tiny disposable snack containers, because they fit the sippy cup lids. She asks for drinks all day long, so much so that I asked my husband today if he thought she had diabetes.

He laughed at me.

She does not want to be little. She is a BIG GIRL, and she tells me all the time. She tells me as a matter of course throughout our day, and sometimes quite indignantly if I refer to her as little or "my baby." She wants to be FIVE, like her big sister, and go to kindergarten with her.

I once stupidly pointed out that her sister was also growing, and would still be older even when she turned five.

"No! I born first, and I'm gonna grow and be bigger than her!"

She's also envious of things her big sister gets to have or do that she doesn't. She was very indignant when her sister outgrew her carseat and got a booster. I recently bought her a new carseat for my car, and it has a much higher weight limit, so she will not outgrow it as quickly as Ani did hers. When I introduced it to her, she asked me if it was a booster.

"Well, yes, it's a convertible booster," I replied impressively.

This pleased her, and now when she gets in the car, she says, "Dis is my cabooster!"

Last week, my husband did something at bedtime that made her angry. She said, aside, to herself, "Oh, dat fuckin' Daddy."

A little later when Ani went into her room, Cel remarked to her, "I like Daddy, but he just DOESN'T LISTEN!"

She has this spunky little attitude. Where Ani would argue with me endlessly about something, Celyn will say, "Fine! I don't care!" If I make an ill-conceived threat out of exasperation ("If you don't put away those markers, I will take them away!") she will put her hands on her hips and say, "GO AHEAD!"

I was asking her to please just take herself to the bathroom the other day, when she was dancing and I was doing something in the kitchen, and I told her, "If you hold it too long, you might get an infection."

"Oh, fine," she replied haughtily. "I want to get an insfexion!"

Yet, she still has these amazing babyish dimples in her round cheeks, and curly blonde locks, chubby little legs and a round belly with the sweetest little almost-outtie, almost-innie belly button, and I can't really believe she's not still my plump little baby. She still has a delightful baby smell, and I still want to nibble on her cheek every time I get close to her face.

She still has trouble with words that begin with an "s" and another consonant. "Sneeze" comes out "h'neeze," and "stop" comes out "dop!" She "h'mells" with her nose, and she does not like "tinky h'mells." School is "gul," and she always wants to play in the "h'now" (snow).

She is extremely affectionate and gushingly sweet. She tells us she loves us a hundred times a day. "I love you!" she says. "And I love Daddy, and I love 'Ka, and I love Grandpa, and I love myself!" She often throws her arms around me and says, "Oh, you my sweetie," or "You da best mommy EVER!"

This morning she woke up too early, so I crawled into her bed to help her fall back to sleep. When the sun came up, Annika slipped in beside me on the other side, and put her arm across my back over toward Cel's side.

"Mommy?" a little voice piped up, and I turned to see Cel, fully awake and smiling at me. "Ka is touching my hand. And I love dat because I love 'Ka!"

It was painfully sweet. Their affection and deep sisterly love lasted for almost twenty minutes, too, until someone started hogging a blanket and World War Three began.

She's adorable and charming and crazy-making and I can't fathom how I ever lived without her.

This Message Brought to You by Rage(tm)!

Long story short(ened): Ani got sick while we were on vacation. It was our last day, and she started to falter at the Children's Museum, complaining of stomach ache, nausea, becoming feverish.

She slept in the parking lot outside for an hour, then we brought her back to our hotel to rest the rest of the day/evening.

As of yesterday night, she hadn't eaten anything in two days, was taking very little liquids, and wasn't keeping those down. Her total malaise was what scared me, and she seemed dehydrated, and her pediatrician told me to bring her to the ER. (I mean, she was watching a cooking show. And she wasn't complaining. That is not my child.)

That kind of sucked, but it was one of those necessary sucks. We got in fairly quickly and got a room, and she got to watch TV. They gave her a chest xray, put an IV in (that really sucked), and took blood and gave her fluids. She also got Tynenol suppositories. Yes. The staff there was scaring the bejesus out of me, talking about running a CAT scan if her WBC count was elevated.

Her doctor wanted her to stay longer for fluids and observation, because of her blood test results, but the hospital I went to doesn't keep kids overnight. So they transferred us to Womens and Children's Hospital by ambulance. That was kind of scary; fortunately, she was so tired by that point, and the Tylenol had kicked in, so she slept for most of it, and slept for almost all the rest of our time at W&C. They gave her more fluids and some IV anti-nausea medication, and sent us home.

Problem was, my car (and all our carseats) was still at the suburban hospital. No way could my husband come get us, since he had Cel and no carseats in his car. I explained my dilemma to the nurse, and after a little while, she came back to say that the nursing supervisor was going to get us a cab and the hospital would cover the cost.

Wow! I was so thankful and overwhelmed. I collected my poor, sad sick girl, wrapped her back up in her blanket, and was sent to wait in chairs by the front door of the hospital with some sort of reimbursement form to give to the taxi driver.

At 2:20pm, a taxi pulled up, and we handed him our form and got in. He asked me where I was going, and I told him. He asked me how I wanted him to go, and I said, "Uh, just the fastest way? I'm not really familiar with this area." (Meaning, the area of the city around the hospital.)

So he takes off, and I notice he's not heading for the expressway, he's heading up the main thoroughfare directly north. We need to go east. I figure maybe he's just going to take surface streets and then cut across to the east. It's late and I'm tired and I'm worried with a sick (and carseat-less) kid on my lap.

I do, however, sit up and take notice when he gets on the expressway going west, and then gets on another northbound expressway heading towards Niagara Falls. Perhaps it's my paranoia, but I got this absolutely harrowing sensation.

"Why are we going on 190N?" I asked.

"Oh, I made a wrong turn. Going to turn around, excuse me!"

But then he went southbound and passed the entrances to the east & westbounds, back down into the city. Got off at a random exit, went north again, got back on the southbound expressway, further down into the city, got off again, went north again.

