I heard about Madeline Spohr on my friend Danielle's blog. It was hard to read about Madeline. She had just passed away. And she was a toddler. A baby, really.
She was born premature. And I found her blog just about the same time my close friend Ann was placed on bed rest. At 30-ish weeks. With her first child. The bed rest was at home at first. And it was sort of coincidental that I learned of her plight as it happened because we were supposed to have lunch together that day. And then the bed rest happened, so lunch was canceled. Then, at 32 weeks they sent Ann to the hospital. Where she was to stay until the arrival of her child. The life within her kicking and wiggling. Growing. But then the baby couldn't wait. He had to retreat from the safety of her womb into this big, cold world. His arrival was welcomed by Ann's large, extended family-- many of whom waited around in the hospital, hoping for a glimpse of this new life as he was wheeled through hospital hallways into the ICU. He was born breathing on his own. He is gaining weight. He is doing well. And so is she. And I'm glad. Especially after reading about Madeline.
I read about Madeline before Cole's arrival. That is his name -- Ann's baby's name. And just before he took his first breath, Madeline took her last one. And it broke her mother's heart. It touched the hearts of many. Made us stop breathing. At least momentarily. And still her mother blogs. If you have the heart for it, you can follow the story here: http://www.thespohrsaremultiplying.com/.
Today, as I read Heather's words, the tears fell from my eyes.
It was a reminder of how precious life is.
How delicate a balance we try to live.
It was a reminder of what really matters.
A reminder of how lucky I am.
Each day I am lucky. Casey and Marcie make it so.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
The S.S. Multicultural
So I initially intended to post about how irritating I find "multicultural faires" to be.
In my (admittedly) limited experience, multicultural "events" are usually planned and organized by non-"multicultural" people (read: Whiteys, like me).
I'm all for exposing kids to other countries around the world. To their foods, their music, their art and history, their language-- the whole shebang. Really, what harm can come from teaching others about the world around us? And, as we interact more and more with people who were born and raised in cultures different from our own, it helps to understand-- at least academically-- what their beliefs, attitudes, approaches are, generally speaking.
But a "multicultural faire" just sounds so contrived to me. Because it's usually a bunch of white people who have book-studied whatever country they are teaching about. The intentions are good. But how meaningful can the experience really be?
So that's what I was going to write about. But tonight we went to the one at Casey's school. Because Casey asked to go. Because the kindergartners were performing. And I have to admit, it was really well-coordinated and well-run. There was food and activities, artwork and photos. There was music and dance. And although Casey's school's minority population really is, well, in the minority (by far!), it was clear from this evening that many of the "booths" and areas were run by people who really probably do know something about the "culture" they were presenting. So the Afghanistan area had been organized and was being hosted by an Afghan family. Same with the booth about the Philippines. And the booth from Mexico. I don't really know about many of the European booths-- I suspect they were sponsored by families with origins from those countries. But that's better than me hosting, say, a booth on Ethiopia (and there was one- I'm not sure if the family was Ethiopian or not).
So I thought it was cute. And if my only real gripe is that it's called "multicultural" night instead of "Countries of the World" night (or some other equally generic term), I must be looking for something to complain about, right?
Oh-- and the singing (and signing) of "It's a Small World" was pretty cute.
In my (admittedly) limited experience, multicultural "events" are usually planned and organized by non-"multicultural" people (read: Whiteys, like me).
I'm all for exposing kids to other countries around the world. To their foods, their music, their art and history, their language-- the whole shebang. Really, what harm can come from teaching others about the world around us? And, as we interact more and more with people who were born and raised in cultures different from our own, it helps to understand-- at least academically-- what their beliefs, attitudes, approaches are, generally speaking.
But a "multicultural faire" just sounds so contrived to me. Because it's usually a bunch of white people who have book-studied whatever country they are teaching about. The intentions are good. But how meaningful can the experience really be?
So that's what I was going to write about. But tonight we went to the one at Casey's school. Because Casey asked to go. Because the kindergartners were performing. And I have to admit, it was really well-coordinated and well-run. There was food and activities, artwork and photos. There was music and dance. And although Casey's school's minority population really is, well, in the minority (by far!), it was clear from this evening that many of the "booths" and areas were run by people who really probably do know something about the "culture" they were presenting. So the Afghanistan area had been organized and was being hosted by an Afghan family. Same with the booth about the Philippines. And the booth from Mexico. I don't really know about many of the European booths-- I suspect they were sponsored by families with origins from those countries. But that's better than me hosting, say, a booth on Ethiopia (and there was one- I'm not sure if the family was Ethiopian or not).
So I thought it was cute. And if my only real gripe is that it's called "multicultural" night instead of "Countries of the World" night (or some other equally generic term), I must be looking for something to complain about, right?
Oh-- and the singing (and signing) of "It's a Small World" was pretty cute.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Marcie Moo and the Parent-Teacher Conference
It is the curse of the second child.
You know all about it if you were a second child. Or a third or fourth kid.
And you swear you won't be like that when you're a parent.
But it's inevitable.
Everyone oooohs and aaaaahs over the first born.
You could probably fill an entire closet with shoe boxes filled with photos of your first child.
Every appointment is an event.
The next child is lucky if you remember to snap photos of her on her birthday and holidays. Now shoe boxes. And forget about a baby book-- who has time? (Though, to my credit, Marcie's book is actually more complete than Casey's.)
When Casey was in the three-year-old class, Jason and I both carefully scheduled the parent-teacher conference into our calendars. Even last year, when Marcie was 2, it was a big production getting there on time. This morning, though, it was just me. I flew through the door at the stroke of 10:00am and met with Mrs. Castillo (who we actually graduated from high school with!).
I asked basic questions-- does she clean up after herself? Is she polite? Does she follow directions?
Then I turned to my concerns-- Marcie doesn't know her letters. "Did you know that?" I inquired. And then she laughed.
"Marcie is working you," she confided.
Huh?
So it turns out Marcie does know her letters. She can point to them on the wall, out of order. If she wants to. She won't do it if she doesn't feel like it. And she won't do it for substitute teachers.
And that's not all. She manipulates other situations, too. For instance, she and another student in the class race to pull the names off the "class helper wall" and organize them for the teacher. But it turns out that she was just helping so she could make sure her name was near the top of the stack so she could be selected first to pick what helper job she wants. She likes helping with the calendar or telling about the weather.
She's too smart for her own good.
And she's grown up so much. In October when I went to the class party, she screamed and cried and carried on when I left. Today, I popped in for 5 minutes and she gave me a hug and a kiss good-bye before she climbed up on her teacher's lap for story time.
Of course, some of it is just that she loves her school and her friends and her teachers.
In fact, they even have a nickname for her at school-- Marcie Moo.
I thought this was really cute at first. At home, we call her Mimi. So why not Marcie Moo?
But then I started to think about it more-- maybe over-think it.
Moo.
Marcie. Moo.
Why not Marcie Mouse? Why Marcie Moo?
I like the alliteration and all, but "moo?" Really? Does it have to be a cow noise?
She doesn't seem bothered by it. And it's preschool. So I haven't said anything about it. But it's not just a couple people-- it's pretty much every adult at the school. And some of the kids.
Sigh.
Better to have an endearing nick name, even if it is a large bovine farm animal than to be ignored I suppose.
You know all about it if you were a second child. Or a third or fourth kid.
And you swear you won't be like that when you're a parent.
But it's inevitable.
Everyone oooohs and aaaaahs over the first born.
You could probably fill an entire closet with shoe boxes filled with photos of your first child.
Every appointment is an event.
The next child is lucky if you remember to snap photos of her on her birthday and holidays. Now shoe boxes. And forget about a baby book-- who has time? (Though, to my credit, Marcie's book is actually more complete than Casey's.)
When Casey was in the three-year-old class, Jason and I both carefully scheduled the parent-teacher conference into our calendars. Even last year, when Marcie was 2, it was a big production getting there on time. This morning, though, it was just me. I flew through the door at the stroke of 10:00am and met with Mrs. Castillo (who we actually graduated from high school with!).
I asked basic questions-- does she clean up after herself? Is she polite? Does she follow directions?
Then I turned to my concerns-- Marcie doesn't know her letters. "Did you know that?" I inquired. And then she laughed.
"Marcie is working you," she confided.
Huh?
So it turns out Marcie does know her letters. She can point to them on the wall, out of order. If she wants to. She won't do it if she doesn't feel like it. And she won't do it for substitute teachers.
And that's not all. She manipulates other situations, too. For instance, she and another student in the class race to pull the names off the "class helper wall" and organize them for the teacher. But it turns out that she was just helping so she could make sure her name was near the top of the stack so she could be selected first to pick what helper job she wants. She likes helping with the calendar or telling about the weather.
She's too smart for her own good.
And she's grown up so much. In October when I went to the class party, she screamed and cried and carried on when I left. Today, I popped in for 5 minutes and she gave me a hug and a kiss good-bye before she climbed up on her teacher's lap for story time.
Of course, some of it is just that she loves her school and her friends and her teachers.
In fact, they even have a nickname for her at school-- Marcie Moo.
I thought this was really cute at first. At home, we call her Mimi. So why not Marcie Moo?
But then I started to think about it more-- maybe over-think it.
Moo.
Marcie. Moo.
Why not Marcie Mouse? Why Marcie Moo?
I like the alliteration and all, but "moo?" Really? Does it have to be a cow noise?
She doesn't seem bothered by it. And it's preschool. So I haven't said anything about it. But it's not just a couple people-- it's pretty much every adult at the school. And some of the kids.
Sigh.
Better to have an endearing nick name, even if it is a large bovine farm animal than to be ignored I suppose.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Still here . . .
See? It hasn't even been two weeks, and I'm blogging already.
