And Baby Sister Makes Three

She's finally here! Norah Genevieve Dressing arrived at 6:57pm on Sunday, December 16th, 2007. She is amazingly beautiful and incredibly sweet. I had forgotten how much you just fall in love with this tiny little new person that has been in your life such a short time, yet you feel like you couldn't live without them.

We are all in awe of her. Ian is fascinated with her tiny baby hands and feet, and Julia hovers over the bassinet begging for a peep out of her so she can scoop her up. She loves to hold her, and Norah is quite a snuggler.

She'll be attending her first Christmas Eve Mass this evening. We have so much to be thankful for.

Merry Christmas to all.

I'm Dreaming of a Marguerita (to the tune of White Christmas)

I'm 5 days overdue. So far, I've tried a lot of "voo-doo" to get this baby out with absolutely no progress. There's the sex (it was like an "I Love Lucy" episode), the bitter cohosh tea, spicy Indian food (which I'm convinced they gave me a white person's number "6"), the evening primrose oil, the walking, etc, etc. On the plus side, I do have a fairly clean house for me, and my laundry is all clean, folded and put away. I got a pedicure on my big swollen piggies, and I'm seriously considering making a hair appointment...why not, it looks like I'm not going anywhere.

I promise that I'll call as soon as something happens. I am getting lots of contractions, but nothing moves forward. Ian was 11 days late too, and he came fast and furious when he did arrive so I'm trying to be patient. All is good. I feel great, and other than lugging around an extra 4o pounds, and having to pee every 10 minutes, things aren't so bad.

I can't wait to meet this little one, and tell you all about it!

Babies Like to Stay in My Belly

The midwife had no good news for me. "That baby is really up there," she explained yesterday, "hasn't really dropped at all." What??? I am having flashbacks of Julia's birth, due on December 7th, born on the 21st. Holy Macaroni, we can't have the same December birthday-4 days before Christmas is bad enough!

She could see my disappointment. "I'm not going to say it won't happen in the next few days, because I've been wrong before, but...." No buts. I want to hear "any day now." She sent me home with an appointment for next week and advice to rest and take it easy and enjoy my time before baby number three arrives. Will I make it to next Friday's appointment?

I'm giving it until this Saturday, then I'm pulling out the big guns: black cohosh tea, castor oil, the new "labor" salad I read about (yes, indeed I "googled" it), sex, evening primrose oil, spicy Indian food. If you have labor inducing suggestions, please send them my way.

Where is My Baby?

Okay, so I'm not "officially" due until Friday, but I am feeling nothing but big and fat. It literally feels like something is stabbing me in the ribs when I try to sleep at night. I have become convinced that there cannot possibly be room for this little alien inside me and that he/she must surely be smashed.

I'm trying very hard not to be one of those really whiny, pathetic pregnant women who waddle around complaining to everyone, but I'm quickly approaching that status. Actually, I have some fun things going on this weekend, and I've managed to get a pedicure lined up at a local salon school with my buddy Kathy, so if I am once again extrememly overdue, I will at least have lovely polished puffy toes.

I know the calls will start coming, "Jayne, how are you doing? Have you had that baby?" Oh, the calls. I do go to the midwife tomorrow so maybe there will be some action happening. I am planning for Thursday to be my last day of work. My co-workers took me out to lunch last week, so now I think they are like, "okay, enough....we'll see you when you've had this kid."

So say a little prayer or mantra today, "Come along, baby Dressing, we're ready for you. The world is ready to meet you."

Check This Out

A few weeks ago my buds and I went to Cowan Lake about 45 minutes North of Cincinnati for a little hiking, cooking, and girl time. It was actually the first time in Ya Ya history that bottles of wine were not only not finished, but several were not even opened. Heavy sigh. Two of us were out of commission with babies on board, and one of us has become an anti-sugar Nazi, but we still love her. Anyway, they designed this really cool mandala patterned Henna on my big ole belly, and it lasted about a week. I was a big hit at my ob-gyn visit on Monday morning! As you can see, I am large and in charge. Hopefully, they sent some female energy my way...

Enough Said

Tasty Turkey Leftovers

I made this yummy soup tonight with my turkey leftovers, adding some vegetables and noodles. It was a great variation on chicken noodle. Although my children were with me in the kitchen and helped chop vegetables, add seasoning, and asked lots of questions about what was going into the soup, they were reluctant to gobble up very much of it. Here's my "recipe." Use what you've got.