By this point, he had turned off the meter.

I was furious and frightened. I couldn't see any logical reason for him to be doing what he was doing. There was no way for anyone to be that lost. He kept giving excuses to all my questions that made no sense. I said, "Do you even know where Blah Blah Suburban is?" and he said, "Oh, I thought you were going to Blah Blah Blah Circle," which was less than a mile down the street from the hospital I'd just left. Which would mean, if he genuinely thought we were going there, we'd have been there already because he had to pass it to leave the city.

I got out my cell phone, and texted my husband, but I knew that was pointless, since it was late and he'd be asleep. But I wanted the driver to know I had my phone out and I was using it. And then I said, "If we don't start heading east towards the hospital immediately, I am going to get very, very upset."

(Translation: "I am going to call the fucking police.")

I asked him to get off the expressway at the first exit I recognized, because even though it was a long way to go to where I needed to be, at least I knew the way directly, and I did not want to be on the highway anymore. He questioned my judgment, but got off. I told him which way to turn off, and he questioned it. At each intersection heading east, he said, "I think we are going the wrong waaay ..."

Then he said, unbelievably, "I thought you said you weren't familiar with this area."

I sat at the absolute edge of my seat. He tried to blow through my next turn (that I'd given the directions for seconds before), and I yelled, "Right here!"

We finally made it to the original hospital AN HOUR after I'd gotten in his cab.

I made him drop me at the ER entrance, because there was no way I trusted him to bring me out to my car in the parking lot. He was apologizing profusely, but stupidly and insincerely, and when he pulled over he made no attempt to help us out of the cab. I wrapped up my sick kid and carried her through two parking lots in the snow -- after he drove away. We finally got home around four in the morning.

Now, there was no reason for him to do this to run up the meter, because we weren't paying. He already had his reimbursement form, and no matter what he wanted to charge them, there was no reason to cart me and my sick kid all over randomly in the wee hours of the morning. It really scared me. No one I've spoken to likes to think he may have been a really bad guy, but I think it's entirely possible and that it's also possible when he realized I was not going to be docile, he changed his mind. I don't want to think that, but no other explanations make sense, either.

Seriously, I entertained thoughts of how I would strangle him with my purse strap if he stopped in a strange place. No effing shit.

Today, I'm still caring for a sick kid, but I'll also be writing letters of complaint to the hospital and the cab company. That's minor; I should have called the cops.

The good news is, she picked up a lot from the fluids and the rest and the Up the Butt Tylenol, and she's still sick but doing much better.

Seriously, don't fuck with a woman with her child. Because of her, I was that much more on my guard, that much more aggressive, and ready to do ANYTHING I had to to protect her. Yes, that's dramatic. It's also true. I wanted to kill him merely for keeping my sick kid from her bed for so long. I was shaking with rage when I got out of that cab.

And that's the story of my suckass night touring Buffalo and its hospitals.

Will this one make it out of the gate?

I've started and abandoned countless blog posts lately. Maybe I'm aiming too high. Maybe my goal should just be to post SOMETHING, instead of these long rambling missives which then fall into the ether.

So here's a quickie:

I'm sitting next to Cel, who is eating her lunch. She looks ... funny. On Monday, when we were playing outside on our last day of decent weather, I noticed two small marks on her nose and forehead, and a little bit of swelling.

"What happened to you?" I asked.

"A leaf scwatched me," she said, shrugging.

Yesterday, her bumps were bigger. This morning, her eyelid was starting to join the party. So I gave her some Benadryl before school, and she looks better. She has not complained at all about these lumps, which look suspiciously like wasp stings. And given that there were about ten wasps on our back porch, eating a discarded apple, makes that scenario seem very likely. Yet, she is adamant it was a leaf and it doesn't hurt, and she never cried. Strange? Yes.

I keep waking up at 3am because someone is shoving elbows and knees into my sides. Ani keeps creeping into bed with us this week. This morning, she said it was because of a nightmare that Celyn jumped off something and "her arm broke off." Jeez.

But yesterday, she told me it wasn't a bad dream, it was just a secret.

"The secret is," she whispered, "I just love you."

So I'm trying to be tolerant, although her mere presence messes up my entire "wake up early and be sneaky" routine so I can get things done before they need to be up for school.

I'm also sitting next to my brand new tumbler, which is test-tumbling a pendant that I really hope doesn't get ruined, and washing clothes, and trying hard not to worry about packing for a trip we're taking this weekend. I refuse to worry. Worry gets me nowhere. I think I'd rather be unprepared than waste time and energy worrying. Even if I worry and prepare endlessly, I'll usually forget something anyway. Why bother?

Celyn recently discovered a love for "Itsy Bitsy Spider." Except her spider isn't "itsy" or "bitsy;" in her song, the spider is "itchy" and "bitchy."

And really, you couldn't ask for a better variation.

Catching Up

I should just rename this blog to "catching up." Just like I told someone at karate, I'm going to change my name to, "I haven't seen you around in a while."

For the last two or three weeks, we've been embroiled in trying to buy a used car. This has been ridiculous. We tried a few, found one we liked, started to buy it, felt like the dealership was taking too long and screwing around with us, and walked. Found another car, tried to buy it, felt like the dealership was screwing around with us, and waited. Finally signed paperwork after a week of dickering, and now, one week after that, today, we should be able to pick the damn car up. I am so emotionally wrung out by the experience I'm not even excited. I keep expecting to get a phone call saying, "The mother decided to keep it," as if it were a big, one ton metal baby I was trying to adopt.

I've also been trying to get the jewelry thing up off the ground. Start up expenses for a jewelry business are, I'm guessing, slightly higher than your average crafting business. I've been out of silver for weeks, so I have all these cabs lying around forlornly, waiting to be wrapped. I've finally, finally been able to order some of the finishing equipment I need, but I'm still waiting for it to arrive, so I'm a bit locked in limbo.

