Spinning Yellow

And the Star-Dazzle Award Goes to ....

*** Fair warning that there is going to be some serious mommy bragging in this post.

I might have been complaining in my last post about the monotony of raising kids, but truth be told, I love being a mom.  And more specifically, I love being a mom of two kids.  These two kids.  Two very different children.  They can be quite frustrating and they both have their individual issues.  Well, Scott much more so than Jane, but she's been having some tantrums (and will not, for the love of God, go to sleep tonight) and being a girl does present some inherent challenges.

So, while I have been somewhat discontented lately, this past weekend was really what all parents look forward to.  The good stuff.  The things that our parents think of when they say, "when you kids were young was the best time of our lives."  The things that we look back on as kids and feel proud of.  The stuff of happy memories.

I should now turn the award ceremony over to someone else, not their mom, who might be able to be a little more objective, but it is my blog, so you get my proud momma version:

The Tiny Dancer

First up for her Star-Dazzle award is Jane.  Jane performed in her first dance recital this weekend.  She went to dance lessons all year for this and mom and dad forked over huge amounts of money.  Delilah covered it well in her post yesterday.

I was a bit concerned about the recital after Jane turned into a diva-in-training before the rehearsal, demanding that her hair be done a certain way and that she wear her favorite bright purple, shimmering lipstick.  But she was all business (show business that is) for the recital.  She was prepared and she ate it up like any small girl who gets to dress-up in a tutu should.  She even donned her purple, polka dot sunglasses while strutting into the building as if she was entering her dressing room; posing for photos and asking for her make-up to be reapplied.

As I dropped her off in the cafeteria, which was the holding room for all the performers, she smiled brightly and blew me a kiss.  "Have fun, sweetie!"  "I will mom!" 

My mind raced:  Is she nervous?  Will she cry?  Be overwhelmed?  Pee her pants?  Isn't this developmentally inappropriate to ask a just turned 4 year old child to get up on a high school auditorium stage in front of a packed audience?

But I forgot all of that as the curtain opened and group after group of girls, from 3 year olds all the way up to high school age, danced their numbers.  Many of the children I knew.  And I really started to cry when I saw Kate, clearly enjoying herself doing her routine just like the other girls, as happy as can be.

These kids were super stars!  What a great chance to have the memory of performing in front of an audience.  And Jane?  She was simply perfect.  As cute as a button, following along, twirling in her elaborate get-up.  Smiling, waving and blowing kisses to her fans.  I wanted to run right up on stage with her and hug her to pieces.

I'll be signing her up for next year, when she gets to wear tap shoes and make a lot of noise.  I can't wait.

The All Star Player

Second up, to share the award, is her brother, Scott.  Scott is finishing up his baseball season which completes his second rotation of soccer/basketball/baseball playing team sports.  Even though Scott takes these games very seriously, the idea is to get the children's feet wet in the world of sports.  Basketball this year was the first time that an official score was kept although the coaches still played down winning or losing trying to get the kids to learn how to play and have fun.

But for Scott it is about winning.  And this has been an issue as far as these junior leagues are concerned.  When the basketball league decided to have an all star game, Scott was sure he'd be selected to play, but he wasn't.  Not because he wasn't one of the better players but because it was his first year in the league and the coaches decided to have the older kids participate.

This made Scott's head explode.  The injustice!  Why should he bother to play?  When would he ever be recognized for his talent?

Well, the time has come because he was just offered a spot on the All Star baseball team!  And he gets to play with some of his best buddies from class.  His group.  The ones that he is now asking for play dates with.  My boy!  Is finding his group.  I might start crying again.

Scott has really struggled this spring with anxiety and OCD.  He can be volatile and downright sullen.  But this world of sports?  It is his thing.  His place.  He needs it and he deserves it.