Turkey Noodle Soup
1 tbs. chopped garlic
3/4 c. chopped onion
1/2 c. chopped celery
3/4 c. chopped carrots
1/2 c. chopped mushrooms
3/4 c. sweet potatoes--cut into small cubes
leftover turkey slices chopped into soup size bites
3tbs. butter
1 tsp. dried rosemary
1 bay leaf
salt and pepper
dash of sherry
6-8 cups of chicken stock/broth or water (I used 3 bouillon cubes with water)
1 c. noodles (I used ramen, but egg noodles would probably be better)

Saute all the chopped vegetables in butter until the onions are clear. Add the rosemary, salt and pepper, bay leaf and sherry. Continue to saute about 5 minutes, then add stock and turkey pieces. Bring everything to a gentle boil, toss in the noodles then simmer about 10 min. Remove the bay leaf before serving. Makes enough to feed an army.

Two Weeks and Counting

Well, two weeks and 4 days until "D-day"- literally, my due date is on December 7th. But who's counting? Okay, I am...desperately. John took this picture of me on Halloween day just before the kids went out. Overall I've felt really good. I've had lots of energy especially since the weather finally cooled down in mid-October. Even now, a 60 degree day gives me hot flashes at night. Between the constant urge to go to the bathroom, the feeling that something enormous has landed on my stomach and has me trapped, and the overheatedness, I'm not getting great sleep these days. I guess it is nature's way of getting me ready for no sleep.

But I think we're "ready." The tiny baby clothes are washed and folded, and thanks to many friends and family members, we've just about restocked on all necessary newborn items from bassinets to diapers and wipes. My mom and dad visited last week and brought beautiful gender neutral cuddly one piece outfits and gowns that look so tiny, but you know will swallow up a newborn. The kids are fascinated by the miniature diapers and tiny little baby undershirts. Julia has willingly cleared out a drawer in her dresser to make way for baby things until we figure out a more permanent landing spot for this new person. But in spite of having diapers and car seats ready to go, I'm terribly worried that I've forgotten everything. How will I manage all the activity in our lives and keep another person alive with my body? Will I be able to chill? Will my children love this new family member or will there be tears and jealousy and complete and utter chaos? (Yes and no to all of the above).

Well I'm off to get a child from the bus. Just thinking how this will work in a few weeks with a newborn to take with me to the bus stop. C'est la vie!

When the Levy Fails

It is a sad, sad day when you listen to reports about defense contractors being paid twice for the same services, being overpaid, and the outrageous expense that this insane war is costing us as a nation, but many of our public schools do not have enough money to operate. In Cincinnati we've just failed to pass a critical levy that would boost our schools budgets just enough to keep doors open at some buildings, and to help with hiring enough teachers at others. Just last week my daughter's teacher sent home a note saying that she didn't have enough "copy clicks" left to send homework so we would be having longer projects every two weeks (we are now building a diorama of early settlement life in Ohio-can you say stick an ice pick in your forehead...).

And we banked on our city, on the belief that our public schools could again be thriving. When all evidence suggested that we bail on the city, and buy a house in the suburbs like every other middle class couple, we chose to stick it out, and buy our old dream house in the city with ancient windows and old plumbing. And I'm just so angry at our school board, at the idiot decisions that are made, and that the district has chosen to alienate families like ours who care about their kids' education.

I hope we see some change in '08.

That Time of Year

That's a Wrap

My last night class has finally come and gone. I've given the final exam, and I've just got to finish grading and enter the outcomes. Another quarter down. My class of 14 adult students, all fantastic writers and thinkers, have survived an "Introduction to Literature," and much to my surprise many have even decided not to sell back their textbook. Several of my students commented that they finally "got" poetry, and even looked forward to reading more. One guys said he had dreaded taking the class, but now feels like he really wants to read more of our book that we didn't get to in 8 short weeks. They all had best wishes for me and the baby and want to hear news right away in December.

As always, it is both a relief to finish the course, and a bit of sadness too. I think of all the things I wish I'd covered. I worry that the exam was too hard or too cryptic. I worry that I didn't convey enough the beauty of literature, the accessibility of poetry and fiction-the excitement of drama. I worry that I was too easy or too challenging. I think about the two students who didn't finish the course, and I wonder what happened to them.

I'll miss our Monday nights, but I have to admit, I feel like I can finally, mentally get down to the business of planning for this child of mine to enter the world. Some part of me was putting on the back burner until now all thoughts of newborn onsies, bassinets, washing sheets and clothes, and lining up help with my children. It's as though there really wasn't room in my thoughts for Lorraine Hansberry and Spiritual Midwifery. I couldn't prepare for class and think of names. Now I'm ready, and there's 7 short weeks left (if all goes as scheduled). I've got a couple of more holidays to knock out, and I'm home free. The weather is cool, my load is lighter, and I've got plenty to keep me busy while I plan for my life to once again be radically changed forever. If you are planning a child, I don't know if I recommend getting pregnant in March. There's a hot summer, starting school if you already have little ones, a crazy busy fall, Halloween (though there is the joy of going as the Mother of Christ..), Thanksgiving, and I don't even want to think about Christmas shopping or snow when I can barely bend over. But there is the promise of laid back and snuggly winter days with the perfect excuse for not going anywhere, but my own living room surrounded by a warm fire in the fireplace and my little family all around. That image is worth all the planning yet to come. As always, I'll keep you posted.