See, again with the waiting?

Since we finally decided to go ahead and buy a car because I essentially snapped and refused to chauffeur anymore, while we've been waiting for a car to materialize, I've been going hardly anywhere. Which is actually fine with me, but we have been skipping things we should be going to. Ani hasn't wanted to go to karate lately, which is An Issue, but especially lately, I am not going to force her to go if it means I have to drive 24 extra miles a day of rush hour commuting JUST to take her 2 miles to and from the dojo in the middle of the afternoon. Sorry, not doing it.

Ironically, I am buying a car so that I can stay home more.

Annika has been a handful lately. Well, you know, she's always a handful, but there's been a lot of moodiness and extra intensity and drama, and I'm trying to hit it from every angle, supportively (diet, extra sleep, vitamins, blah blah) but she does tend to cross me at every turn. When she's most in need of emotional support is when she's at her most unsympathetic, and generally when we're both tired, she's clinging for interaction and I'm trying to squiggle away for headspace, and it just doesn't jive very well.

She says she doesn't really want to quit karate, but she feels like karate and kindergarten is too much, and she can't quit kindergarten. Well, and she's right, she really can't. If she actually hated kindergarten, then we'd have to look for another program or school or something, because we can't homeschool. She would kill me and feast on my brains. I've said it before and I'll say it again: she is too much extroverted child for little old introverted me. Anyone who claims there is an easy solution for this has never met her. I've spent MANY MANY a day together with her all day, and whether we're staying home, going hither, thither and yon or somewhere in between, she is unsatisfied and I am totally exhausted. She needs a more communal structure, and short of me buying some extended family to live in our house with us, school is going to have to do.

(Yeah, she did just have a five day weekend. How did you know?)

Celyn gets short shrift in my blog just because she's so darn easy going. When we stay home all day together, she's totally happy with that. And she's happy to go out. Happy to play near me while I make the bed or write or knit, asking for something every once in a while, or just hang out. My biggest problem with Celyn is that she hates pants.

I thank the Universe every day for Celyn, for without Celyn, I'd have continued to think that my head-butting with Annika was just proof that I was and am totally unsuitable for parenthood. It's a little easier for me to accept it's temperamental differences, since my relationship with Celyn is pretty much how I imagined parenthood to be, before I actually had a kid. Annika is a terrific kid, but she's also turbocharged. It's really exhausting to be her center of gravity for long stretches of time.

Celyn is doing amazingly well at preschool. She loves it, can't wait to go on school days. She adores her teachers, and plays every day with her "best friend Owen." Owen is actually in the older kid class, he might be nearly four now, and oddly enough, he and Annika were good buddies buddies over the summer. Celyn lets me know, however, that she does not like the boys in her class, because they are clumsy and rough when they play.

Celyn also started writing her name recently, which really surprised me because I wasn't even sure she knew very many letters on sight yet. I guess Annika showed her how, and now she writes her name almost every day, and points out the letters in her name whenever she sees them.

"Dere's a Y! Dere's a Y in my name, too!" she'll cackle gleefully.

She'll be three in just a few months. Three? How can that be?

I have also kept busy lately selling as much excess stuff around the house that I can find on eBay, to further help fund the purchase of precious metals and semiprecious stones. Unfortunately, with several moves over the last few years and much clutter purging, I don't have a lot of things worth selling. Now, worthless junk? I've got all kinds of that.

Now, I better stop wasting time and do some laundry and finish touch up painting in the foyer before the littlest gets home and wants lunch.

And I really could use some coffee.

Call the Wahmbulance

Seriously. This parenting crap is exhausting. I really feel like I would love to have just two or three days to veg continuously in a really flagrant manner. You know, staying in my pajamas all day, eating nothing but Nutella on white bread, reading, and taking extended naps.

We kept busy this weekend. I think. I barely remember it. I remember going to UU this morning (I always feel compelled to say "UU" rather than "church" because of churchy connotations I wish to avoid), being at the dojo twice yesterday, and a rather-stressful-but-not-as-bad-as-last-time mall trip.

I hate mall trips. Srsly.

This particular mall had a really cool play area for little kids. And we let the kids play there for a good long while, until some absolute asses allowed their clearly taller than 42" children to come bursting in and take over the place, completely oblivious to the smaller children who actually belonged there. Celyn got hurt at one point, but just out of my view, and though she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed she refused to tell me what was wrong.

You know how annoying that is? Because I really wanted an excuse to bust some heads in there, and she refused to say anything. A while later, after the fact, she murmured something about "...dat kid dat conked me," almost to herself.

"Oh, are you going to tell me what happened now?" I asked.

"Nevermind," she said, with this little eyeroll and sigh. As if to say, "Duh, Mom, jeez, just like, butt out, okay?" This kind of attitude from a two year old is maddening.

Meanwhile, Ani keeps hinting around about "mean kids" at kindergarten. But she follows up any remark with, "I don't want to talk about it." Um, then why did you bring it up? I was just sitting here, minding my own business, you know? Then I get stressed and I really have no idea what's going on. Especially in light of the fact that my own kid has done a few things in the last week that could easily be construed as "mean kid" behavior.

Also, my upcoming week is making me want to run away from home. I have to take the car at least four out of five days, and on two of those days, I will essentially be doing shitty surface road driving nearly all day long, against my will. For rough example:

8am: Take someone somewhere.
8:30am: Take someone somewhere else.
9:00am: Prearranged appointment.
11:00am: Leave to pick up someone.
12:15ish: Arrive home.
1:00pm: Give a kid a nap.
2:45pm: Leave to pick up someone else.
3:30pm: Arrive home? Hardly seems worthwhile when ...
5:00pm: Leave to pick up someone else.
6:00pm: Arrive home again.
7:30pm: Leave one last time for class.