There will be "scouts" there for the 8 year old travel team which he could be invited to play on next spring.  A real, competitive, every game matters type of opportunity.  I know many people think that that is not appropriate for his age.  But I defy them to see him in action and question whose motive it is to play.  He wants this and has been waiting. 

Is it any different than having your little girl perform in a recital?

Scott is the youngest member of his team and he is going to represent them in an All Star game.  He is thrilled.

Rising to the occasion

Scott was not happy about having to attend Jane's recital, but we felt that he should support his sister.  Earlier in the day as he was teasing her, I scolded him saying, "this is her one day, don't ruin it for her."  So, of course, he had to pout and be mad at me.  Matt and I exchanged glances thinking he better not make this moment about him.  It is always about him.  Typical first child.

But he sat through the whole recital without any complaints.  And when it was all over and Jane came off the stage she was so happy to see him there.  He gave her a big hug and congratulated her on her performance.   "Thanks, brother!" she beamed.

Can you see my heart bursting?

For a closing note, your proud momma MC would like to also share this little story:

Matt came home from work late today and was going to mow the lawn.  I had already planned to have dinner at my mom's and the kids were not expecting to see their dad until after they got home.  But he surprised them by coming over as they were eating.

Matt brought over his and Scott's baseball gloves and, in a teasing tone, asked Scott, "Now that you are a big shot All Star player, do you still have time to have a catch with your dad?"

Scott smiled and responded, "I'll always have time for you, Daddy.  Always."

That moment. 

These moments. 

The good stuff.

A New Variety of Wine

Jane and I went on a few errands yesterday, including a trip to the liquor store.  In Pennsylvania, if you want to buy wine or other liquor you need to go to a special place called The State Store.  Beer is purchased somewhere else entirely.  It is a complete hassle.  One of the inconveniences of being a PA resident.

I usually don't go to the liquor store with my children because there is way too much opportunity for them to knock over a bottle of something.  But Jane is pretty good these days in stores and actually quite helpful.  I just wanted to pick up a few bottles of wine, so I headed in.

Jane pushed the cart with me and I searched for specials and known favorites.  I spotted a Chardonnay in a brand of wine we like, but I really needed the Pinot Noir (pronounced pee-no new-are, which is relevant, you'll see).

We continued to walk around and then went up to the checkout.  I held up the wine, with a very distinctive sun logo on it, and asked, "Do you have this in a Pinot Noir?"

We followed the store clerk to the back of the building where some of the red wines were hiding.  As we looked at the shelves, Jane recognized the logo and pointed, "Look Mommy, there's the penis wine you wanted!"

Pinot, penis, whatever.

Even funnier is that nobody seemed to understand what she said but me, who burst out laughing.  I wonder what they would have thought had they heard her!

 

My Last Post About Puke, I Promise

This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good.  A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me.  I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What?  Really?"

We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times.  I sat there incredulously.  She couldn't possibly be sick again.  It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.

When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now.  I'm not sick anymore."

I stared at her.  What the hell was going on in my house?

I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.

Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach.  Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party.  We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.

It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker.  You know the type.  I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.

My sister and her kids are also Pukers.  My sister used to get car sick when we were kids.  We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road.  My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).

Even Matt is a Puker.  Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things.  The next day, it is as if it never happened.

I am not a Puker.  I am more like an anti-Puker.  The exact opposite of a Puker.  The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago.  I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad.  I thought I might be dying.  Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course).  I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.

I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit.  I am terrified of throwing up, actually.  I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.

Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long.  Her usual silly, fun, self.  I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about.  Was it what she ate for breakfast?  Did she stick something in her mouth and gag?  Matt told me to just get over it.  Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.

A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.

"hello?"  I heard on the other end of the line.

"Mom?  Is that you?  You sound terrible."

"I'm sick."  The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.

"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"

"No.  I tried to eat something and I threw it up."

"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest."  Oh, the guilt!

No more, I said!  Now you are picking on Grammy?  That is just wrong!

How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?

 

The Roof, the Roof, the Roof is on Fire!