Let It Rain!

Finally a late summer/early fall rain shower. We were all excited about the storm, however brief. In a summer where we've literally had less than an inch of rain, it was almost as exciting as the first snowfall. Julia and Ian grabbed their rain boots (not much chance to use them during the spring..) and went in search of puddles. They didn't find too many, but they did manage to make up a game that involved Ian throwing rocks trying to hit between Julia's legs as she dashed back and forth in front of him. Really, she could say, "let me throw rocks at you", and as long as she was playing with him, he'd probably go along.



But wow, haven't they grown this summer. And when did they get so dang cute?

Three, it's a Magic Number?

Maybe every mother who makes the decision to have a third child experiences some momentary fear that somehow they are upsetting a cosmic balance in the universe that two children, 4 family members somehow represents. There is a common sense to two children; one for each of us, an organized kind of chaos that seems manageable with working parents, compact cars, and a busy social life. Perhaps that is why as I am rounding third (crawling, mind you) in my final months of pregnancy, I am overwhelmed by sense of panic, and awoken almost nightly by a voice in my head that asks, "what have you done?"
Where is the clarity I had, say, nine months ago, when I was certain that a new family member would bring such joy and equity to our lives. I pictured not the "yours" and "mine" that seems to come with two children, but a sense of "ours" that connotes larger families. Yes, I thought, more does equal more craziness, more time, more money, but more love too. Now, I fear, I have tested the gods of happiness, or at least peacefulness. Just yesterday I watched my 7 and 4 year olds play together for one hour (one hour!) with playdough, designing all sorts of concoctions for their "cooking competition." They were the iron chefs of playdough, and I was the badly dubbed judge lathering on the compliments for taste and creativity as I rocked in the porch swing. While my husband was out of town this weekend, the three of us played Scrabble Jr. and cuddled on my bed to watch a movie that we could all enjoy.
How, I imagine, will such a scene play out in the future if I should be so inclined to send my husband off on a three day golf trip? I am now picturing a screaming infant interupting the lovely and peaceful family game night, and a return to the dreaded Dora cartoons. Or worse, I can see hours of time that my children will spend in front of a television because I will be too tired or too parented out to care. I can just hear my kids echoing my own thoughts about my preparenthood self, "you used to be fun."

I don't know what the future holds, other than a certainty that it is coming, and there will be chaos. But I hope it will be a good kind of chaos, a loud, happy, running to greet me at the door kind of mayhem. There is something amazing and sometimes teeth clenching about watching an older child mature and take on the responsibility of a younger sibling. Sometimes, there is cruelty and jealously, but in the best times, there is a lesson learned about the kind of love and generosity needed to be a kind and helpful human in this world. I get to see glimpses of this in my daughter and son, the way he admires her or wishes to save a half a gummy bear for her, and the way she admits hours later (once the tears have dried) that, "Ian really is a good Scrabble player, Mom." I guess this is my hope for my children, especially my son, getting to be a big brother now, that they get to widen their experience of love and family to include a new person and all the joy, tears, laughter, pain and wonder that this new life will bring to us.
If you are not a truly hopeful person, you might not think that children can make the world a better place. But I do believe in the power of love, and I suppose it is this kind of near sighted optimism that got me here in the first place, and that hopefully will see me through.

First Day Blues

The clothes are laid out, the pencils are sharpened, the glue sticks and composition books are tucked in the new backpack, and the lunch has been packed, but are we ready for school-not by a long shot. I'm not ready for the still dark mornings when I have to rattle everyone from their slumbering warm beds. I'm not ready to say goodbye to long days spent swimming, playing house or more recently playing "band." Second grade seems big and scary, like first grade's frightening sequel. Second grade, when you're not really learning how to read anymore, but reading to learn. Second grade where Julia will turn eight...eight!

How can summer be over? There are so many friends we didn't get around to playing with or places we wanted to go, but never actually got the motivation to get there. And yet...we were busy with a busy kind of nothingness...going to the pool, visiting parks, hanging out with neighbors and family, trips to the lake. But there was that little packet of summer weekly "work" that in the last weeks of May seemed so doable, that now as August rushes to an end, we're scrambling to complete. Week one, roasted marshmallows; week two, tended to growing things in the garden; week three, counted by two's to 100...wait.... hurry, do that one. There never seemed to be a good time to just get down to the business of completing that work packet, what with Hogwarts school and quiddich matches, the Rockin' Twins band performances, and watching the hermit crab for signs of life.