This makes for one crappy day, let me just say. And I get to do it twice this week! YAY! This seems like a completely worthless waste of time. I can't even multitask when I'm driving the car. I'm just bored senseless and, 90% of the time, listening to one or more children yell or sing or say, "Mama? Mama? Mama? Mama? KNOCK KNOCK! Mama?! I said, KNOCK KNOCK!!"

Meanwhile, my giant horrible apparently reproducing asexually blobs of CSA produce are withering untouched in the kitchen.

DO NOT WANT. This isn't how I was supposed to be spending my new little tiny blurbs of childfree time. (Just fwiw: I am not blaming anyone for our single car state, it's just an unfortunate circumstance that doesn't appear to be ending soon. Bah.)

Getting in the Swing?

It's been a busy few days. Friday I picked up Ani early from school for the joyful experience of having her finger lanced and drained and starting on a ten day course of antibiotics. Whee.

Saturday, shoe shopping for two restless little girls at a busy mall. Again, I say, whee. At least they both now have sturdy, brown, Go With Anything Mary Janes that fit for the next three weeks or so. Ani is really due for an ill-timed growth spurt of the feet, since she's been a size 10 for ages.

Sunday, I went to church because Annika made me. Seriously, she's been bugging me for months, because we drive by the church every time we go to karate. We hadn't been going because I've had a Sunday morning standing coffee date for the past, oh, year or so.

It was a little lesson in reality for her, though, because as it was the first day of church school for the calendar year, all the kids started out in the chapel to stay until there was a teacher introduction and blessing, and that was, in my opinion, really protracted. It was as if the people handling the bits before and up to that point had no idea that there would be gaggles of restless children in the pews, wiggling and fidgeting and saying repeatedly, "Is it done yet? Is it done yet? Is it done yet?"

Finally, Ani went to her class and C went to nursery. She loved nursery. Ani, on the other hand, expected to just go play, but at her age, she has an actual class, and as far as she could tell, all they did was learn the "rules" and make a nametag.

It's hard to be 5, and discover that organized things are a lot less fun than they rightfully should be. She opined many times this weekend that preschool was a lot better than real school has been. Yep, that's the silly bureaucratic world we live in, darling. Where "lessons" are more important than "play" even though kids learn better through play. Screw research, anyway. [/sarcasm]

I wasn't terribly impressed with either the friendliness or the general sense of organization, myself. They both still want to go back, and truthfully, I'm not sure there are any better options in this 'burb anyway. We'll keep trying for a while.

So, to counteract all the sitting -- which is becoming quite a theme -- we got a frapuccino to share and went to the park for an hour. We also agreed that if she was going to keep missing out on outdoor recess at school, we would make it a priority to go outside for an hour every day after school.

Meanwhile, I'm trying fervently to get into the swing of FlyLady. I've printed out the things that feel relevant and helpful (no way am I signing up for the email badgering, which also smacks of clutter imo) and trying to get settled into those routines. I won't lie, it kind of pisses me off to, say, mop at 8:00am right after I'm finally alone in the house, but I do feel a lot less stressed when the kids are home, knowing I've already done quite a bit and don't have to keep shooing them away in order to do Yet Another Chore. (Then again, having them gone at all facilitates this ... if they're home all the time, I don't get anything done at any time without doing that.)

And I'm thankful it's not 89° today like it was yesterday, because I finally feel like cooking or doing anything that might generate heat, like moving. Now I'm going to get the kid off the bus and make some autumnal snack, like popcorn. Yum.

Pesty Pestiness

We have a fruit fly problem. When we went out of town, I think something got left out, or we didn't take out the trash, or something. When we came home, we had fruit flies. They are driving me INSANE. They're everywhere. I've done traps. I've been cleaning the drains. I think, however, they're reproducing in the garbage. Oh, my god. I make five meals a day. I don't WANT to, dammit, I have children! I clean up after five meals a day. Now I have to take out the effing trash and wash the dishes after EVERY SINGLE MEAL? Excuse me, when do I have time to go to the bathroom under this new regime?

I am feeling ... distressed lately about trying to keep up with the housekeeping and childcare. Very distressed. It can be done, but only if I never sit down and never, like, do anything fun. My aunt was right; this house is too big, too old, too in need of repair.

Oh, and speaking of pests ... I traumatized my five year old today. She loves bugs. She babysits grubs, for pete's sake. So when I saw The Monster Centipede from Hell in the basement today, I decided to let her in on it. The baby was napping, after all, so I thought she might get a kick out of it. This bitch was easily 1-2 inches longer than my middle finger. Not including all the legs.

I called her down, but in fairness, I did warn her what I wanted to show her before she made her appearance. She came down, stared at it for a few seconds, and burst into tears. I should have known better. For someone her size, it probably looked like a wharf rat. A wharf rat with tentacles. So I sent her upstairs while I squooshed it. I know you're not supposed to, but oh my god. It was big enough to carry off a cookie from the kitchen. I felt SO BAD. I mean, about traumatizing my daughter, not killing the centipede. That just made me feel ... oogy.

And of course, it begs the question ... what was it EATING down there that allowed it to grow that big?

Yeah.

The Agony of Parenting

My happy little two year old had two close calls this weekend, and I swear, I feel like they each took a year off my life.

Last night, we were getting ready to go out. She climbed in the car and we weren't quite ready, but we let her climb around in there anyway. Yes, I now realize that was intensely stupid. She opened the front passenger side door, and the next thing I knew, she was falling out headfirst.

Honestly, I was certain she was going to break her neck, the way she was falling. And yet somehow, she seemed to fall in slow motion, and only ended up getting a graze on her forehead and a lumpy lip. I have no idea how that all transpired, seriously. She was upset, but had some milkies and got cleaned up and said, "We still going for ice cream?"

Tonight, we were cleaning up after dinner. She was tootling around in the kitchen while the hubby readied the watermelon. I was in the living room. Suddenly I heard a spectacular shattering noise, and then she started screaming.