Not that I have very much to tell.
I think my sister's comment to me this weekend sums it all up:
Boy, I sure don't want to be around when she is a teenager.
Case in point-- Saturday.
Saturday afternoon my sister and brother-in-law and my dad, who were all in town, headed up to Temecula for a wedding. Jason headed to a friend's house to watch UFC. Casey, who was a weepy, whiny mess, fell asleep around 6:30 p.m. And that left me and Marcie. I was working, and she was playing on the floor by me. She dumped out a box of Uno cards and spread them all around. I had ordered in pizza, and when it arrived, Marcie wanted to eat (no surprise there). Until I told her she had to pick up the cards first. She complained that it was too hard and she couldn't do it. And I told her that she wouldn't get anything else to eat until she cleaned up the cards.
At first, I left the room-- but I could hear her calling out to me:
I hate you.
You're a mean person.
You're a bad mommy.
I don't love you. I just love Dad.
And then I told her time was up and she could go to bed if she wanted, and I set a timer.
After ten minutes, she still hadn't cleaned up the cards. So I walked her to her bedroom, where I told her she could stay. She said she just didn't want dinner. And so I explained that she didn't have to eat-- but she wouldn't get any breakfast until she had picked up the cards.
She spent the next 58 minutes in her bedroom. Crying. Screaming. Carrying on.
Then she finally came back out to the family room and announced she was ready to clean up.
And she did.
Talk about stubborn.
Not that I have very much to tell.
I think my sister's comment to me this weekend sums it all up:
Boy, I sure don't want to be around when she is a teenager.
Case in point-- Saturday.
Saturday afternoon my sister and brother-in-law and my dad, who were all in town, headed up to Temecula for a wedding. Jason headed to a friend's house to watch UFC. Casey, who was a weepy, whiny mess, fell asleep around 6:30 p.m. And that left me and Marcie. I was working, and she was playing on the floor by me. She dumped out a box of Uno cards and spread them all around. I had ordered in pizza, and when it arrived, Marcie wanted to eat (no surprise there). Until I told her she had to pick up the cards first. She complained that it was too hard and she couldn't do it. And I told her that she wouldn't get anything else to eat until she cleaned up the cards.
At first, I left the room-- but I could hear her calling out to me:
I hate you.
You're a mean person.
You're a bad mommy.
I don't love you. I just love Dad.
And then I told her time was up and she could go to bed if she wanted, and I set a timer.
After ten minutes, she still hadn't cleaned up the cards. So I walked her to her bedroom, where I told her she could stay. She said she just didn't want dinner. And so I explained that she didn't have to eat-- but she wouldn't get any breakfast until she had picked up the cards.
She spent the next 58 minutes in her bedroom. Crying. Screaming. Carrying on.
Then she finally came back out to the family room and announced she was ready to clean up.
And she did.
Talk about stubborn.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Live Blogging- Adopt-a-family & other pet peeves
So I'm watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition right now. It's the family from Tallahassee, Florida, which adopted 6 children from China using CCAI, our agency. During the home tour, they even zoomed in on the CCAI bumper stickers Made in China, Loved in the USA.
I'm taking this moment, while watching TV, to share one of my adoption-parenting pet peeves. Okay, three of them.
First, I have to say that I love our agency. I would not use another China agency because I think CCAI is that fantastic. They are forthcoming. They are ethical. They do not try to rob you blind in crazy-insane adoption-related fees. They will hold your hand if you need hand-holding. The owners understand adoption first-hand. They have many programs to work with kids post-adoption-- both because coming to terms with being adopted is sometimes difficult for people and because being Chinese matters, and the agency gets it. Generally, I think CCAI just gets it.
But those bumper stickers-- they irritate me. I think the whole "Made in China" thing is cute. Casey and Marcie often dance around and tell us that Marcie came from China and Casey came from Ohio. But the extra phrase-- "loved in the U.S."-- implies that the kid was not also loved in China. I can't believe our agency really thinks that. In my view, adoption from China is not a product of the lovelessness of the Chinese people frequently forced to leave their children with strangers. I believe that Marcie birthfamily, wherever they are, worry about her. Wonder what ended up happening. Pray and hope that she found happiness wherever she landed. I also know that Marcie was loved in the orphanage. I have no doubt that those nannies really did care about her and love her. I'm not suggesting it can supplant a parent's love. But it's really important to me that both my kids know how wanted and loved they were before they found their ways into our lives and our arms. That's the thing about adoption.
And this brings me to the second pet peeve. What is up with that attitude that "these people have done a wonderful thing by adopting. . ."? I mean, of course I think adoption is wonderful. And the mom on the show really did try to put off Ty and the other designers, who kind of suggested the kids should be grateful to find a family here in the U.S., by saying something like "Oh no-- they don't owe us anything!" Well that's definitely how I feel. I have written about this before. I did not adopt my children to "save" them, to give them a "better" life, or because I wanted to do something good for the world. My choice to adopt was totally and completely selfish. I chose adoption because I wanted children. And this was how we could build our family. To suggest adoption is some sort of noble action is to suggest that kids who are adopted are somehow lesser--or less-deserving of family. We don't say, "Oh, your kids are so lucky you gave birth to them. If you didn't, they wouldn't exist. I sure hope they let you know how grateful they are to be alive and to have you take care of them." Of course we don't-- because we expect parents to take care of their children. Why isn't it the same with adoption?
And finally, my third pet peeve. Yes, yes. I'm probably ridiculously overly sensitive about these things. Blah Blah. It doesn't mean I'm wrong. I listened on the show when the builder was talking about how impressed they were by the family for "all they've given" (because they chose to adopt-- see above on how I feel about this). But then he said something else that irks me. He said something like, "And that's why we've decided to adopt this family for the week."
Um. Yeah. That's not what adoption is. The whole point of adoption is that it is permanent. You do not adopt a child for a week. Or a month. Or a year-- or even five years. And when we have "adopt a family" programs at Christmas, or "adopt a family" on Extreme Makeover, it kind of misses the point of what adoption means. And I think it waters it down. When we talk about temporary "adoptions," we are not making a long term, permanent commitment. It's like-- Hey, it will be fun to take care of these people and help them out, and then when we run out of money or get tired of it, we can just move on. But that's the opposite of what adoption is-- or should be. Adoption is the notion that no matter what, this is a permanent family. If the money runs out, if luck changes, if health begins to fail-- no matter what-- you will be there. Because that's what family means.
Don't get me wrong-- I love the idea of lending a hand, in whatever way you can, to people who need help. I just don't think we should call it an adoption. WORDS. MATTER.
Phew. And that concludes my rant for today.
*UPDATE*
I finished watching the show. Despite my aforementioned irritations, I thought the show generally handled adoption responsibly, highlighting the families adoption has touched, and treating it-- as it should have been-- as just a piece of the much larger puzzle that makes up the variety of ways people choose to build their families.
I'm taking this moment, while watching TV, to share one of my adoption-parenting pet peeves. Okay, three of them.
First, I have to say that I love our agency. I would not use another China agency because I think CCAI is that fantastic. They are forthcoming. They are ethical. They do not try to rob you blind in crazy-insane adoption-related fees. They will hold your hand if you need hand-holding. The owners understand adoption first-hand. They have many programs to work with kids post-adoption-- both because coming to terms with being adopted is sometimes difficult for people and because being Chinese matters, and the agency gets it. Generally, I think CCAI just gets it.
But those bumper stickers-- they irritate me. I think the whole "Made in China" thing is cute. Casey and Marcie often dance around and tell us that Marcie came from China and Casey came from Ohio. But the extra phrase-- "loved in the U.S."-- implies that the kid was not also loved in China. I can't believe our agency really thinks that. In my view, adoption from China is not a product of the lovelessness of the Chinese people frequently forced to leave their children with strangers. I believe that Marcie birthfamily, wherever they are, worry about her. Wonder what ended up happening. Pray and hope that she found happiness wherever she landed. I also know that Marcie was loved in the orphanage. I have no doubt that those nannies really did care about her and love her. I'm not suggesting it can supplant a parent's love. But it's really important to me that both my kids know how wanted and loved they were before they found their ways into our lives and our arms. That's the thing about adoption.
And this brings me to the second pet peeve. What is up with that attitude that "these people have done a wonderful thing by adopting. . ."? I mean, of course I think adoption is wonderful. And the mom on the show really did try to put off Ty and the other designers, who kind of suggested the kids should be grateful to find a family here in the U.S., by saying something like "Oh no-- they don't owe us anything!" Well that's definitely how I feel. I have written about this before. I did not adopt my children to "save" them, to give them a "better" life, or because I wanted to do something good for the world. My choice to adopt was totally and completely selfish. I chose adoption because I wanted children. And this was how we could build our family. To suggest adoption is some sort of noble action is to suggest that kids who are adopted are somehow lesser--or less-deserving of family. We don't say, "Oh, your kids are so lucky you gave birth to them. If you didn't, they wouldn't exist. I sure hope they let you know how grateful they are to be alive and to have you take care of them." Of course we don't-- because we expect parents to take care of their children. Why isn't it the same with adoption?
And finally, my third pet peeve. Yes, yes. I'm probably ridiculously overly sensitive about these things. Blah Blah. It doesn't mean I'm wrong. I listened on the show when the builder was talking about how impressed they were by the family for "all they've given" (because they chose to adopt-- see above on how I feel about this). But then he said something else that irks me. He said something like, "And that's why we've decided to adopt this family for the week."