But tomorrow it's back to the grindstone; the 7:45AM (inhumane) drop off, the homework packet, and the new afternoon bus ride that has already become a point of contention. The truth is, I just selfishly want another week. But I know in classic Jayne style, I'd just try to cram it full of everything I thought we should do over the summer, when in reality, they would just as soon run around in underwear all day playing Captain Underpants. After all, you can't really do that in school.

The Dog Days of Summer

What a summer its been. Since our Memorial Day camping trip we've been on one adventure after another. With trips to Lake Tippy in early June for Papa's birthday, and again for a week over the 4th of July, and our first ever all family (23 people!) beach vacation to Hilton Head, we are spent. The dog days of summer are upon us, and we're actually welcoming a few long boring days where we may or may not go swimming, we probably will eat a lot of popsicles, and we most certainly will lament the ever nearing first day of school.

It's been a difficult summer in some ways with tighter budgets from our wonderful family travels, as well as, new and unexpected medical expenses. Worries about money can overwhelm any couple, and cast a shadow on otherwise sunny days. When I look back on this summer, though, I know its not the counting of pennies and often unbalanced checkbooks that I'll remember , but the many "firsts" that I witnessed my children experiencing. I saw them become little fish in the pool this summer, both earning their ankle bands by swimming the length of the pool unassisted. They had their first real beach experience together with their cousins, building sandcastles and digging holes, and "fighting waves" as Ian described his adventures in the ocean. They collected shells, and starfish and sand dollars. They brought back two hermit crabs, Spidey and Hermey, who are still with us two weeks out! Julia went to Girl Scout camp and learned a whole slew of new songs we've had the "pleasure" of hearing for the past six weeks. I'll remember the lemonade stand they had on the day the new Harry Potter book came out, and how they were waving the wands they'd made at the library and wearing their Potter eyeglasses while they served customers. I won't look back and regret the hours I could have spent working or earning more money, I'll think about how lucky I was to spend those incredible hours and days creating memories with my children.

But most of all I'll remember that it was the summer I grew round like a ball carrying the newest member of our family inside me, eagerly awaiting his or her arrival this December when all the thoughts of summer have blown away with the leaves of fall.

Superhero

It has been the year of the Superhero in our house. First, there was the obsession with Superman (somehow in alignment with the movie we never saw...) and now there is a true love affair with Spidey. "Did you know his real name is Peter Parker, Mom?", my now 4 year old asks incredulously. He absorbs these new facts about the webslinging superhero like he's learning his times tables. He throws them on me at the dinner table between handfuls of spaghetti and sauce that he's trying desperately to swirl on his fork. "Um, did you know, that Spiderman was on a field trip, and he was bit by a poisonous spider, but he didn't die, he got web-power, and his feet are sticky and he can climb walls, but he doesn't have x-ray vision, and he doesn't wear a cape because he doesn't fly because spiders don't fly, they just web." He says all this in one breath with a mouthful of spaghetti. But it doesn't really matter than no one can understand him because we've heard it all before,daily,hourly...possibly even more frequently. I now know about even obscure superheros who joined the Justice League apparently after I'd stopped watching WonderWoman cartoons. Jonn Jonze, the martian superpower, Green Lantern, Hawk girl, Flash, to name a few.
But the best is when he creates his own superhero persona, like when he's wearing his rainbow striped shirt and he tells me he's "Colorful Man." (Fighting for truth, justice, and gay marriage?) I guess that's the beauty of the Superhero phase is that children get to believe for a few brief moments or a couple of years, that the good guys are out there fighting evil, and that they are also fighting evil in the backyard with a hose and sandbox shovel. My daughter never went through this phase or it's Disney Princess equivalent of it (thank God, I must say), but I am loving the sense of adventure, and the complete personality and identity shift that occurs when he puts on those spiderman pajamas.

Everything and Nothing

Today was a busy day, not unlike many of our days, but we actually had somewhere to be by 10am. We spent the morning and better part of the early afternoon playing with friends, splashing in the inflatable shark pool until it was completely annihilated, then creating games such as fort with giant golf umbrellas turned on their sides and huge tablecloths draped over. The kids made "tea" with water and grass and clover, and called it "spicy tea" and "bubbly tea" encouraging me to try some. "Just pretend sip it," my friend's little one cautioned, her blue eyes very concerned.