I ran in and saw her right eye filling with blood. I mean, just filling and pouring. I was horrified, but tried to be calm and reassure her while I grabbed her up and whisked her up to the bathroom. I held a cool wet cloth to her eye to see if I could stop the bleeding, so I could see where it was actually bleeding from. Fortunately, she calmed down pretty fast, so I guessed there wasn't a shard in her eye. When I finally looked, she had a tiny cut, right in the middle of her eyelid.

What happened was that my husband was attempting to cut the watermelon on top of a Corelle platter, and it couldn't take the pressure and literally exploded. Shards sprayed everywhere. She was a blink away from getting it right in the eye. A blink.

I could write a whole paragraph on how our Corelle dinnerware has a curse on it, but I'll save that for another time.

I'm sure I have about thirty new gray hairs now.

And a Good Time was Had by All

When I went to pick up the kids at preschool, I went to Cel's room first. I watched her do circle time and their goodbye song, and she participated but was mostly watching everyone closely. She looked tired.

So when I went in, and picked her up, she sort of looked glazed over and a little sad, and I wondered if I was going to get an unloading of pent up tension from her first morning away, but she just leaned into me and said, "I wish I could come back here ... " in a wistful tone. When I assured her she could come back, she said, "Oh! Dat's GREAT!"

All day yesterday, she carried around her little school bag, saying, "I'm goin' ta gul!" (That's exactly how she pronounces "school," and it's so cute to me I have to use that exact phonetic rendering.)

Today, she was the same. One of her teachers was raving about how well she was adapting, no problems, how well she talks, etc. When we got home, and I took her out of the carseat, I asked, "So, did you have fun today?"

She sighed and said, "Yeah, but sometime, I was a yittle bit yonely."

So we talked about things she could do when she was feeling lonely: go find Annika, go look at their "All About Me" books, or tell a teacher. And remember, of course, that I'd be there again soon to pick her up.

I just could not be more pleased, really. I hope this bodes well for fall.

No need to ask how Ani's adjusting. This is her 7th semester, and she is, as her teacher has dubbed her, "The queen of the playground." The girls didn't play together the whole time, but they did quite a bit, and Ani actually got upset when they split up for snacks inside their respective classrooms. She was worried, she says, "Some of the kids in Celyn's class are bigger, like three, and I'm afraid they might hurt her."

And I'm happy, because two acquaintances of mine are bringing their kids there this summer, and now I get to see them and chat and get to know them better without having to make any extraordinary effort. Not because I'm lazy, entirely, but because my schedule is kind of full lately. One of them proposed coffee while the kids are in school sometime and I'm All Over That.

In other news, I finished Day 2, Week 2 of Ct5K and my effing foot HURTS. Mostly, my left foot between the ankle and heel. Of course, that doesn't seem to be a common place to hurt that is referenced in ANY of my books or anything, so I don't really know what to do about it. I'm not sure if I should switch to my running shoes for a while, or what. It seems awfully early in the game to "take a break," when I'm hardly doing anything at all, you know? It started hurting on Sunday, and I've been icing and stretching and it's only gotten worse. What is it with me and my body balking at running? Cardiovascularly, it's so much easier this time!

I'm going to try a stretch for the petroneus muscles and see if that helps. Otherwise, I got nothin'.

Thirty Minutes and Counting

My childfree time: I have thirty minutes left, approximately, before I go back to pick them up. It was heartwarming and heartstring-tugging, all at the same time. I got them both signed in, got their nametags, found their cubbies, and got them outside to the playground.

Cel took right off with Ani; I don't think she realized I wasn't going to be staying. I hadn't spent much time belaboring that point beforehand. So I waited around, then said goodbye, but that I would watch for a while from outside, and then I'd be back to pick them up at lunch. She seemed cautious, but okay. I watched them tear around together, and separately, for a while. Every so often Cel would glance at me and smile, and go off again. Since she didn't seem tearful or terribly worried, I decided to go while the going was good, go get myself a frappuccino and do some blogging. (I never get fraps anymore, not only because of the dairy but because of the, "I want some! No, I want some! I want more! Can I have it? Give it to me!" that transpires whenever I get something good. My stomach is already aching, but man, it was worth it.

This is the only picture I managed to get before my camera horked and shut down without even retracting the lens.

The Zoo

I really dislike the zoo. The kids love it, so I try to go a few times a year. It's amazing just how expensive it is, and everything inside it that you might want to do besides just gawping at the animals costs extra, and yet, they still have ALL these tiny inadequate enclosures for most of the animals.

The kids are also at an age where they don't like to look at anything for very long, so we zip around the zoo like monkeys on crack. The children's zoo may as well have been closed, since all of the animals were hidden inside their little sheds, and the Lorikeet Landing was closed. Bitches.

And for all of that, I blew $30.

Still, it had its moments. The kids loved the mandrills; I don't think they realized they probably wanted to crack our heads together. They sat just feet away from us, behind the plexiglass viewing area; the male kept baring his considerable teeth at us, and a female wandered down to the glass, picking around on the ground, and suddenly leapt at Celyn, smacking both her hands on the glass in front of poor Cel's face. She took it well, though.

The macaques were much more playful and friendly. One of the tiny juveniles came down to the glass and went nose to nose with Celyn for a little while.

I really need a new camera.

After I had decided to go to the zoo, I found out a local mommy board to which I belong was also going to go, and I debated trying to meet up and find them, and decided it was probably going to be more hassle than it was worth. I don't mind tailing the girls as they go hither and thither as the mood strikes, but trying to herd them in a particular direction with a group is a pain in the ass. It's a lot like this, actually:



And I don't have a horse.

I worked for EDS when that commercial came out, coincidentally.