Since my husband is now working from home, he can do some things during the day that he would not ordinarily.  On Thursday it looked like this outside:

 (can you see the ice on the tree?)


So he decided to make a fire.  Typically on Thursday's, I have a good chunk of the day to myself.  Jane goes to preschool and then Delilah picks her up for a playdate with Annie.  I usually run errands and, you know, do stuff without any children.  I look forward to Thursdays, especially now, during the holidays, when I am busy, busy, busy.  It is a fabulous arrangement. 

Except when Jane refuses to go to school.

Jane didn't want to go to dance class the day before, either.  Since she hadn't missed any classes and had been sick the day before, I let her stay home.  I hate to push about classes.  Maybe it was just an off day.  But the little voice inside my head said don't let her get away with it. 

Then the school thing.  I always say that you have to go to school or go to the doctor.  She screamed and cried and pitched a royal fit.  I finally gave in when she said she'd take a nap.  I figured she must still be sick and put her back in bed.

Normally she loooovves dance and school.  Can't wait to go.  I am hoping it is just some phase.  A combination of being tired, the holiday frazzles, and knowing that Daddy is home.  Lately, she is vaguely aware of time, saying, "is that this year?" when I tell her it is time to go to school.  Or announcing, "it is 17 o'clock, time for dinner!" at 8am.  When I say we have to go to dance, she thinks, when I am ready the class will be there.

I was not happy considering the long list of things I needed to do during the time she was supposed to be occupied.  But so it goes in the world of small children and mothers who think they will actually accomplish something.

As best as I could, I tried not to panic (dance costs a fortune and school is only 5 hours per week for crying-out-loud, you'd think she could go) and attempted to make the day super boring.  Constantly mentioning how she could have been at school having fun, or making a project, or whatever else I could dream up.  Maybe today they went on the stage and it was super fun.  Or it was so-and-so's birthday, I wonder what kind of treat they brought in?

I think she was on to me because she didn't bite at all.  Just asked to lie down and watch TV.

Anyway, Matt saw that she was home and decided to make the fire.  So it would be all cozy at home (he wasn't aware of my no fun plan).  In fact he asked Jane why she didn't go to school and she replied, "it's complicated."  Really.  He was stoking up the fire right around lunchtime when I heard him say, "Oh No!" 

I looked over and there were huge flames in the fireplace, the smoke detectors went off and the room filled with smoke.  Matt told me to call 911, "there's a fire in the chimney!"

I grabbed Jane and rushed over to my neighbor's house.  She has three kids and is great in any kind of crisis.  We heard sirens right away and went to the windows. 

I was glad that I was dressed when this happened, because I am often still in my pj's or a bathrobe.  I kid you not.  If my husband and I ever got divorced, number one on his rather long list of reasons why he was leaving me would be, "does not get dressed all day".

I live in a small town, one where all three fire trucks and several other emergency vehicles show up when you call.  Jane was happy to be playing with the neighbors and all the kids were watching with excitement as the trucks pulled up.  She was rehashing the events to them, "I had to get low and go, just like on Elmo Visits the Firehouse!"

I went back to our house, got the dog and put her in the neighbor's yard, then went to see how bad the situation was.  Turns out there wasn't a fire in the chimney.  It was just a back draft caused by moisture and wind and putting dry, real wood on top of an artificial log (not recommended by fire-fighters, apparently).  They tromped around a bit more and told us to move our Christmas tree back and basically that was it.  My mother showed up at some point because she was a few doors down at a cookie exchange.  "All the ladies want to know what's going on," she said as she slipped in her high heeled dress boots.

Another neighbor, a very nice older lady, was outside shoveling ice off of her walk and came over.  I met her on the driveway and explained the situation.  "Well, good thing your husband is home," she said.  I couldn't help but point out that if he hadn't been there, then there wouldn't have been a fire made at all.