We left and made short visits to the library, where the kids picked out superhero stories and turned their bookmarks in for prizes, and then the grocery where they have those little miniature carts that kids can push around much to the misery of all those childless shoppers. Ian held a package of spaghetti through the store asking if we could light each piece up and make fireworks out of them(pasta sparklers- why didn't I ever think of that! ) "Ian, explained Julia, "that would be very dangerous." "Besides'" she reasoned, "there already exists something like that called sparklers." She says this to him as if he is quite clearly the most idiotic person she has ever met.

Later they both played in the giant dirt hill that has recently become our side yard after my husband picked up about 40 yards of topsoil. The dirt hill has filled many an hour since its arrival, and I'm considering it the top toy of the summer, that is until it rains. I water the plants and watch them play, listening to the games their making up with their little prizes from the library reading program. "This glowing green ball has glowing green powers, Julia," says Ian. "Only your light up ring can stop the green lantern power." Julia gives a nonchalant wave of her ring in his direction.

I love these days that seem filled with everything, but nothing in particular. We were all so tired this evening, getting their baths and watching them compare their dirty feet for whose were the dirtiest, which quickly led to words like butt, booty, poop... you can imagine. I was washing Ian's hair, and as we do at the end of most days, I asked him what the best part of his day was. He looked up at me with his shampoo mohawk and said, "what did we do today, Mommy? Did we stay home or did we go somewhere?"

Camping in the Great Outdoors....or Not

The plan was get out of town as early as possible on Memorial Day weekend and hightail it to Red River Gorge to claim a campsite in the family friendly Koomer Ridge Campground. Hightailing doesn't really happen too often, however, in a house with two kids, two cats, two fish, and two jobs. Needless to say, we arrived at 6pm, to find a big sign at the entrance Koomer Ridge reading, "Campground Full." Bummer with a capital "B" as Julia would say. But within 30 minutes, we'd found a sweet little cabin at a more than reduced rate because it had no AC (hello, have you been in my house?), and it turned out to be the next best thing to sleeping in the great outdoors.

So for three days and nights, we hiked, we went wading in the Red River, we caught "crawdaddy's", we explored caves, and we roasted marshmallows over an open fire. But we also returned after long, hot and exhausting hikes to soak our dirty selves in the jacuzzi bathtub and eat scrumptious meals on the screened-in porch. We built puzzles on the floor, and stayed up late playing cards, and snuggled up on the big pull out sofa to read books before bed. The kids even slept in the tent on the deck because they wanted the outdoor experience. John and I were spoiled with a big king size bed in the upstairs loft, and when the kids piled in the next morning, we had more than enough room. We made big breakfasts, and drank coffee, glorious coffee, not full of grinds or over perculated from the fire. It was heaven.

I know I would have been a good sport about camping in the tent, that is as long as it didn't rain, and I'm sure we would have heard a few more sounds of nature sleeping under the stars. But I have to say, there is something much more vacation-like about cabin camping. It's like having your cake and eating it too. There was none of the edgy crabbiness that sneaks in after a couple of days of peeing in the woods, and not getting a shower. We will return again with our tent and all our gear, but it was nice on this holiday weekend to do what weekends and holidays are meant for: have fun, relax, spend time with family and friends, and oh yeah, eat lots of s'mores.

Time Flies

I can't let April slip by without one more post. Where have the weeks gone? It's hard to believe we're turning the corner on another month and heading shamelessly towards summer. Another spring is slipping by too quickly. My children ran around all weekend in shorts and bare feet aclimating their summer knees and toes. There are jars and butter dishes filled with dirt, leaves, caterpillars and worms all around the outside of the house. On an especially good day, they found a huge woolly worm, all black and fuzzy and prickly. They kept him in a jar showing him off to neighbors and passersby like he was a carnival act. I swear they would've charged a fee to check him out if they could.

This is what has happened to April: finding bugs, cutting grass, planting sunflower seeds, taking walks to the park and getting caught in a spring downpour (we've had to be rescued twice). We've spent hours in the backyard rediscovering plans we laid last summer, "Look the hollyhocks came back," identifying the fuzzy leaves of Black-eyes Susans, and watching the giant leaves and vines emerge from the pumpkins we discarded in the compost last fall. We planted a potato patch, our first one, and the kids check daily to see if any green sprouts have pushed their way through the soil. We're already fantasizing about the new potatoes we'll roast on the grill this summer.

So tomorrow begins May-bring on the flowers from the showers. It's the derby, Cinquo de Mayo, the Indy 500, and the 4th birthday of my little guy. He tells me all the ways to make 4, "three and one make four, Mom, and two plus two make four." But none of it adds up to me. How can 4 years have gone by since I raced with swollen ankles into that hospital, barely making it in time to give birth to my beautiful boy? I'd like to slow down these days, and worry a little less about what's not getting done. Time flies; it races along and it doesn't care who it sweeps up in its path. But we can in our little ways attempt to slow it down. We can spend a Satuday turning over rocks and finding bugs and salamanders; we can stop mulching and throw the ball; and we can run and laugh in the spring rain. Who knows, we might even spot a rainbow.