I always think it's more fun to go places with kids and just drop any expectations about what we'll do or see and just let them lead. I try not to care if they only want to stare at the grizzly for 15 seconds, and dash away right before he does something spectacularly interesting, like licking his toes. If they'd rather go on the carousel or dig in the fake dinosaur pit and chase seagulls than look at the animals, or leave after thirty minutes, whatever. I don't let them do EVERYTHING they want to do -- my god, I am not paying $2 to ride a tiny train in a circle -- though I did drop $3 to take one ride on the carousel. I refuse to eat there. The food is exorbitantly priced and is terrible. Well, what do you expect from a Beastro? (No, I'm not making that up.)

I guess I feel it's more worthwhile to spend the money and just Let Them Be than try to force them to get The Experience but be unhappy about it, you know? Which is part of the reason I don't like to go places like the museum or the zoo in groups with other moms and kids. What is the fun of being nagged around even a terrifically interesting location? Well, it keeps my stress level down, anyway. If I go en masse, I feel pressured to talk to the other mothers, and it's very hard to do that and participate with your kids at the same time. It is for ME, anyway, because I'm sort of defective.

Now we get to go to karate, pick up our CSA share, and then tomorrow is Friday! Wheeee!

the fifth year

So, I now have a five year old. How did that happen?

Wednesday was her birthday. In anticipation or in an eerie coincidence, both kids took two and a half hour naps that afternoon. That is SO out of character for Ani I thought she must be coming down with something.

We had ice cream cake by request, and she was so excited by her presents. Since we got her the Playmobil Take-Along Dollhouse last year, and it's been such a consistent favorite for so long, we upgraded her to the Playmobil Modern Living Dollhouse. I only got her two rooms' worth of furniture -- since they come separately -- but she'd complained before about the Takealong's lack of bathroom facilities, so I made sure to get that, and the living room set. It's a huge dollhouse and has about 18,000 add on kits available, so it should last her years.

Of course, not being particularly clever, I didn't put it together in advance, so I had to spend the next three hours assembling the forty billion trillion little pieces while two excited kids hovered over me and stepped on me and tried to play in the construction zone. I'll say this for Playmobil: they are very detail oriented and everything fits together precisely.

She also got a bunch of books from us, and a bug lantern. She's really into bugs lately, even having temporarily adopted disgusting things like grubs. ("It's a beetle baby and I'm going to be its mama and take care of it!") I think the lantern was a gyp, but it has a little light and makes cricket noises, so even if it doesn't catch things like advertised, they love it.

Ani also got three really cute sundresses from my mom, and two matching jackets.

Celyn is now asking repeatedly for "mine own birthday!" I thought maybe she deserved to start having half-birthday parties, since having your birthday right before Christmas means you only get stuff essentially once a year. Which sucks. She'll never get, say, summer clothes or summer toys for her birthday, which isn't quite fair. So I think next month Celyn will get to have a half-birthday celebration, even if we are the only ones to get her anything. Poor birthday-overshadowed kid.

Today Ani had her five year well visit. It may just be something he does with everyone, but he kept telling me how perfect she was, beautiful, healthy, yadda yadda. She's grown a lot, not only going up in height and weight but increasing her percentiles for both. (Still on the side of petite and slender, though.)

The birthday fracas isn't over yet, alas. We're having the requisite family party in two weeks -- due to scheduling conflicts -- and (ugh) a kid party in June. I hate kid parties like the plague, but she really wanted one, and I figured five was a big milestone. So, with trepidation in my heart, I have started to plan it.

My brain feels totally preoccupied at the moment with the birthday stuff and many, many, many annoyances related to the house we're in and renting in general. I'm kind of tired. And a little bit sick.

Celyn tells the same knock knock joke, over and over and over. It goes like this:

"Knock knock!"
"Who's there?"
"Bear!"
"Bear who?"
"Bear if you don't let me in! ... I'll poop on the floor!"

Except each time, she uses a different word or nonsense syllable instead of "bear." So it could be "orange," "googly," or "sheep." Whatever. Either way ... I think we have her father to thank for the charming little addendum.

Win an Ergo

I don't really need another Ergo, I have one and love it. If I won one, I'm sure I could easily find someone to gift it to. That would be awesome. You could do the same!

Win a Free Ergo Baby Carrier from Along for the Ride

Stream of Consciousness

This is the first I've been on the computer all day. I hung out laundry, I baked two loaves of bread. I reorganized the kitchen, and cooked lunch. (Really, I cooked it: spaghetti with zucchini and mushrooms.)  Both children refused to nap at the usual time.

Yet, the moment I sit down with the laptop, at least one kid swarms me like they haven't seen me in months. Annika is pretending to be a dog, but she's got to be The Most Annoying Dog in the Universe. When she plays animals, she manages to make animal noises so much worse than they ever occur in nature. Her "dog" is trilling endlessly like a cat stuck inside an outboard motor, and I'm feeling the urge to tie her to a stake in the backyard.  (Which I certainly won't; I hope that's obvious.)

I also found a dead mouse in the garage this morning. Like the coward I am, I left it, and left the garage door open, hoping it will just disappear somehow.

I have been mouse-fearful all week, because I cleaned out the garage on Monday. The last time I brought in a box from the garage, I discovered a mouse in the house that evening. I suspected a connection, but was unsure. Now, I moved all my boxes of books from the garage to the basement, and sure enough, a mouse appears. I am not sure what caused this mouse to expire dramatically, flat on his back, in the middle of the garage floor (maybe he was that upset that I moved the Tolstoy,) but obviously, mice are finding my garage a cool place to hang out. That really freaks me out. I really hope that none hitched a ride into the basement with my books.

I had a kickass karate class last night. I feel like I made some sort of cardiovascular breakthrough this week, where working out hard no longer feels borderline scary. I have to attribute that to the Bikram. I can't wait to hit that class tomorrow morning. Annika is also testing for her green belt tomorrow. She just got her tiny, tiny sparring equipment and she is raring to start beating up on people. Srsly.