Um. Yeah. That's not what adoption is. The whole point of adoption is that it is permanent. You do not adopt a child for a week. Or a month. Or a year-- or even five years. And when we have "adopt a family" programs at Christmas, or "adopt a family" on Extreme Makeover, it kind of misses the point of what adoption means. And I think it waters it down. When we talk about temporary "adoptions," we are not making a long term, permanent commitment. It's like-- Hey, it will be fun to take care of these people and help them out, and then when we run out of money or get tired of it, we can just move on. But that's the opposite of what adoption is-- or should be. Adoption is the notion that no matter what, this is a permanent family. If the money runs out, if luck changes, if health begins to fail-- no matter what-- you will be there. Because that's what family means.
Don't get me wrong-- I love the idea of lending a hand, in whatever way you can, to people who need help. I just don't think we should call it an adoption. WORDS. MATTER.
Phew. And that concludes my rant for today.
*UPDATE*
I finished watching the show. Despite my aforementioned irritations, I thought the show generally handled adoption responsibly, highlighting the families adoption has touched, and treating it-- as it should have been-- as just a piece of the much larger puzzle that makes up the variety of ways people choose to build their families.
Happy Easter!
Who are these masked super heroes?
We'll never tell!
But we will reveal a bit about our Easter. . .
Our morning began with a visit to the toy room, where the Easter Bunny has snacked on carrots and milk left out the night before-- and filled Easter baskets with costumes, pajamas, t-shirts and one package of Skittles and MnMs each. The kids squealed with delight and quickly changed into their super identities while I made some banana muffins, which they scoffed down hurriedly when I pulled them out of the oven.
After changing in to special Sunday clothes, we raced off to church, where we slid in just in time to grab a few of the last seats in the parish hall. The music was amazing. People were smiley and friendly (Marcie kept pointing out that we were surrounded by strangers and she is not supposed to talk to strangers).
Then home again for some rib-eye roast. I whipped up a delicious macaroni and cheese, and just as we finished getting it all ready, Bryan and Tram and cousins Joey and Ethan arrived. We hid some eggs (some with Starburst, some with Skittles, some with dark chocolate MnMs and some with money!). We snapped a few photos of the hunt. Then we sat around, snacking on chips and dips and cheese and crackers and then ate in shifts. Shift one for the kids. Shift two for the grown-ups. As we were finishing, Tiffany and Bobby arrived, followed shortly thereafter by Grandma and Grandpa.
Though the weather report said the high today would be 69 and the sun wouldn't be able to peek through the clouds, we had mid-70s weather with lots of sunshine. So we sat on the back patio while the kids played in the grass, and we all played Uno Attack-- prison style. We named it this because of the ridiculously punitive rules we decided to enforce. The game went on for more than an hour! We stopped a few times along the way for snacks or drinks, or a slice of the traditional bunny cake. And then it was time for our family to go. . .
It was a beautiful day outside-- and we felt very lucky to share this important day with our family.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
A Quick Review
Too much time has passed here.
I'm not sure why I've felt so unmotivated to blog this year. It's not like I spend more time on the computer than I used to. It's not like the kids don't say funny things and inspire us all the time. I guess I've just settled in.
I've been out of law school for almost two years (!) now. My life as a student feels forever ago-- a distant memory. For the kids, too. I don't think they really remember that I wasn't around much. And I think that's probably a good thing.
Our routines have settled in, too. I still do mornings with the kids. And Jason does the evenings. But now I have more regular contact with the things that matter to them. I know all their teachers. I know who their "best friends" are. I know the other parents in their classes. Maybe it's not all that different than before-- but I definitely feel less disconnected, less frazzled, and at least a little less guilty.
I used to feel like I needed to be at every show, at every program, at every field trip, at every event. Jason never seemed to feel that way and I didn't get it. But now that I don't feel that way, I think I understand. I was compensating for feeling like I was never around. I still do it a little bit. But I missed the spring parade at Marcie's school for the first time in three years and I didn't blink an eye.
The kids are growing leaps and bounds. Literally. I just noticed yesterday that some of Casey's pants-- purchased in September and October-- now seem a little highwaterish. Kohl's is having a great sale this weekend, so I snatched up some clothes in the next size up. Marcie, too, is growing fast-- she is the size of an average 4 1/2 year old (even though she's not quite 3 1/2). I have to remind myself all the time that she is only 3-- because she is so verbal and can follow multi-step directions so well.
And even though my schedule is unquestionably more sane than it used to be, my sickliness doesn't seem to have changed at all. Here we are, in the middle of April, and I've already survived five colds. Kindergarten has been hard on me.
But we are looking forward to warmer weather around these parts. We've planned a camping trip, a trip to Ohio to visit Casey's birthfamily (we're really looking forward to this!), time to visit with our family's newest arrival (coming on May 5th- a new cousin for the kids!), time with our parents and our siblings, and just getting out into the sunshine. So we should have adventures to share.
In the mean time, here's what we've been up to.
Casey was selected VIP of his class in late February (it may have been early March). This meant he got to bring Snuggles, the class teddy bear, home for the weekend. We had to track how we spent our weekend with Snuggles (this bear sure has traveled far and wide-- we got to read all his old adventures, too). Here's a collage:
Even Ethan, their cousin, crawled into the fort and got in on the action. Oh-- and as you can see, they are very much into play superheroes, too.
And in February we got to see their cousin Tyler, who was visiting from Seattle for the weekend. Yes, his eyes are always that wide. What a cutie.
I'm not sure why I've felt so unmotivated to blog this year. It's not like I spend more time on the computer than I used to. It's not like the kids don't say funny things and inspire us all the time. I guess I've just settled in.
I've been out of law school for almost two years (!) now. My life as a student feels forever ago-- a distant memory. For the kids, too. I don't think they really remember that I wasn't around much. And I think that's probably a good thing.
Our routines have settled in, too. I still do mornings with the kids. And Jason does the evenings. But now I have more regular contact with the things that matter to them. I know all their teachers. I know who their "best friends" are. I know the other parents in their classes. Maybe it's not all that different than before-- but I definitely feel less disconnected, less frazzled, and at least a little less guilty.
I used to feel like I needed to be at every show, at every program, at every field trip, at every event. Jason never seemed to feel that way and I didn't get it. But now that I don't feel that way, I think I understand. I was compensating for feeling like I was never around. I still do it a little bit. But I missed the spring parade at Marcie's school for the first time in three years and I didn't blink an eye.
The kids are growing leaps and bounds. Literally. I just noticed yesterday that some of Casey's pants-- purchased in September and October-- now seem a little highwaterish. Kohl's is having a great sale this weekend, so I snatched up some clothes in the next size up. Marcie, too, is growing fast-- she is the size of an average 4 1/2 year old (even though she's not quite 3 1/2). I have to remind myself all the time that she is only 3-- because she is so verbal and can follow multi-step directions so well.
And even though my schedule is unquestionably more sane than it used to be, my sickliness doesn't seem to have changed at all. Here we are, in the middle of April, and I've already survived five colds. Kindergarten has been hard on me.
But we are looking forward to warmer weather around these parts. We've planned a camping trip, a trip to Ohio to visit Casey's birthfamily (we're really looking forward to this!), time to visit with our family's newest arrival (coming on May 5th- a new cousin for the kids!), time with our parents and our siblings, and just getting out into the sunshine. So we should have adventures to share.
In the mean time, here's what we've been up to.
Casey was selected VIP of his class in late February (it may have been early March). This meant he got to bring Snuggles, the class teddy bear, home for the weekend. We had to track how we spent our weekend with Snuggles (this bear sure has traveled far and wide-- we got to read all his old adventures, too). Here's a collage:
Clockwise from the top left: Casey and Snuggles cozied up asleep; Casey, Marcie, and Snuggles having a picnic on the backyard (turns out Snuggles likes sammies from Quiznos, just like Casey and Marcie do!); Casey and Snuggles playing Indiana Jones on the wii; Casey and Snuggles looking at the giraffes at the Wild Animal Park on the Journey into Africa bus tour; Casey and Snuggles playing Chutes and Ladders (with me); Casey, Snuggles, and Marcie (and her baby doll) in the backseat of my car as we ran errands.
The kids have discovered fort-building. They mainly do this when they pretend to play "cats." (This is basically playing "house," except the family is all different cats and instead of talking they "Meow" at each other.)
Even Ethan, their cousin, crawled into the fort and got in on the action. Oh-- and as you can see, they are very much into play superheroes, too.
And in February we got to see their cousin Tyler, who was visiting from Seattle for the weekend. Yes, his eyes are always that wide. What a cutie.Friday, February 13, 2009
Friday the 13th
Happy pre-Valentine's day.
No pictures to post. But big news.
No, not talking about any baby news.
Or school Valentine's parties (though we did have those!).
Tonight is a momentous occasion.
As I type, Casey is snuggled up in bed. His favorite classmate, too.
Sigh. His first sleep over.
I feel so, so lucky he asked to have someone here instead of asking to go somewhere else. And still, the momentousness of this moment is not lost on me.
Apparently I had a skewed view of when things happen. I find myself constantly thinking, "Already?!?" And I imagine it will only get worse.
Tonight Marcie asked me if she could have her favorite classmate spend the night, too. We suggested we maybe start out with a play date before we encourage any preschool overnights away from home-- and she seemed fine with that. Or she was distracted by the super cool "pretty dress," tap-tap shoes, ballet slippers and Hello Kitty flip flops (which actually culled a full girly squeal from her) a co-worker's 6 year old daughter handed down to us today.
Pictures to follow.
No pictures to post. But big news.
No, not talking about any baby news.
Or school Valentine's parties (though we did have those!).
Tonight is a momentous occasion.
As I type, Casey is snuggled up in bed. His favorite classmate, too.
Sigh. His first sleep over.
I feel so, so lucky he asked to have someone here instead of asking to go somewhere else. And still, the momentousness of this moment is not lost on me.
Apparently I had a skewed view of when things happen. I find myself constantly thinking, "Already?!?" And I imagine it will only get worse.