Let me remember this day

Today was one of those incredibly warm and beautiful spring days when you could literally see and hear the flowers and plants emerging from the soil, the curled tops of hostas peeking through mulch as if to say, "here we are, we made it." It's the beginning of the season where everynight is bath night because the kids are so dirty from playing in the sandbox and digging in the mud, eating popsicles, then digging some more.

And on this glorious day that topped out near 80 degrees, what does my 7 year old want to do, not play, not go to the park, she wants to.....do research. Yes, you heard me. She has started this elaborate poster board project on "Sunflowers" complete with seeds, pictures, drawings, types of of sunflowers, and a poem that is just too cute and funny not to post (with her spelling, of course).

Sunflowers

by Julia Dressing

Sun flowers are very pretty.

They are soft like a kitty.

Sunflowers are very long

almost like a wooden tong.

Sunflowers are very big

Kinda like a twig.

Sunflowers are very yello

Like a yello fello, but just

Sun flowers

Mind you, I'm not complaining, I realize that she could be watching a Mary Kate and Ashley (pre-rehab) video, but I am just a bit taken aback by the urge to research on one's own, as opposed to say, riding your bike or just laying on the grass looking at the clouds. So there she was, her toothless self, still in her school issued gym uniform, taking notes from the Better Homes and Gardens Encyclopedia of Plants, books sprawled out on the living room floor, scissors, tape (a household favorite), and markers all ready for the final assembly. She is all arms and legs, this growing girl of mine, and I have to smile at the furrowed brow and the splash of freckles across her wrinkled up nose as she concentrates. You can almost hear the neurons crackling. "How do you spell mammoth," she calls into the kitchen where I'm seriously considering a dinner of chips and salsa for me, pancakes for the kids. "Mam-moth," I sound out, watching Ian from the kitchen window as he does an upside down move on the monkey bars.

Later as I'm doing the end of the night clean up, I come across her near finished product, and I'm moved by the carefulness she took to tape the sample seeds in place, and by how she searched for just the right words and pictures, and crayon colors to complete her "research." I wish that I'd stopped cleaning and bustling around long enough (or stopped eating chips) to really listen and look at what she was doing. I fought the urge to go into her room and sit on her bed like I did when she was tiny, just to watch her sleep. I'll remember, I told myself. I'll tell her tomorrow how amazing she is, and how amazing her project turned out. I'll remember, I told myself, to pull her onto my lap more often even though her legs reach the floor now. I will remember to giggle more, and worry less. I will remember to hold hands and jump rope. I will remember to sit down on the floor and listen. I will remember; she is a marvel.

Do We Take Our Children too Many Places?

Sitting around with a group of friends last night at bookclub, we began talking about how often we take our kids to the museum center, the zoo, and parks all around town. Nearly everyone had memberships to several kid-oirented places. We agreed that part of the rushing and running was because we didn't always want to be in the house with kids, but it did make me question the sanity of the excessive trips. Would any outings seem special if they got to do them all the time?
Do we take our children too many places? I thought of my own childhood where I can remember specifically the times we went to a waterpark (the Wally-World experience with Aunt Mary, how could I ever forget it), or to a park for a company picnic or post-season team celebration. I remember standing in line at the World of Wheels carshow to get the autograph of Chachee from Happy Days. But what I mostly remember about my childhood is riding my bike to the library, spending hours reading, playing outside with neighbors or siblings, and making up our own games (like "let's throw our flip flops onto the roof of school 61").
So I'm not sure where this constant urge to never let my children have a dull moment comes from. I think like many parents in today's culture, I just want my kids to have a fun childhood. In the midst of so much pain and turmoil in the world, I want to create this environment where their lives are untouched by suffering, maybe even the suffering of boredom. Yet, I think it's those moments of simple, childhood wondering and thinking, that our kids might be missing the most. It's not like my children are constantly asking me to take them places, it's my impulse to entertain; I want them to remember going to cool places, and getting to pet iguanas, climb rock walls, and explore nature.
But maybe none of these events will stand out for them because there were so many parks and places too often. Somebody's probably written a book about this already.
I do wonder, though, if that World of Wheels show is still around. Maybe I should take my kids....