Now, I'm going to attempt to finish my kitchen job without attracting the attention of my pgymy marmosets children.  Wish me restraints and a tranquilizer gun luck.

Mother's Helper, Redux

My new mother's helper, J., came over for two hours Friday morning. For two consecutive hours, no one was crying. No one was whining. No one asked me for anything. No one got hurt. No one was fighting. Two little girls had an enormous amount of fun in the sunshine, I got an enormous amount of work done (including the first use of the clothesline this year!), and everyone was happy. After she went home, I fed them lunch and tucked them in for naps. One kid slept for two hours, and the other actually, legitimately rested and didn't bother me for another hour.

That was the best $8 I ever spent in my entire life.

Since a few people asked, this was my Craigslist posting:

I'm looking for a mother's helper for 4-6 hours per week in my home in [Village], [Landmark] area. Duties would only include playing with my 4 and 2 year old. Looking for an energetic, responsible girl who likes kids. I would be present at all times. Red Cross Babysitter certification preferred but not necessary; own transportation preferred. Rate negotiable.

I posted it in the Childcare section. A mom emailed me less than 12 hours from my posting, but to be fair, she was my only response. I also had someone forward the same posting to the local homeschool list, which is where my second hit came from. I'm not sure that one is going to pan out, though.

After school is out for the year, I've got J. scheduled to come every Tuesday and Thursday morning. Until then, she'll be coming after school Mondays and Wednesdays.

Freakin' sweet, huh?

Send Help!

A little over a month ago, I posted an ad on Craigslist. Mother's helper wanted. Ask and Ye Shall Receive, right?

Well, it took this long (which seemed like ages,) but I had two meet and greets with mother's helpers this week. I am cautiously excited.

The first girl came over yesterday with her mom. I thought Big Kid was going to totally scare her off. She kept saying she was too shy to meet or talk to the girl or her mom, but she wasn't acting shy.  She was acting psychopathic.  Hiding behind the couch, peeking and dodging, saying nonsensical things in an odd demonic voice.  (What, your kids don't do this?)

We had a long talk later about appropriate ways to express feeling shy.

Once we got everyone out in the yard, though, things got much better.  Soon, Ani was dragging her new friend all over the yard, showing her every little thing.  Cel took a few minutes to warm up, but once she did, she was enthusiastically accepting, asking her to pick her up, put her in the swing, color with her.  The girl (J) was gregarious and outgoing, and she really seemed to have a good time with them.  She taught Ani to play freeze tag, and they played an odd version of soccer.

Both girls talked about J all through dinner.  I'd expect that from Ani,  but for Cel, it was really out of character.  She went on a five minute spiel, saying everything she said and did, and even went so far as to demonstrate the faces she made when she lost J's attention.  Holy crow.

She is coming back solo on Friday for her first "assignment," to play with the girls for two hours in the morning, and I am beside myself with glee.  We might even get a two for one special with J, because her "little" sister might sometimes come with her.  She's 12, and her sister is 9, so it'll
likely be no additional trouble for me, and probably even more occupying for my daring duo.

Today I met with another mom and daughter.  It was orchestrated by mom, and I'm not sure her daughter is actually interested in doing a mother's helper gig, but we'll wait and see.  She is homeschooled, so will have an entirely different schedule than J., so it'd be really nice to have two different girls available.  Both have moms who are willing to transport them, and live nearby.

I've been daydreaming about having a mother's helper since Ani was little, but never really bothered to seek one out.  I figured I didn't really need one.  I realized recently that just because I don't need one doesn't mean it'd be a mark of failure if I got one.  I think it'll be good for the girls, will certainly help me get more accomplished and get more downtime*, and in a few years, they may be thoroughly vetted babysitters.  (And in a few years' time, maybe my husband will be less nervous about using a babysitter.)

(*By downtime, I don't mean I expect to be painting my toenails in the bubble bath.  Downtime can purely mean doing chores without someone clinging to my leg or chattering incessantly at me.  Yes, my standards have fallen.  Drastically.)

One thing that really triggered me to make an effort to find a mother's helper was reading A Midwife's Tale: The Life of Martha Ballard, Based on Her Diary, 1785-1812.  I didn't know that, in colonial times, it was common and expected for mothers to have young unmarried cousins or nieces actually join their household to help with the kids and learn different homemaking skills.  More prosperous families hired servants.  This "ideal" of the American Mother juggling a household and a gaggle of children all by herself, while looking good and gleaming with healthy optimism, is a crock.  That's not to say women can't do it -- of course they can -- but why?

I read an article recently; the author said that she thought the whole SAHM vs WOHM thing was really a distraction from the fact that there is very little support for mothers and families in general in society and in our working culture.  If there was more maternity leave, more flexible working arrangements, onsite childcare, etc., we wouldn't have to make such distinctions.

I thought she had a great point.

moro reflex, babinski reflex ... whining reflex

My two year old is in this sudden and painful whining phase. It seems as though almost everything she says is now pitched up two octaves higher than her natural voice. It's like nails on a chalkboard ... inside your skull.

I need to understand the whine. I'm sure it's possible for kids to pick up whining from other kids, but I don't think it's the case. Whining seems too universal, especially at this age. I'm willing to bet if you have a single child and raise it entirely in the company of adults, it will still, one terrible day, begin to whine. I'm pretty sure it's part of innate human programming.

Whining is almost impossible to ignore. You can grit your teeth and la-la-la and it will still weasel its way into your ears and reverberate in your fillings. I'm pretty sure if you were, for some reason, rendered immobile in a room with a whining child, after a while you'd begin to bleed from every orifice in your head.

Whining almost always gets an immediate reaction. An overall negative reaction, certainly, but a reaction all the same. Feed it, clothe it, pick it up, just make it stop for the love of God.

My theory is that when a child hits this awkward in-between stage, not quite a baby anymore, not quite a rough and tumble kid, they are programmed to use this hideous caterwauling to keep from being neglected. Once a kid is walking, talking, has lots of independent skills and most of their teeth, it's tempting to let them fend for themselves a little. Whining is an evolutionary adaptation, to keep precious parental resources focused on them.