Tonight Marcie asked me if she could have her favorite classmate spend the night, too. We suggested we maybe start out with a play date before we encourage any preschool overnights away from home-- and she seemed fine with that. Or she was distracted by the super cool "pretty dress," tap-tap shoes, ballet slippers and Hello Kitty flip flops (which actually culled a full girly squeal from her) a co-worker's 6 year old daughter handed down to us today.
Pictures to follow.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Children's Activities Hiatus-- sort of
We've been going non-stop, round-the-year to soccer and music class on Saturday mornings. It eats them up. And it's not so bad because the kids love it. Soccer times rotate (so games start anywhere from 8:00 am to 11:00 am), but music is always at 10:15 am.
Until two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, when we celebrated Casey's 6th birthday with his classmates and friends, was our last soccer/music Saturday. Not forever. Maybe not even for this full 8-week session. But for now. It wasn't an accident, but it wasn't actually planned either. We couldn't decide what to do with Casey's soccer experience (bump him up a level, leave it alone, continue coaching or not), and music class had become too crowded, too rowdy and a little unpredictable because we could never be sure if Casey was going to make it around his soccer schedule, but we had to pay in advance anyway. So we stopped.
I fully intended on signing up Marcie for a dance class or gymnastics now that she's three and I don't have to participate with her. But I haven't gotten around to it. I had a bad cold two weeks ago when sign-ups were happening. And now I have one again (I know, I know-- it's not normal to get colds every couple weeks as an adult who has taught especially-- but here I am anyway).
But this doesn't mean we've really taken a hiatus from kids' activities. Just the pre-planned, pre-scheduled ones. Instead, we're doing our own thing.
Last week we took the trolley downtown and walked over to the Children's Museum for a few hours on Saturday. Sunday we had a picnic in our backyard. I'm not sure we've done anything on the grass since we put it in this past summer. It was a beautiful day. I even read outside. Alone.
This weekend it's raining. But that hasn't stopped our weekend activities. On Saturday we headed for the library. I wanted some books, but I didn't want to pay for anything. We got there about 30 minutes after opening and snagged the last spot in the lot. Who knew the library was so popular? We aimed right for the Children's section, where we spent an hour or so-- and the thing we noticed was how loud the library is! People talking on cell phones, no one using library voices, kids reading to therapy dogs (okay, that last thing didn't really bother me)-- it was strange. But good for the kids to get to the library and pick out some books. Casey bought a book at the book faire at school Friday-- then he proceeded to check out the same book at the library. We had a good laugh about it when we realized what he'd done, after we got home.
I had to bully a little kid at the mall, too. After we ate lunch, we let the kids go run around in the little play area in our local, indoor mall. And this one kids was literally beating up on his brother. He had him in a headlock and was just punching him in the side of the head. I watched for a couple seconds, expecting their chaperone to do something-- but they were behind a barrier (I don't know why they have such a tall structure parents cannot see around-- there is no spot where you can see everyone in the play area). And finally I just said, "Hey! Hey! Hey! We don't punch." He dropped his brother, who crawled off, kind of shocked and said, "You're not the boss of me!" To which I responded, "Apparently I am." And I walked away.
Last night was the highlight, though. The local high school spring musical is this weekend and next and we promised the kids we'd take them. The thing about these sorts of shows is that you have to be ready to make a clean getaway at any time, so you can't personally become too invested in the activity. Like over the holidays when the Chinese show was in town and Marcie begged us to go even though she was technically too young (you have to be 4). We knew she wouldn't last-- and we left at intermission. It kills us a little because we paid for the whole thing. But then we think that we have to do these things in little spurts-- and sort of build up.
So that was our attitude about the play. We actually brought Marcie's MP3 player and headset figuring she could listen to the Wiggles if she got bored (and she did for a while), but we fully expected the kids to want to go home and go to bed at intermission. After all, the play started at 7pm (there was no matinee) and intermission wasn't until almost 8:30 pm. But at intermission, Casey wanted to stay. And he stayed awake for the whole show. I've never seen Guys & Dolls before, and I'm pretty sure Casey didn't understand a thing that was going on-- I could barely understand what was happening -- but he loved it anyway. The funniest thing was our attempt at explaining that it was a high school musical, not the High School Musical. Finally I tried to say it was a musical at a high school, but he kept talking about the Eastside Wildcats or Bobcats or whatever they are in the Disney movie. And finally I just gave up. He didn't seem to mind once the show started.
So there we have it. Two action-packed weekends during our activity-hiatus. Oh. And this morning we're headed off to the Wild Animal Park. I guess we aren't really slowing down any time soon . . .
Until two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, when we celebrated Casey's 6th birthday with his classmates and friends, was our last soccer/music Saturday. Not forever. Maybe not even for this full 8-week session. But for now. It wasn't an accident, but it wasn't actually planned either. We couldn't decide what to do with Casey's soccer experience (bump him up a level, leave it alone, continue coaching or not), and music class had become too crowded, too rowdy and a little unpredictable because we could never be sure if Casey was going to make it around his soccer schedule, but we had to pay in advance anyway. So we stopped.
I fully intended on signing up Marcie for a dance class or gymnastics now that she's three and I don't have to participate with her. But I haven't gotten around to it. I had a bad cold two weeks ago when sign-ups were happening. And now I have one again (I know, I know-- it's not normal to get colds every couple weeks as an adult who has taught especially-- but here I am anyway).
But this doesn't mean we've really taken a hiatus from kids' activities. Just the pre-planned, pre-scheduled ones. Instead, we're doing our own thing.
Last week we took the trolley downtown and walked over to the Children's Museum for a few hours on Saturday. Sunday we had a picnic in our backyard. I'm not sure we've done anything on the grass since we put it in this past summer. It was a beautiful day. I even read outside. Alone.
This weekend it's raining. But that hasn't stopped our weekend activities. On Saturday we headed for the library. I wanted some books, but I didn't want to pay for anything. We got there about 30 minutes after opening and snagged the last spot in the lot. Who knew the library was so popular? We aimed right for the Children's section, where we spent an hour or so-- and the thing we noticed was how loud the library is! People talking on cell phones, no one using library voices, kids reading to therapy dogs (okay, that last thing didn't really bother me)-- it was strange. But good for the kids to get to the library and pick out some books. Casey bought a book at the book faire at school Friday-- then he proceeded to check out the same book at the library. We had a good laugh about it when we realized what he'd done, after we got home.
I had to bully a little kid at the mall, too. After we ate lunch, we let the kids go run around in the little play area in our local, indoor mall. And this one kids was literally beating up on his brother. He had him in a headlock and was just punching him in the side of the head. I watched for a couple seconds, expecting their chaperone to do something-- but they were behind a barrier (I don't know why they have such a tall structure parents cannot see around-- there is no spot where you can see everyone in the play area). And finally I just said, "Hey! Hey! Hey! We don't punch." He dropped his brother, who crawled off, kind of shocked and said, "You're not the boss of me!" To which I responded, "Apparently I am." And I walked away.
Last night was the highlight, though. The local high school spring musical is this weekend and next and we promised the kids we'd take them. The thing about these sorts of shows is that you have to be ready to make a clean getaway at any time, so you can't personally become too invested in the activity. Like over the holidays when the Chinese show was in town and Marcie begged us to go even though she was technically too young (you have to be 4). We knew she wouldn't last-- and we left at intermission. It kills us a little because we paid for the whole thing. But then we think that we have to do these things in little spurts-- and sort of build up.
So that was our attitude about the play. We actually brought Marcie's MP3 player and headset figuring she could listen to the Wiggles if she got bored (and she did for a while), but we fully expected the kids to want to go home and go to bed at intermission. After all, the play started at 7pm (there was no matinee) and intermission wasn't until almost 8:30 pm. But at intermission, Casey wanted to stay. And he stayed awake for the whole show. I've never seen Guys & Dolls before, and I'm pretty sure Casey didn't understand a thing that was going on-- I could barely understand what was happening -- but he loved it anyway. The funniest thing was our attempt at explaining that it was a high school musical, not the High School Musical. Finally I tried to say it was a musical at a high school, but he kept talking about the Eastside Wildcats or Bobcats or whatever they are in the Disney movie. And finally I just gave up. He didn't seem to mind once the show started.
So there we have it. Two action-packed weekends during our activity-hiatus. Oh. And this morning we're headed off to the Wild Animal Park. I guess we aren't really slowing down any time soon . . .
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Catcher in the Rye
I have composed a half a million blog posts in my mind. On my way to work. Laying awake in bed. While watching Casey play Legos Indiana Jones on the Wii. But it just hasn't been convenient to post. When I've been on the computer, it's pretty much been for work. And when I'm not on the computer, dragging it out and turning it on just isn't something I've felt like doing. But not for lack of things to write about.
Casey is now a year older. At 6, he seems so grown up. Last week when I was tucking him in to bed, he asked if he could have a friend sleep over. Already. I don't know why, but in my mind these things didn't really happen until age 8. Sigh. At least he didn't ask to sleep away from home. I like kissing him before I go to bed at night. And snuggling up with him in the mornings to help him wake up. I like having him around. But I certainly wouldn't want to hold him back. So next Friday night we'll have a house-guest. Not a cousin. Not a sibling. No extra adults. Just another friend. It'll be interesting to see how well his friend does (his friend is a triplet!) away from home for the first time. I'm fully prepared for tears. And a phone call home. And maybe even a midnight return of a child across town. But I'm also hopeful it won't come to that. Gosh, they grow up so fast.