Back at my neighbor's house, Jane was having a ball.  "Did you get my babies from my room?  I hope they are OK!"  she asked excitedly.  Libby, our dog, was running around inside their house, also having a grand old time.  My neighbor told me that Jane might as well stay so I could air out and clean up the house.  Her kids weren't going to school because the afternoon Kindergarten classes had been canceled.

Matt felt badly for Scott that he missed all the excitement.  But it was probably just as well.  He tends to panic.  The next night, while out for dinner in town, we heard sirens and Scott stiffened, "what's that?"  Jane said happily, "it's the police and fire trucks, just like at our house!"  Scott said, "Are we in trouble?  Are they coming for us?"  Yeah, better that he wasn't there.

My husband is embarrassed that he overreacted.  But I don't care about that.  I am only mad because this week, when Jane says she doesn't want to go to school or dance, I can't say, "Why would you want to stay home, it is so boring." 

She knows better.

Bedside Manner

Three year old princess begs for a bigger bed, "for all my stuff", meaning her stuffed animals, books, and whatever else she can bring into her toddler bed.

Parents finally give in and decide to buy her a regular-sized bed.

The whole family goes out on one of the busiest shopping days of the year to purchase a new bed.

Two hours later, two trips to the bathroom and a stop at Starbucks, the family arrives back home with a bed and a frame that needs to be assembled.

Crabby kids watch TV and play video games while parents try to set up bed.

Dad cuts his hand and mom yells at kids.

At 9pm (an hour past bed time) the bed is all fixed up, complete with princess sheets.

Little girl exclaims, "I love it!  Thank-you, Mommy and Daddy.  Thank-you!"

Fifteen minutes later as parents tuck the princess into her new bed, she shuffles around and says she is uncomfortable and scared.

"I want my old bed back."

Dad proceeds to lay on the floor next to the new big bed so that the princess can fall asleep.

Parents wonder why they spent money and time to arrive back where they started.

When I Grow Up

As part of the Star of the Week activities at Scott's school, each child answers questions asked by their classmates.  I saw this when I went in to observe last month.  The other day, seemingly out of the blue, Scott said, "why does the teacher ask what you want to be when you grow up during star of the week?"

"Huh?"

"It is always the last question, after all the kids are done, she always asks it.  How are we supposed to know?  We are only 6 or 7 years old.  I don't know if I want to be a sports guy or something else.  Don't you figure that out when you're like 25 or something?"

"Most people never really know, or change their minds several times.  I guess she thinks by asking she will know more about what you like to do.  But, I agree with you, I never knew how to answer that question when I was a kid, either."  Flashback to me at 10 years old wanting to be a professional baton twirler and my parents crushing my dreams by telling me that there was no such job.

"So, what should I say?"

Sensing that he felt pressured to be honest about something he couldn't answer, I offered an out, "you could say you don't know yet."

"No, she wants you to say something."

"Well, you could say a professional athlete, that's pretty standard for boys your age to say."

"What did you say when you were a kid, mom?"

"I used to say a teacher.  Teachers love when you say that because it means you want to be like them.  That's always a good answer."

"But it was true, right?  I mean you do want to be a teacher some day, don't you?"

How come that kid knows me better than I know myself?

********************************************************

While getting ready for bed, Jane was rearranging the things in her room for the umpteenth time.  I said, "maybe you'll be a decorator someday and fix up people's houses."

"No!  I just want to be a mommy."

"Aww, that's so sweet.  And you have a perfect role model with your mommy,"  Matt said.

"You know, Jane, you can be a mommy and a decorator,"  I chimed in.

"But you're just a mommy," she countered.

What kind of role model am I, exactly?

She's Becoming More Like Me Every Day

Me:  Jane, you need to clean this stuff up.  You can't just leave all your things on the sofa.  Where will we sit?

Jane:  You can sit on the floor, or go in the basement.

Me:  No.  I want to be able to sit on the sofa.