Because for as much as you'd like to toss the little whiner out of the family cave, the noise is so awful, the quickest and easiest means of relief is to find out what they want and give it to them. I mean, how often does a parent choke out in desperation, "Fine, just TAKE the entire box of tissues, if it'll keep you quiet!"

And you know that most kids don't whine like this for other people, especially unrelated people. Because if you're not carrying my genes into the future ... well, do you really need to get there at all? Especially if you whine like that?

So, I'm thinking primitive Cave Toddler whined along behind Cave Mommy as she picked fruits and nuts and berries, who would feed him and carry him just to Shut Him Up. This got Cave Toddler extra calories in, fewer calories out, and a lot less chance of falling in a hole or eating the wrong berries or getting trampled by a warthog. If Cave Mommy managed to ignore or get out of earshot, I bet you'd see other Cave Folk running out to find her, waving a whining toddler over their head like a primitive police siren.

Whiners are survivors, baby.

Really, really, really annoying survivors.

big plans

My biggest kid is going to Kindergarten in the fall. She is ecstatic, whilst demanding that there better be more kids with different names [than in her preschool.] I'm excited that she'll get to meet more kids in our area, since she's such a relentless social butterfly.

That's not what I came to blog about, though. I came to blog about my vast excitement over this idea of Having Some Time to Myself.

It won't be much time, because Baby C will still be with me most of the time.  However, she is signed up for preschool two days a week in the fall, so there may actually be about six hours a week that I will be on my own.  Oh, my god!  Baby C is also far less, uh, intensively interactive than 'Ka (as C calls her), and lets me get far more done around the house.

(Right now, for instance, she is dancing around happily with a tube of my lip balm.)

Characteristically, I have grand and probably delusional plans for the next three years, before Baby C is old enough for kindergarten.

1) Yoga classes.  I haven't taken a real class since 1997.  I've dabbled with a sporadic home practice, but I'm looking forward to taking a real studio class again.  A new Bikram Yoga studio opened last month less than a mile from my house, and I'm very intrigued.  I'm planning to try a class or two as soon as possible, but probably will not be able to do it regularly until school starts.  (Because this would be in addition to, not instead of, the martial arts I'm already doing.)

2) Writing more!  I used to blog really regularly.  Now, I generally don't have the attention span required to do much writing, particularly of any quality.  This is because it's difficult to write when someone is saying, "Mommy?" or the more penetrating, "Moooo-hooooooo-mmmmmmaaa-haaaaaaay?" every thirty seconds.

(This is not an exaggeration.  One day, I conducted an experiment where I counted the seconds between "Mommy?" while on a 20 minute drive, and the longest interval I counted was 47 seconds.  This experiment helped keep me from driving the car into the side of an overpass from the aural version of Chinese Water Torture.)

3) To paraphrase a dear friend, to be the castellan* I originally intended to be when I started this whole staying home gig.  The bed making, candle lighting, linen spritzing, garden mucking, tool wielding, window dressing, rug beating, 
jam canning, car waxing, clothes hanging, bread baking, flower fluffing, barbeque hosting, wine appreciating, herb growing, good smelling, apron wearing punk rock feminist domestic dictatress (dictatrix?) I wanted to be. And I'd have succeeded, too, if it weren't for these meddling kids! (That's a joke. Don't get judgy with me.)

Fortunately, I don't think I have to do any of those things, so I'm not tortured by not doing it. I just think it would be fun, if I ever get uninterrupted stretches of time to do it, without having to sacrifice either time with the kids or my husband or, you know, time to laze around and dream about lipstick. I have my priorities, you know.



*Yes, I did deliberately use the masculine form of the word. I am an equal opportunity home overlord.

Why I Hate Clifford

The Big Red Bore.

I don't even like the kids to watch much TV.  Most of it is shite.  However, it's sometimes nice to let them watch something when they first wake up to keep them from bouncing on my head.

Unfortunately, it is always Clifford on PBS at that time of the morning.

I hate Clifford.  Every single episode (and there are only like, ten of them, shown OVER and OVER and OVER) goes like this:

[One of their Lame, One Dimensional Characters] does something stupid.
[LODC] stubbornly clings to their stupid behavior, hiding it if necessary.
[LODC] gets their comeuppance.
[LODC] claims, "From NOW ON, I will [always/never] do blah blah blah AGAIN!"
Everyone claps LODC on the back.  Hurray for [always/never] doing blah blah blah AGAIN!

Like some treacle with your heavy handled morality lesson this morning, kids?

Kids shows fall into two categories.  Fun learning stuff, and heavy handed morality.  Some shows blend the two in a particularly sly and obnoxious way.  God, where would we all be if Clifford didn't teach our kids to NEVER lie and NEVER be afraid to ask for help and ALWAYS be nice?!

I find them insulting, and vaguely shaming.

And Clifford's hideous theme song includes the following lyrics:

"Clifford's the best friend anyone could know,
he's the greatest dog ever!
I really think so!"

Wow.  Couldn't you gag on all the superlatives?  You might think you have a good friend or a good dog, but this anonymous singer is here to tell you: No, you're WRONG.  This cartoon dog with the voice of John Ritter is the Best and Greatest Dog and Friend Ever.  Period.  He also has a degree in Philosophy and Ethics from Harvard University.

And then there's Jetta.  I'm not sure what Jetta's purpose in life is, except perhaps to show kids that even rude and obnoxious people should be welcomed with open arms into your life.  If Jetta has a deep dark mysterious past that accounts for her being a little shit, we're not privy to it.

Why Clifford?  Why don't they bring back Zoboomafoo?  At least that includes some genuine information and eye candy, usually showing a little leg.  

Now that's educational.

And excuse me, I need to go brush the treacle off my teeth.