Speaking of growing up, our world is such a crazy place. Sometimes it makes me so sad. In the past few months, we've been getting pretty regular reports from our school principal (who sends out a voicemail and e-mail twice a week to keep parents informed) of some safety issues. The first one was about a girl walking home by herself a couple hours after school who was approached by a stranger trying to entice her into his car for a ride home. Then a few weeks later came a notice that a stranger had been sighted on the playground fields; an investigation turned up nothing. Next, another child was approached walking home from school. Then another. Then an eleven year old girl was actually taken and released thirty minutes later outside a different, nearby elementary school. After that, the principal called a parents' meeting. In the two weeks that followed, leading up to the parents' meeting, there was a note scrawled on the middle school bathroom wall "predicting" a school shooting. The elementary (and pre) school are next door and share some fields. They all went into lock-down. Police determined the threat was not real. And finally, on the day of the safety meeting, another snatching attempt was made at a different elementary school a few hours after school was over. The child screamed and frightened away the would-be attacker.
This all left me wondering-- are these abnormally high "stranger danger" statistics? Or is our school district unusually communicative? Why aren't we patrolling the local neighborhoods a couple hours after school each day, since that's when these incidents seem to occur? Why are 10-11 year old girls always the targets? So I sent Jason off to the parent meeting with these questions.
It turns out these were all truthful and legitimate events. That there are two detectives' children and an FBI agent's child attending the same elementary school as Casey. And there's nothing they can do to stop the approach of strangers. It's not the same person. The timing is too inconsistent. The solution? Talk to your child.
Well, duh. But what do we say? Turns out it's not just that our kids shouldn't go with anyone they don't know, even if the stranger says we sent them, but we also need to take it further-- teach them to scream. To fight. To kick. To struggle. To shout: "YOU ARE NOT MY MOMMY! YOU ARE NOT MY DADDY! CALL 9-1-1!" Those sorts of things. People in the area will be much more alert-- and if the child is just throwing a tantrum and saying those things to their parents (this was my fear-- the cry wolf factor--), well, isn't that better than a crime scene?
Sigh. I suppose.
But to teach Casey these things means to also teach them to Marcie. We can't avoid the one while talking to the other. It's just not how our lives work, how our family functions.
And it makes me a little sad. Should six year olds really be worrying about being snatched? Should three year olds? I want to keep my kids safe, and healthy. I want them to enjoy this big, bad world with innocent eyes. They have plenty of time for disillusionment, but I don't want them to grow up afraid. I know some of this is in how we present the information. But some of it is just a fact of the world we live in. It makes me think of Holden Caulfield-- the catcher in the rye-- catching all those kids as they jump off the cliff into adulthood-- wanting to protect them from the, for lack of a better word, yuck of growing up. I'd like our kids to have years and years and years of happy memories before they have to face the ugliness of our world. I know I can't stop their coming of age-- and I'm exaggerating a bit here. But it still makes me sad.
I guess the best I can do is hold their hands through it all and hope for a soft landing . . .
Casey is now a year older. At 6, he seems so grown up. Last week when I was tucking him in to bed, he asked if he could have a friend sleep over. Already. I don't know why, but in my mind these things didn't really happen until age 8. Sigh. At least he didn't ask to sleep away from home. I like kissing him before I go to bed at night. And snuggling up with him in the mornings to help him wake up. I like having him around. But I certainly wouldn't want to hold him back. So next Friday night we'll have a house-guest. Not a cousin. Not a sibling. No extra adults. Just another friend. It'll be interesting to see how well his friend does (his friend is a triplet!) away from home for the first time. I'm fully prepared for tears. And a phone call home. And maybe even a midnight return of a child across town. But I'm also hopeful it won't come to that. Gosh, they grow up so fast.
Speaking of growing up, our world is such a crazy place. Sometimes it makes me so sad. In the past few months, we've been getting pretty regular reports from our school principal (who sends out a voicemail and e-mail twice a week to keep parents informed) of some safety issues. The first one was about a girl walking home by herself a couple hours after school who was approached by a stranger trying to entice her into his car for a ride home. Then a few weeks later came a notice that a stranger had been sighted on the playground fields; an investigation turned up nothing. Next, another child was approached walking home from school. Then another. Then an eleven year old girl was actually taken and released thirty minutes later outside a different, nearby elementary school. After that, the principal called a parents' meeting. In the two weeks that followed, leading up to the parents' meeting, there was a note scrawled on the middle school bathroom wall "predicting" a school shooting. The elementary (and pre) school are next door and share some fields. They all went into lock-down. Police determined the threat was not real. And finally, on the day of the safety meeting, another snatching attempt was made at a different elementary school a few hours after school was over. The child screamed and frightened away the would-be attacker.
This all left me wondering-- are these abnormally high "stranger danger" statistics? Or is our school district unusually communicative? Why aren't we patrolling the local neighborhoods a couple hours after school each day, since that's when these incidents seem to occur? Why are 10-11 year old girls always the targets? So I sent Jason off to the parent meeting with these questions.
It turns out these were all truthful and legitimate events. That there are two detectives' children and an FBI agent's child attending the same elementary school as Casey. And there's nothing they can do to stop the approach of strangers. It's not the same person. The timing is too inconsistent. The solution? Talk to your child.
Well, duh. But what do we say? Turns out it's not just that our kids shouldn't go with anyone they don't know, even if the stranger says we sent them, but we also need to take it further-- teach them to scream. To fight. To kick. To struggle. To shout: "YOU ARE NOT MY MOMMY! YOU ARE NOT MY DADDY! CALL 9-1-1!" Those sorts of things. People in the area will be much more alert-- and if the child is just throwing a tantrum and saying those things to their parents (this was my fear-- the cry wolf factor--), well, isn't that better than a crime scene?
Sigh. I suppose.
But to teach Casey these things means to also teach them to Marcie. We can't avoid the one while talking to the other. It's just not how our lives work, how our family functions.
And it makes me a little sad. Should six year olds really be worrying about being snatched? Should three year olds? I want to keep my kids safe, and healthy. I want them to enjoy this big, bad world with innocent eyes. They have plenty of time for disillusionment, but I don't want them to grow up afraid. I know some of this is in how we present the information. But some of it is just a fact of the world we live in. It makes me think of Holden Caulfield-- the catcher in the rye-- catching all those kids as they jump off the cliff into adulthood-- wanting to protect them from the, for lack of a better word, yuck of growing up. I'd like our kids to have years and years and years of happy memories before they have to face the ugliness of our world. I know I can't stop their coming of age-- and I'm exaggerating a bit here. But it still makes me sad.
I guess the best I can do is hold their hands through it all and hope for a soft landing . . .
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
And a Merry Rockband Christmas to You
It's Christmas Eve. We're about to set out carrots (for the reindeer), cookies and milk (for Santa). But I wanted to pause to wish you all a happy holiday.
May it be filled with silly laughter (Marcie asked for a skeleton face, but requested blue and yellow colors):
Plenty of time with your loved ones:
And an opportunity to have some fun and rock out:
May it be filled with silly laughter (Marcie asked for a skeleton face, but requested blue and yellow colors):
Lots of loving hugs:
Plenty of time with your loved ones:
And an opportunity to have some fun and rock out:MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Second Annual Holiday Party
For the second year in a row, my closest girlfriends here in San Diego and I got together with our families to celebrate the holidays. Last year, we decided collectively to stop buying each other gifts and to let our kids engage in a gift exchange instead. So we all gathered at our house on Saturday evening for dinner and conversation and kids' crafts, for the gift exchange, and then to take hot chocolate with us to go view the amazing, local Christmas lights.
The kids were really good about waiting on the exchange until after everyone had arrived, several ornaments had been decorated, and all the grown-ups were finished eating. And then the gift-opening began. We sat them down in a circle and instructed the four kids to open their gifts all at once. Included in this exchange was Casey (age 5), Lucas (age 3- 6 months older than Marcie), Marcie (age 3) and Katelyn (age 2 1/2-- 6 months younger than Marcie, but just as loquacious!).
From oldest to youngest, here are the reactions to the gifts:
This is a repulsor-blast Iron Man. It is a talking toy, which lights up, makes flying noises, and shoots little sticks out of its hand. Casey is sleeping with it for the second night in a row. It was exactly what he wanted, even though I didn't tell my friend that. He couldn't have been more pleased.
This is a shake n go rocket. It didn't get great reviews on Amazon because apparently it tears easily when you shoot it in the walls (duh). I didn't actually consult with Lucas's parents before purchasing this gift-- and in retrospect I probably should have. I mean, it is kind of the perfect gift for a kid-- it's a gun off which the child shakes up. When he pulls the trigger, the rocket ship goes flying off. So a gun and a rocket. All rolled in one. Fortunately for me, his parents rolled with it-- and you can see from his face that it was pretty much exactly what he wanted. He didn't point it at any people or anything, and there were a lot of people around. So I think he'll be good to go.
Marcie got some magnetic dress-up dolls. So far, we've dressed them in Halloween clothes, as a princess, and as a cow girl. I can't believe my friend Grace actually got this shot-- what timing!
I am pretty tolerant of noise. I bought my kids musical instruments, including drums, a year or two ago. Casey has had a harmonica forever. And as irritating as the Iron Man repetition of his name is, I can put up with it for kind of long stretches of time. But not everyone is as tolerant of such noise as I am. Luckily for Kate, pictured here with her new harmonica, her parents were fully aware of this gift before Katelyn opened it. And they gave their blessing. So no worries there.
The kids were really good about waiting on the exchange until after everyone had arrived, several ornaments had been decorated, and all the grown-ups were finished eating. And then the gift-opening began. We sat them down in a circle and instructed the four kids to open their gifts all at once. Included in this exchange was Casey (age 5), Lucas (age 3- 6 months older than Marcie), Marcie (age 3) and Katelyn (age 2 1/2-- 6 months younger than Marcie, but just as loquacious!).