Signs of Spring

The past 5 days have been amazingly warm, and all around us are signs that the world is coming back to life. The forsythia is blooming its wild, golden beauty all over the hedges and streetsides of our neighborhood; the daffodils are nodding their yellow heads, and the trees are bursting with green buds getting ready to share their glory. The kids found their first large, prickly wooly worm and promptly trapped him in an old salsa jar. When he was looking a little lifeless after a few hours, I suggested we transplant him back to the yard. "Yeah, Julia said, "I really don't think he likes that leftover salsa smell."

The kids have grown too much over the winter, and their long pale legs look overgrown in last summer's shorts. Already we've had bike wrecks, and big wheel mishaps, to welcome the arrival of "summer knees." Everyone needs new sandals and haircuts (the yard needs a haircut too!)-we look as though we've been hibernating for the past 3 months, and it feels like we have. With sadness, we said goodbye to the hundred year old maple tree in our yard that barely survived last winter, and didn't make it through this one. Our house looks exposed somehow without that giant protection of the massive limbs. Unfortunately, we worried about one of those limbs taking out a car or our living room, so the tree had to go. We're left with a massive pile of mulch and enough fire wood for the next three winters. Every kid in the neighborhood has been over to dig in the mulch and climb the huge log piles.

Still, I'm glad it's spring with all of its changes, new insights, and new stages. It's a time of renewal. Ian's been learning about flowers ("I saw some blupines," he yelled the other day), and especially gets excited when he finds a patch of buttercups. As we were walking into my office building a few days ago, he saw a handful of bright yellow daffodils. "Look", he shouted, "this place has grown up buttercups!"

Do Overs

When my siblings and I were kids we devised a complex series of rules for most of the backyard games we played. First base was the tree stump, home plate was the rose bush, you got an automatic double if the ball went over the neighbor’s fence, and you got an unlimited number of foul balls. A serious screw-up like missing the kickball completely with your foot during the pitch would usually result in someone calling out, “do-over!” meaning you got a second chance with no penalty. What was great about the do-over is that you got to pretend like what just happened could be erased with the possibility of a much improved second attempt.

I can’t tell you how many times with parenting that I wish similar rules applied. After an afternoon of feeling crazy frustrated about the constant bickering among my children and my waning patience for their steady demands, I wish I could holler out, “do-over” and erase the mean-spirited responses I’d given them throughout the day (what part of “no you can’t have a candy cane for breakfast” is confusing?”). After my half-assed attempts at seeming interested in the umpteenth living room demolishing game of “Fort-Building” when I really want to read my book on the couch, I would shout “do-over.” Wouldn’t it be great if we could rewind entire days and spend a Saturday in our pajamas instead of hustling around from one swim lesson to another library program? Wouldn’t we use our best parenting skills if we could do-over our reaction to a tired, cranky child at bedtime? Sometimes (when I’m particularly weepy) I want to do-over entire years, like the first years of their lives when I just refused to be a different person although I really knew that motherhood had changed me a great deal, mostly for the better.

But there are no do-overs in life, just great big learning curves that we look back on with twenty-twenty vision. All we can really do is be mindful; mindful of our thoughts and actions, mindful of our children’s feelings and needs, and mindful that we are painfully human. We often need reminded that it’s important to balance our own needs (adequate sleep, date nights, reading that book on the couch) so we can be our best selves. Yet guilt seems to be the hallmark of our generation of mothers; we never feel like we’re doing enough, but when we’ve had enough, we feel terrible about it. I don’t remember my mother or my friends’ mothers ever seeming particularly sad or remorseful about how they parented; they just did what they had to do with few apologies. They eventually learned, as we are learning that there are no do-overs in motherhood. Sometimes we strike out; sometimes we hit a home run, and most of the time our children know we’re doing our best. Perhaps that’s the beauty of hindsight.

T.G.I.F.

What a week! I'm so glad that it's Friday. We have been through dinner table tantrums over serving Indian food, a major wreck on the big wheel, a morning spent volunteering with preschoolers, a corporate spelling bee, the Friday morning meltdown, and the homework packet from hell for my first grader.

I don't know about you, and of course I vaguely remember 1st grade, but does anyone else recall being asked to name how many vertices do each of these shapes have? Does anyone know what a "vertices" is? My husband and I had to look up the word. It is the plural of vertex which is bad enough, but in layman's terms (not first graders) it means, "corners." As if identifying wasn't bad enough, she was then asked to draw several shapes containing more than 4 vertices (I challenge you to draw one). Let's just say, things got ugly. At nine 0'clock, after 3 hours of homework (granted, she is supposed to do a little each day over a week's time), I finally cried, "uncle," and insisted she go to bed. What is up with first grade? I'm of two minds about this homework deal. One the one hand, I might have passed Geometry if I had this kind of primary school preparation, but on the other hand, I don't really want her to get a complex about not being able to read or interpret the instructions for her first grade homework! As my mom is fond of saying, "they're making kids too smart these days", like there is some kind of mad-scientist curriculum dude plotting to take over the world by filling the brains of preschool kids with words like "nocturnal" and "vertices."