Jane:  But it's too hard to clean it all up.

Me:  Then you shouldn't have put it all there.

Jane:  You have to help me!  I can't do it all by myself!

Me:  Why not?  You put it all there by yourself.

Jane:  I have a headache of this!  All this work.  My leg hurts!  You need to calm me down!

I knew she was maturing before my eyes.  She's learning all my excuses.


** I wanted to write about the dentist visit, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.

Afternoon; Hijacked

Today started out pretty well. 

Yesterday my in-laws brought me brand new furry crocs.  This makes me so happy!!  I love my crocs because they are soooo comfortable and supportive.  I don't care if they are supposed to be fashionable or if they are popular, I wouldn't wear them for that reason.  What I do know is that they are the best pair of shoes I've ever had.  I also love slippers.  I hate cold feet and I don't like to wear dirty shoes in the house. 

Now I have the best of both worlds: fuzzy croc slippers!!!

OK, NaBloPoMo is beginning to wear on me a little, I am too tired to come up with much today, but I am trying...

So, as I was saying, the day started out well because I could pad around in my new shoes.  After Scott got on the bus, Jane and I went to the neighbor's house for a playgroup.  She played happily, I sat and talked.  Then we went home and it started to spiral out of control.

I was busy trying to get together the things I needed before we could run errands.  Plus I had some phone calls to make and get lunch and before I knew it, it was close to 2pm. 

I told Jane we had to get going, she needed to use the potty and then put her shoes on.  She balked.  "I don't have to go potty!  I don't want to go out!  I don't like my shoes!"

"I know you are tired, but we have a few things we have to do, like get something for dinner.  You'll get a lollipop at the dry cleaners.  Come on, we have to get going so we'll be home in time for the bus."

Cue big tantrum.  Yesterday she had a rip-roaring one, too.  In fact, there have been quite a few lately.

She finally calmed down and then peed all over the floor.

Then she didn't want to get dressed.

Now it was too late to do anything more than quickly get something for dinner.  Except she still fought and screamed.  Then she started to cough and wheeze.  Great.

Now I had to sit with her and calm her down before she had an asthma attack.  Yep, the whole afternoon was shot.

I remembered that developmental thing about the whole year time being full of compliance and organized behavior while the half year time is marked by disagreement, angst, turmoil.

This was so true of Scott.  Each year around his birthday in April, he'd be easy to live with (relatively) and then come fall, six months later, it seemed that he was falling apart and miserable.  With Jane it hasn't been as pronounced, but I still buy into this general premise of two steps forward, one step back.  As children are struggling through big developmental changes and leaps, they revert back to less mature behavior in other ways.

I will try to remember this tomorrow.  What is it that she will be doing soon?  What big leap is in store for us?  There must be a large step forward.  Because there sure has been some serious regression.

I Am Showing Her How to Be a Girl

Sometimes I wonder that since Jane is so girly and I am not, where she is figuring out how to be a girl.  She seems to be happy with her girly self and I try to embrace it (as best I can).  As I wrote about before, she loves to pick out her clothes and pretend to do girl stuff like go shopping.  She also likes all things princess, baby doll, pink & purple, and just about anything else that falls under this "girl" category.

Lately, she has been carrying around a purse.  Everywhere.  While playing in the backyard with Daddy, she suddenly had to stop and run onto the deck, looking for her purse.  "Where are you going?" he asked.  "I'm just putting on some lipstick," she yelled back.

Where does she get this from?  I know I am not showing her this stuff, but she just knows.  Sort of like how boys can turn anything into a weapon and start up a battle.  They seem to be born with "boy" and "girl" knowledge.

After Scott's first soccer practice, I was racing around at home trying to get things in order for bed.  It was late and I was mad that Matt hadn't set stuff up before he went out swimming.  "If I had been home, I would have turned on the lights, put out pajamas, fixed up toothbrushes, before I went out!" I murmured as I stomped around putting things in order. 