From oldest to youngest, here are the reactions to the gifts:
This is a repulsor-blast Iron Man. It is a talking toy, which lights up, makes flying noises, and shoots little sticks out of its hand. Casey is sleeping with it for the second night in a row. It was exactly what he wanted, even though I didn't tell my friend that. He couldn't have been more pleased.
This is a shake n go rocket. It didn't get great reviews on Amazon because apparently it tears easily when you shoot it in the walls (duh). I didn't actually consult with Lucas's parents before purchasing this gift-- and in retrospect I probably should have. I mean, it is kind of the perfect gift for a kid-- it's a gun off which the child shakes up. When he pulls the trigger, the rocket ship goes flying off. So a gun and a rocket. All rolled in one. Fortunately for me, his parents rolled with it-- and you can see from his face that it was pretty much exactly what he wanted. He didn't point it at any people or anything, and there were a lot of people around. So I think he'll be good to go.
Marcie got some magnetic dress-up dolls. So far, we've dressed them in Halloween clothes, as a princess, and as a cow girl. I can't believe my friend Grace actually got this shot-- what timing!
I am pretty tolerant of noise. I bought my kids musical instruments, including drums, a year or two ago. Casey has had a harmonica forever. And as irritating as the Iron Man repetition of his name is, I can put up with it for kind of long stretches of time. But not everyone is as tolerant of such noise as I am. Luckily for Kate, pictured here with her new harmonica, her parents were fully aware of this gift before Katelyn opened it. And they gave their blessing. So no worries there.After they played for a while, we did go see the lights. It was cold, but dry (thankfully). I somehow managed to drop a cup of not-really-hot chocolate all down someone's driveway and felt terrible about it. I felt bad enough that I swiped our friends' drinking water to try and wash the chocolate down the driveway so it wouldn't stain.
And speaking of driveway incidents, today I went out Christmas shopping and then grocery shopping. I wanted Jason to help take in the groceries without seeing the gifts in the trunk. So I decided to hide the gifts around the corner and then ask Jason for help. But my food missed the edge of the walkway and landed in very soft mud, where it sunk down, causing me to twist my ankle and go flying across the concrete. Of course, it happened in slow motion. I hurt my hand and my knee, knocked the wind out of myself and strained my neck. But no blood. After it happened, Casey commented: "You sure do get a lot of owies, Mommy." But Jason didn't see the gift. So I suppose it was worth it. . .
Friday, December 19, 2008
Casey's Holiday Show
I won't be posting any video of Casey's kindergarten holiday program. Not because there weren't some totally hilarious moments, but because I wasn't close enough to zoom only on him. And I feel weird about posting video of other people's kids (without their knowledge or permission). So these pictures will just have to do:
These were the kind expressions he shared any time he noticed we were watching him. . . . What a character.
These were the kind expressions he shared any time he noticed we were watching him. . . . What a character.Thursday, December 18, 2008
Ears
When we first brought home Marcie, Jason almost immediately began talking about getting her ears pierced. Like most women I know (not all women-- just those I know), I was opposed to this. Why mutilate her ear lobes unless she asks? I practically begged to get my ears pierced-- both times. The first time, when I was five, my ears got infected. Not because my parents weren't good about cleaning them, but because it turned out I was allergic to the posts. After that experience, my parents prohibited any additional piercings. And finally, when I was 18, I convinced them to let me get a second set. No infections the second time, or anything. But I pretty much never use them, either.
So I've quietly ignored Jason's gentle ear-piercing prodding. Then, a few months ago when I was getting dressed to go out, Marcie noticed my earrings and asked about them. She wanted to know when she could get some like mine. I told her I thought she should wait until she was older, and she agreed to wait until she was five.
Then last weekend, we went to the mall to visit Santa Claus. And as we passed by a Claire's, I commented to Jason that Marcie told me she wanted to wait until she was five to get her ears pierced. Honestly, I'm not sure there is much of a difference between three and five-- I mean, one isn't really all that much more rational than the other (and I say this as the mother of a five year old and a three year old). When Jason interrogated Marcie about this, she gave a distinctly different answer. Okay, interrogate is a bit strong. He just asked her how old she wanted to be when she got her ears pierced (as if it's something every girl does), and she said three. And when he asked if she wanted to do it right then, she said yes. So we did.
We had them poke her ears at the same time. She picked out the earrings (though I insisted on 24K gold posts). She did cry- but not until several minutes after it was over, and I think it was pure shock. The tears stopped within about 60 seconds.
So here is Marcie getting her ears pierced:
And, perhaps more entertaining, here is how Casey busied himself while the piercing was happening:
He was very particular in picking out the glasses and the hat only after trying on several varieties of each. Gosh, he cracks me up.
So I've quietly ignored Jason's gentle ear-piercing prodding. Then, a few months ago when I was getting dressed to go out, Marcie noticed my earrings and asked about them. She wanted to know when she could get some like mine. I told her I thought she should wait until she was older, and she agreed to wait until she was five.
Then last weekend, we went to the mall to visit Santa Claus. And as we passed by a Claire's, I commented to Jason that Marcie told me she wanted to wait until she was five to get her ears pierced. Honestly, I'm not sure there is much of a difference between three and five-- I mean, one isn't really all that much more rational than the other (and I say this as the mother of a five year old and a three year old). When Jason interrogated Marcie about this, she gave a distinctly different answer. Okay, interrogate is a bit strong. He just asked her how old she wanted to be when she got her ears pierced (as if it's something every girl does), and she said three. And when he asked if she wanted to do it right then, she said yes. So we did.
We had them poke her ears at the same time. She picked out the earrings (though I insisted on 24K gold posts). She did cry- but not until several minutes after it was over, and I think it was pure shock. The tears stopped within about 60 seconds.
So here is Marcie getting her ears pierced:
And, perhaps more entertaining, here is how Casey busied himself while the piercing was happening:
He was very particular in picking out the glasses and the hat only after trying on several varieties of each. Gosh, he cracks me up.Oh. And here's a somewhat blurry close-up of the new look:
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Marcie's Holiday Show
This is pretty typical Marcie. And how she behaved throughout the entire "performance" (if you can call it that) during her school program. She is awfully cute anyway!
And while I have your attention, what is up with preschool shows during the day? Marcie's preschool used to do them at night before they were bought out by a big "educational" corporation. Then the whole family could go. It used to be kind of a big deal-- the kids (and parents) sat in chairs (so we could actually see them), and it was rehearsed. And a nice way to connect with other families. This year, though, I had to drive 35 minutes to watch a 5 minute show. Then I turned around and drove back to work.
I know, I sound like a scrooge-- but it used to be such a special event. And now it's just another class party. And the thing is, I think it's the school that's being scroogish (if that's a word). My bet is they moved the show from the evenings to the middle of the day so they wouldn't have to pay their teachers overtime.
In any case, she wouldn't really smile for the camera or anything, but here are a couple more photos of us with her at the show.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Bad Mommy - A Cautionary Tale
A couple weekends ago, the kids bounded into my bedroom one morning practically chanting, "What trip are we going on today?"
No trips planned. And I said as much. But their repetition seeped its way into my sleepy mind. It wasn't quite 6:00 a.m. yet. Through my morning haze, I calculated what I needed to accomplish and offered, "Well, we could go see Santa today. . . ." The rest of my sentence was kind of lost beneath their cheers.
Once the excitement calmed down a bit, I explained more. You see, we had to go grocery shopping. And Jason was still sleeping. And two kids grocery shopping is, well, let's just say it's not my favorite thing in the world. On my list of things I could probably live without doing, it's higher than taking the trash out in a down-pour, but lower than emptying the dish washer. So I made a fatal error. I predicated the Santa trip on good behavior grocery shopping. This was an error for two reasons: 1. I wanted to take them to see Santa and 2. I feared I was setting them up for failure-- riling them up with such an exciting promise.
To combat the potential disaster, I started our shopping excursion with a trip to Starbucks, where each child was awarded a cup of chocolate or vanilla milk and a slice of banana walnut bread. And off to the grocery store we went.
They were mostly good. But there were some issues. No one screamed bloody murder in the aisle. Marcie didn't insist we visit the restroom. No one knocked the grocery cart over on top of their sibling. No one ran down the aisle out of site requiring me to go chasing after. Sounds relatively successful, right? The thing was, they constantly whined. And fought. And provoked each other. And when Marcie climbed out of the cart, Casey threw a mini-fit because I wouldn't put him in it. But nothing that would really justify skipping a visit with Santa.
At the end of the trip, we pushed the cart to the car, and Casey began banging it against the back. I asked him to stop. He ignored me. I asked again. No response. I began counting. Still nothing. Finally, I reminded him of our pending trip to visit Santa. No good. Instead of complying, he turned in sing-songy "Nyah! Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!" voice and began imitating me, repeating everything I was saying:
"Casey, knock it off." Casey, knock it off.
"I'm serious." I'm serious.
"Get in the car." YOU get in the car.
"We won't go see Santa." We won't go see Santa.
Finally, I physically placed him in the car. At which point, Marcie immediately turned to me and told me she was being good and could she go see Santa. "We'll see," I mumbled, and stuffed her in her carseat. Where she immediately turned to Casey and said in that same sing-songy, annoying tone: "I get to see Santa and you don't."
Casey wasn't going to sit still with that. "Nuh uh," he replied. "You're not going either." And you can imagine what happened next:
"Yes I am!" Marcie shouted.
"No you're not!" Casey screamed back at her.
And so it went, back and forth, as I placed the grocery bags in the car. Until Marcie hauled off and whacked Casey.
And then Santa was no longer an option. I felt immediately sad-- like they'd robbed me of the experience of watching them with Santa.