I'm just sad that the two glorious days of sunshine we this week are gone like the wind, and we back to this Marchy Madness weather. I wanted to have a Friday morning meltdown of my own this morning when I rushed out into the (now dark) morning into 30 degree weather. Thank Goodness for Friday and for green beer tomorrow. Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Autonomy

What I want more than anything right now for my children is a sense of autonomy-a self-confidence that says, "I can do it." What I'm getting a lot of these days is, "I need help," "I can't," "You do it." I'm not talking about buckling the seat belt or putting the toothpaste on the brush (well, okay, I am talking about that too), but something larger, something that starts now in childhood where I have to do some letting go, and accepting that things will be far less than mediocre much of the time. I have come to realize that one of the hardest things about parenting is that I'm not ultimately responsible for every outcome in my child's life-good or bad. It is incredibly difficult not to rush in and solve problems, like the big homework project when a child has made poor choices about how they've spent their time, or when a child is obviously putting his shirt on backwards or the shoes on the wrong feet. We don't want children to ever have a rough spot in childhood these days, even if it means they are gaining a sense of independence.
I hear many conversations at the University where I teach that involve faculty and staff talking about "helicopter parents." I've been shocked to hear about parents who call their young adult student's professors to explain absences or register for their classes or ask to speak to their advisors. They were so afraid their kid would screw something up that they were still, with children 18 and over, making sure that didn't happen. And it occured to me that it doesn't start in college; it starts with allowing the first grader to take responsibility for homework that isn't complete or for encouraging a 3rd grader to ask for directions in the hall rather than walking him to his classroom everyday. It starts with feeding them what the rest of the family is eating, and reminding them that they're not going to like every meal in life. Autonomy is not to be confused with letting the child make all their own choices (no, bedtime is not an option), but it is about encouraging children to be responsible, to learn from mistakes, to take ownership of their ability to dress themselves, feed themselves, trust their instincts, and be self sufficient individuals. And ironically, this begins with the simple acts of brushing their teeth, washing their hair, dressing themselves. And no, they may not reach all the molers, rinse out the conditioner, or even pick out matching socks, but allowing them to do these things sends them the message that they are growing, they are learning, and they are capable.

Fake Food

If you’ve spent much time in a grocery store lately, it may occur to you that no one seems to eat real food anymore. Aside from the ever-narrowing display cases of fresh produce, meat, and seafood, there are endless rows of prepared foods in the frozen, dairy, and even more mysteriously, the non-refrigerated sections of the grocery store.

New items appear daily to tempt us into joining the dark side- the slippery slope if you will, of heat and eat. I must admit, I do desire, though am conflicted about, the fully prepared rice dishes and enchiladas at Trader Joe’s. I ask myself, “how hard is it to make some rice and add a few veggies and spices?” Oh, but the wrapping is so lovely (and the thought of dinner in minutes).

But I digress…back to the fake food. The following is a list of items that have made their way into my household mostly by way of my indiscriminate husband who does the bulk of our grocery shopping, and takes on these foods like a new lover. Often I find them in the refrigerator or lining our basement storage shelves staring at me from their over-packaging:

Mandarin oranges (can we really call this fruit?)

Gogurt (I believe this is a liquid form of cotton candy-I think Cotton Candy is actually one of the flavors)

Shrek cereal (giant size Shrek heads made out of marshmallow-need I say more?)

Easy mac (was regular mac all that hard?)

French toast sticks

Frozen Skyline chili

Frozen guacamole (????)

Mandarin oranges suspended in orange jello

Bob Evans egg and biscuits (he didn’t even have a coupon!)

Fully cooked bacon (this is grounds for divorce)

I can’t believe my husband and I exist in the same universe sometimes, let alone raise two small children together. But seriously, these are among the mildest of examples of the levels people will stoop to avoid cooking or preparing food altogether. I have seen, though thank God, my husband hasn’t purchased, fully prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Are there people that lazy? I wonder if this is so kids can just feed themselves. Even so, most three year olds can spread some peanut butter and jelly between two pieces of bread.

Maybe there needs to be an organization started to save real food-to prevent the fall of civilization-a La Leche league of real food advocates. How long until someone thinks it’s a good idea, maybe when we use up all the land that used to be fields for growing food, to create some fake version of apples or spinach or other raw foods. My fear is that we’ll we walk around years from now saying, remember oranges, remember peeling an orange, and our kids will look at us like we said, remember eight tracks.