Scott knew I was mad, offered to help, and generally felt badly for me.  Jane didn't seem to notice and ran around oblivious to my complaints.

After the baths, I set up Jane's nebulizer.  She refused to sit and take the medicine.  I was already frazzled and desperately trying to get both kids to sleep.  A big fight ensued where I ended up yelling at her and chasing her into my room.  I grabbed her arm and forced her back into her room and made her take the medicine.

Once she calmed down and I was tucking her into bed, I apologized.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you.  I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings."

"You hurt my arm."  She held up her arm as evidence.

"That was an accident.  If you hadn't run away I wouldn't have grabbed you." 

I tried again, "I'm sorry."

"Hmmp," she turned her head and looked away.

Incredulously, I tried one more time, "I'm sorry I hurt your arm."

Silence.

"OK, well, I love you.  Goodnight."

"Yeah, I love you too," she mumbled and turned away.

She wasn't going to let me off the hook!  Whenever I apologize to Scott he immediately says he's sorry, too and we hug it out.  I guess she was paying attention to all my stomping around and complaining after all.  So sorry to my future son-in-law.  Turns out, she is learning something about being a girl from me and it's not the pretty part.

The Cute Kid Stories Start Already

First, thank you to everyone who read, commented, sent e-mails, or called about our sad news from yesterday.  I am enormously appreciative of all your kind words, support and friendship.

Second, Matt was offered the job today which means we do not have to move.  More on that later, but this is good news. 

I am staying light today.  Here's a few of the zillions of adorable things that my kids have said or done recently.

Proof that she watches Dora, but doesn't exactly understand it:

On Halloween day, while Jane was prancing around in her glorified bathing suit/dance outfit/princess/fairy dress, I suggested she put on a sweater to keep warm.

Me:  Trying to get her to keep it on.  Oh that poncho looks so great with your costume!  

Jane:  Spins around a little for flair.  Thank-you, my darling.   

Me:  Smiling at her theatrical response. Your welcome, sweetie.

Jane:  Looking up to explain what she said.  "Darling" is Spanish for English.

Me:  OK, sweetie, whatever you say.

Proof that he's all boy:

After Jane's school pictures came home, Scott couldn't wait to check them out.

Scott:  Is that your teacher?  Eying up Jane's pretty, blond, tan, well-dressed teacher.

Jane:  Yes! So proud.

Scott:  Wow.  I would totally have a crush on her if she was my teacher.

Me:  Um, what?!?  Need I remind you that he is only 6!

Proof that she'll be fine even if she doesn't have a sister:

As we rounded the corner on our way to my mom's house and Jane realized that her friend, Annie, lives near by.

Jane:  Annie lives down there!

Me:  Yes, she does, sweetie.

Jane:  She's my bestest friend in the wholest, widest world!  And her sister, Kate, too!  She's my bestest friend in the wholest, widest world, too!

Me:  You are very lucky to have such great friends right here in your neighborhood, honey. 

Proof that boys look out for their mommies:

I recently had to take an antibiotic and had both kids with me when I pulled up to the drug store drive-thru.

Me:  After getting the pills and taking a look at them.  Damn.

Scott:  What?  What's wrong?!

Me:  Oh, I forgot to tell them to give me small pills.  You know, I don't like to take pills and it makes me kind of anxious to think I have to get 2 of these down each day for a whole week.

Scott:  Well, take them back.  You can't do it 14 times if it is too hard!

Me:  I'll be OK.  Grownups have to just deal sometimes.

Each day he asked me if I took the pill alright and then kept count of how many I had left. 

Scott:  It's been 3 days now.  You have 8 pills left.  Almost half way there.

Scott:  Only 4 pills left.  You are doing such a great job, mommy!

Scott:  Wow, you did it, they're all gone!

Me:  Thanks, sweetie!  It helped me a lot knowing that you were cheering me along.