Dejected, I climbed into the car and turned on the ignition. It was only 9:00 in the morning and I already felt defeated and beat down. And then the pummeling really began. The afternoon before, when Casey and Marcie were arguing and hitting each other, I confiscated television-watching and Wii-playing privileges for the evening. Casey responded by telling me he wanted to move out, and when he got old enough could he please have a car so he could leave us? It was hard not to laugh, but I admired his attempt at problem-solving anyway.
But that morning, Casey wasn't going to be so easy on me. From the back seat, I heard:
"You're a bad mommy."
I ignored it.
"Are you listening?" Casey asked.
Still ignoring him.
"You're just a bad mommy and you're not nice and you're just gonna die and then Daddy is going to find us a new mommy and she's going to be nice and we're going to love her."
The tears began. Slowly trickling down my face. Then Marcie chimed in:
"Yeah. Bad Mommy," she called out.
We live less than 2 miles from the grocery store. When I pulled into the garage, I turned off the car, and landed pretty much immediately in Jason's arms. Where I told him we had awful kids and I couldn't be around them. Then I slipped into our bedroom, closed the door behind me and began sobbing.
Of course that was an over-reaction. It's just that I wasn't expecting such strong words from my five year old. Or three year old. I was expecting them when the kids were 12, perhaps. But there they were-- a cold, hard slap across the face.
Someone later pointed out to me that when a five year old tells you that you're being a "bad mommy," that is obviously code for "good mommy"-- as in someone who sets boundaries and sticks to them. And of course that's true.
In the end, it turned out Casey was reading Hansel and Gretel at school. He claims it's a story about a bad mommy who sends the kids to the bushes. But then she dies, and the dad who is a (wood) cutter (Casey leaves out the "wood" part) goes and gets them, and they are happy again. Casey never mentions the witch. He doesn't understand that the woman is a stepmother. And he doesn't blame the father for leaving them out in the woods. Of course, I didn't have this context at the time of the incident.
So what did I learn? Well, first of all, don't set unreasonable expectations for your kids. Second, don't make a fun trip contingent on good behavior-- too much pressure. And third, no matter how rude or mean your kids are, you have to stick to your guns. Even if it hurts your feelings to do so. I know our kids will be better off for it in the long run. But geesh-- these little stumbles along the way sure to leave some painful abrasions, don't they?
No trips planned. And I said as much. But their repetition seeped its way into my sleepy mind. It wasn't quite 6:00 a.m. yet. Through my morning haze, I calculated what I needed to accomplish and offered, "Well, we could go see Santa today. . . ." The rest of my sentence was kind of lost beneath their cheers.
Once the excitement calmed down a bit, I explained more. You see, we had to go grocery shopping. And Jason was still sleeping. And two kids grocery shopping is, well, let's just say it's not my favorite thing in the world. On my list of things I could probably live without doing, it's higher than taking the trash out in a down-pour, but lower than emptying the dish washer. So I made a fatal error. I predicated the Santa trip on good behavior grocery shopping. This was an error for two reasons: 1. I wanted to take them to see Santa and 2. I feared I was setting them up for failure-- riling them up with such an exciting promise.
To combat the potential disaster, I started our shopping excursion with a trip to Starbucks, where each child was awarded a cup of chocolate or vanilla milk and a slice of banana walnut bread. And off to the grocery store we went.
They were mostly good. But there were some issues. No one screamed bloody murder in the aisle. Marcie didn't insist we visit the restroom. No one knocked the grocery cart over on top of their sibling. No one ran down the aisle out of site requiring me to go chasing after. Sounds relatively successful, right? The thing was, they constantly whined. And fought. And provoked each other. And when Marcie climbed out of the cart, Casey threw a mini-fit because I wouldn't put him in it. But nothing that would really justify skipping a visit with Santa.
At the end of the trip, we pushed the cart to the car, and Casey began banging it against the back. I asked him to stop. He ignored me. I asked again. No response. I began counting. Still nothing. Finally, I reminded him of our pending trip to visit Santa. No good. Instead of complying, he turned in sing-songy "Nyah! Nyah! Nyah! Nyah!" voice and began imitating me, repeating everything I was saying:
"Casey, knock it off." Casey, knock it off.
"I'm serious." I'm serious.
"Get in the car." YOU get in the car.
"We won't go see Santa." We won't go see Santa.
Finally, I physically placed him in the car. At which point, Marcie immediately turned to me and told me she was being good and could she go see Santa. "We'll see," I mumbled, and stuffed her in her carseat. Where she immediately turned to Casey and said in that same sing-songy, annoying tone: "I get to see Santa and you don't."
Casey wasn't going to sit still with that. "Nuh uh," he replied. "You're not going either." And you can imagine what happened next:
"Yes I am!" Marcie shouted.
"No you're not!" Casey screamed back at her.
And so it went, back and forth, as I placed the grocery bags in the car. Until Marcie hauled off and whacked Casey.
And then Santa was no longer an option. I felt immediately sad-- like they'd robbed me of the experience of watching them with Santa.
Dejected, I climbed into the car and turned on the ignition. It was only 9:00 in the morning and I already felt defeated and beat down. And then the pummeling really began. The afternoon before, when Casey and Marcie were arguing and hitting each other, I confiscated television-watching and Wii-playing privileges for the evening. Casey responded by telling me he wanted to move out, and when he got old enough could he please have a car so he could leave us? It was hard not to laugh, but I admired his attempt at problem-solving anyway.
But that morning, Casey wasn't going to be so easy on me. From the back seat, I heard:
"You're a bad mommy."
I ignored it.
"Are you listening?" Casey asked.
Still ignoring him.
"You're just a bad mommy and you're not nice and you're just gonna die and then Daddy is going to find us a new mommy and she's going to be nice and we're going to love her."
The tears began. Slowly trickling down my face. Then Marcie chimed in:
"Yeah. Bad Mommy," she called out.
We live less than 2 miles from the grocery store. When I pulled into the garage, I turned off the car, and landed pretty much immediately in Jason's arms. Where I told him we had awful kids and I couldn't be around them. Then I slipped into our bedroom, closed the door behind me and began sobbing.
Of course that was an over-reaction. It's just that I wasn't expecting such strong words from my five year old. Or three year old. I was expecting them when the kids were 12, perhaps. But there they were-- a cold, hard slap across the face.
Someone later pointed out to me that when a five year old tells you that you're being a "bad mommy," that is obviously code for "good mommy"-- as in someone who sets boundaries and sticks to them. And of course that's true.
In the end, it turned out Casey was reading Hansel and Gretel at school. He claims it's a story about a bad mommy who sends the kids to the bushes. But then she dies, and the dad who is a (wood) cutter (Casey leaves out the "wood" part) goes and gets them, and they are happy again. Casey never mentions the witch. He doesn't understand that the woman is a stepmother. And he doesn't blame the father for leaving them out in the woods. Of course, I didn't have this context at the time of the incident.
So what did I learn? Well, first of all, don't set unreasonable expectations for your kids. Second, don't make a fun trip contingent on good behavior-- too much pressure. And third, no matter how rude or mean your kids are, you have to stick to your guns. Even if it hurts your feelings to do so. I know our kids will be better off for it in the long run. But geesh-- these little stumbles along the way sure to leave some painful abrasions, don't they?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Did Santa Come?
We unpacked our Christmas decorations yesterday. We put up our Christmas tree while the kids were napping. When they woke up, they hung window-gels. We set out the nativity set and pulled out Casey's fisher-price nativity set. I laid out the stockings on the front table.
I showed Casey on the calendar when Christmas is coming. We counted the days together.
Then Casey went to bed.
This morning, he excitedly shook me awake: Mommy, did Santa come last night?
Me: No, Casey. Santa only comes on Christmas. Remember?
Casey: But Mommy, we have the Christmas tree, there are socks to fill-- remember how he did it last year?
Me: Yes, Casey, but we have to prepare. Remember Santa comes on Jesus' birthday. And it's not Jesus' birthday yet. And we didn't leave Santa cookies. And we didn't put out a carrot for his reindeer. I'm pretty sure Santa didn't come.
Casey: We have to go look, Mommy. Come wiiiiiiith me.
So we head down the hallway toward the front hall. Where Casey pulls out one of the stockings and digs his little arm in, all the way down to the bottom of the stocking. No "stuff." And he starts crying. With real tears.
We walked back over to the calendar and counted the days again.
I know, I should get him an advent calendar. And we will. But really, who could see this coming?
I showed Casey on the calendar when Christmas is coming. We counted the days together.
Then Casey went to bed.
This morning, he excitedly shook me awake: Mommy, did Santa come last night?
Me: No, Casey. Santa only comes on Christmas. Remember?
Casey: But Mommy, we have the Christmas tree, there are socks to fill-- remember how he did it last year?
Me: Yes, Casey, but we have to prepare. Remember Santa comes on Jesus' birthday. And it's not Jesus' birthday yet. And we didn't leave Santa cookies. And we didn't put out a carrot for his reindeer. I'm pretty sure Santa didn't come.
Casey: We have to go look, Mommy. Come wiiiiiiith me.
So we head down the hallway toward the front hall. Where Casey pulls out one of the stockings and digs his little arm in, all the way down to the bottom of the stocking. No "stuff." And he starts crying. With real tears.
We walked back over to the calendar and counted the days again.
I know, I should get him an advent calendar. And we will. But really, who could see this coming?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wedding Bliss
The kids' aunt (and one of Marcie's Godmothers) was married the November 22.
I did not want the children to attend. I was not shy about this wish. I was unabashedly verbal. I do not like having my kids at weddings. Yes, I like being together as a family. But I have a strong sense of what should be grown-up events. And to me, weddings are grown-up events. I will probably feel differently when my kids are both full-swing elementary-aged, but for now, I stand by my view that weddings and kids just don't go.
When my sister was married over the summer, everyone gave her flack for having a child-free wedding. With 6 nephews and a niece, Megan could have had a whole gaggle of cuteness. It took one hour of having all 8 kids (aged 7 and under) at the wedding site to recognize what a terrible idea it would have been. There was so much wrangling and calming and shh-ing-- even just at the rehearsal dinner-- that it was clear the wedding was no place for the kids.
Alas, my pleadings fell on deaf ears and my kids were enlisted to participate in the wedding. To their credit, they were thrilled and excited. Marcie told everyone who would listen about it for weeks. Grandma S and Aunt Tiffy took Marcie dress-shopping for the perfect flower girl dress. Casey tried on "handsome clothes" (a tuxedo). On the day of the wedding, Marcie had her nails done, her hair done-- she was a beauty. And there was no tortured screaming or inappropriate applause (during the rehearsal Casey and Marcie cheered for me and Jason when we read the Prayers of the Faithful). They were . . . well, down-right adorable.
Sadly I have no pictures to share because I left my camera at home, so you will just have to take my word for it.
But getting the kids to the church, well, that was another story entirely.
Despite the fact that Marcie had been so excited about attending the wedding, she did not want to put on white tights. Or the flower girl dress. Thank goodness they pretty much glued her hair to her head because the tantrum she threw would have pulled out any other hair style! In the end, I got her in the dress while someone else (my mom? Jason? I'm not even sure anymore) held her down. And I compromised and let her take off the tights and wear white socks (which worked just fine because the dress was so long).
At the reception, both kids almost immediately stained their fancy clothes with cranberry juice, but Grandma and Grandpa S had pizza served almost immediately for them, so they were quiet and mostly well-behaved during the reception. They only lasted about an hour before Marcie crawled on my mom's lap and began asking Grandma H to pleeeeeease take her home. And home they went.
Yeah, I feel a little bad that my parents had to leave early so Jason and I can stay. But not that bad. They were out here just for the weekend anyway, and on east-coast time. Plus, this way Jason and I could stay and help clean up after the fact.
All in all, a beautiful wedding. Tiffany was gorgeous in her wedding dress. The kids didn't have any public melt-downs. What more could a mom ask for of her 3 and 5 year olds?
Oh and the best was that my mom brought out some photos to share. Of me, at age 3, and my brother, at age 6 (just 2 months older than Casey when the wedding occurred) in our aunt's wedding in the 70s. My brother was in this sweet 70s tuxedo (brown and tan, with a ruffled shirt), and I wore a peach dress that my mom actually sewed. I wish I'd kept it so I could share it here. . . but you'll have to take my word for it. We were groovy!
I did not want the children to attend. I was not shy about this wish. I was unabashedly verbal. I do not like having my kids at weddings. Yes, I like being together as a family. But I have a strong sense of what should be grown-up events. And to me, weddings are grown-up events. I will probably feel differently when my kids are both full-swing elementary-aged, but for now, I stand by my view that weddings and kids just don't go.
When my sister was married over the summer, everyone gave her flack for having a child-free wedding. With 6 nephews and a niece, Megan could have had a whole gaggle of cuteness. It took one hour of having all 8 kids (aged 7 and under) at the wedding site to recognize what a terrible idea it would have been. There was so much wrangling and calming and shh-ing-- even just at the rehearsal dinner-- that it was clear the wedding was no place for the kids.
Alas, my pleadings fell on deaf ears and my kids were enlisted to participate in the wedding. To their credit, they were thrilled and excited. Marcie told everyone who would listen about it for weeks. Grandma S and Aunt Tiffy took Marcie dress-shopping for the perfect flower girl dress. Casey tried on "handsome clothes" (a tuxedo). On the day of the wedding, Marcie had her nails done, her hair done-- she was a beauty. And there was no tortured screaming or inappropriate applause (during the rehearsal Casey and Marcie cheered for me and Jason when we read the Prayers of the Faithful). They were . . . well, down-right adorable.
Sadly I have no pictures to share because I left my camera at home, so you will just have to take my word for it.
But getting the kids to the church, well, that was another story entirely.
Despite the fact that Marcie had been so excited about attending the wedding, she did not want to put on white tights. Or the flower girl dress. Thank goodness they pretty much glued her hair to her head because the tantrum she threw would have pulled out any other hair style! In the end, I got her in the dress while someone else (my mom? Jason? I'm not even sure anymore) held her down. And I compromised and let her take off the tights and wear white socks (which worked just fine because the dress was so long).
At the reception, both kids almost immediately stained their fancy clothes with cranberry juice, but Grandma and Grandpa S had pizza served almost immediately for them, so they were quiet and mostly well-behaved during the reception. They only lasted about an hour before Marcie crawled on my mom's lap and began asking Grandma H to pleeeeeease take her home. And home they went.
Yeah, I feel a little bad that my parents had to leave early so Jason and I can stay. But not that bad. They were out here just for the weekend anyway, and on east-coast time. Plus, this way Jason and I could stay and help clean up after the fact.
All in all, a beautiful wedding. Tiffany was gorgeous in her wedding dress. The kids didn't have any public melt-downs. What more could a mom ask for of her 3 and 5 year olds?
Oh and the best was that my mom brought out some photos to share. Of me, at age 3, and my brother, at age 6 (just 2 months older than Casey when the wedding occurred) in our aunt's wedding in the 70s. My brother was in this sweet 70s tuxedo (brown and tan, with a ruffled shirt), and I wore a peach dress that my mom actually sewed. I wish I'd kept it so I could share it here. . . but you'll have to take my word for it. We were groovy!
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Forget about the terrible twos . . .
After Marcie and I dropped off Casey, she decided she wanted oranges (which Casey had for breakfast and was carrying to school in a ziplock bag) and started to cry. I told her she didn't ask for oranges, and she could have oranges tomorrow if she wants. She started screaming, "I WANT ORANGES!" So I told her that she could stay there on the playground and cry because I didn' t have any oranges, or she could come with me. I walked all the way up the stairs to leave, and then she started to follow me, all the while crying "I want oranges!"
When we got to the parking lot, I took her hand and cross in front of several idling cars. As we neared ours, she broke away and started to scream again about the oranges. So I picked her up to carry her to the car. She began hitting me on the head repeatedly, and in the process she dropped the last bite of her PB&J sandwich. While I held her down in the car seat and buckled her in, she yelled, "I WANT MY SANDWICH!" I told her she was so busy hitting me that she dropped the last bite, and it was dirty, so she couldn't have it.
She cried the entire drive to preschool, mostly wailing, "I want my sandwich!" At one point she told me she was hungry, and I said she should have thought of that before she began hitting me and dropped her sandwich. In between the wails, she repeated spat, screeched and kicked my chair. Eventually she stopped yelling about the sandwich and started yelling, "I WANT DADDY!" I just ignored her all the way to preschool.
When we got to preschool, she refused to get out of the car. I removed her and held her hand as we walked in. Her face was covered in peanut butter and jelly, so after I signed her in, we went to the bathroom, where I washed her face. She'd completely calmed down, but then the minute we went outside toward her classroom, she began crying again: "I want my sandwich!" She refused to walk with me to the classroom. I went ahead without her, and as I entered the room, everyone looked up because we could all hear her yelling outside. I put her lunch away, then told the teacher we were having a rough morning. When Marcie got in the room, she was still screaming and crying. Now she was saying, "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!" I asked why, and she couldn't tell me. I picked her up and told her I was sorry she was having a hard time, that I loved her, and that she had to stay. The teacher told her she could be a special helper and pick out special stickers, and Marcie just screamed back: "I DON'T WANT TO!"
Before I left, I cradled her in my arms and told her again I knew she was mad and upset but she had to stay- and that I still loved her. I put her down, and walked out to her screams, noting the kids in the room covering their ears as we left.
It was the longest 15 minutes I've had in a very long time.
Forget about the terrible twos. Whoever made up that expression never met our kids at age three.
When we got to the parking lot, I took her hand and cross in front of several idling cars. As we neared ours, she broke away and started to scream again about the oranges. So I picked her up to carry her to the car. She began hitting me on the head repeatedly, and in the process she dropped the last bite of her PB&J sandwich. While I held her down in the car seat and buckled her in, she yelled, "I WANT MY SANDWICH!" I told her she was so busy hitting me that she dropped the last bite, and it was dirty, so she couldn't have it.
She cried the entire drive to preschool, mostly wailing, "I want my sandwich!" At one point she told me she was hungry, and I said she should have thought of that before she began hitting me and dropped her sandwich. In between the wails, she repeated spat, screeched and kicked my chair. Eventually she stopped yelling about the sandwich and started yelling, "I WANT DADDY!" I just ignored her all the way to preschool.
When we got to preschool, she refused to get out of the car. I removed her and held her hand as we walked in. Her face was covered in peanut butter and jelly, so after I signed her in, we went to the bathroom, where I washed her face. She'd completely calmed down, but then the minute we went outside toward her classroom, she began crying again: "I want my sandwich!" She refused to walk with me to the classroom. I went ahead without her, and as I entered the room, everyone looked up because we could all hear her yelling outside. I put her lunch away, then told the teacher we were having a rough morning. When Marcie got in the room, she was still screaming and crying. Now she was saying, "I DON'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!" I asked why, and she couldn't tell me. I picked her up and told her I was sorry she was having a hard time, that I loved her, and that she had to stay. The teacher told her she could be a special helper and pick out special stickers, and Marcie just screamed back: "I DON'T WANT TO!"
Before I left, I cradled her in my arms and told her again I knew she was mad and upset but she had to stay- and that I still loved her. I put her down, and walked out to her screams, noting the kids in the room covering their ears as we left.
It was the longest 15 minutes I've had in a very long time.
Forget about the terrible twos. Whoever made up that expression never met our kids at age three.
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