Another Christmas Miracle

It is the first day of winter break. And I actually made it until noon before yelling at my kids....

Our Christmas Miracle

We put up our Christmas tree two weeks ago, and nothing has been broken.

I know it doesn't sound like much, but in my book it is nothing sort of miraculous. There was a sort of frenzy during the trimming, fighting over the ladder and the red balls. And an insistence on having a critical mass of ornaments on just one of the branches. But somehow, afterwards, the kids have been able to keep their hands off of the ornaments. Nothing sort of incredible.

Last year, we had to keep anything breakable up at least five feet. Other years, we didn't even take the breakable ones out of the box. But this year, anything goes. And so far, it stays.

With every painful stage of parenting (remember the blow out poopy diapers, kids running away in the grocery store, the screaming tantrums at the coffee shop) you know it will pass. But still you are kind of mystified when it does.

Ok, and a little sad too. But still, I'm glad to have the ornaments intact.

Hi Kim!

Thanks for reading! This whole Kindergarten search has been such hell that I can't even write about it. But it was so fun running into you. And hearing that even though I'm not really a writer anymore - you're still a reader. Happy belated birthday! I hope we both get kindergartens we like, and can carry on with our lives....

It was a Literary Halloween

Miles was the Man with the Yellow Hat, and Mia was Daisy Head Mayzie, from a Dr. Seuss book that practically no one but my family has ever heard of.... And Mike was Caps for Sale but they were pretty tippy so we don't have a very good photo.

Earthshaking Events

I had two big earth shakers this week.

First, at soccer on Monday, the coach made a point of coming up to me and telling me how much Miles had "matured" since he had him in the spring. Which is pretty amazing given that Miles is coming from a full day of school including a walk over the hill to a dance class... so he's pretty wiped out by the time he gets to soccer. Anyway, this is the first time that anyone has given him a compliment like that. And I have to say, I liked it!

The second one is that we had an actual earthquake. A big one. A long one. Mia was already asleep and I was lying down with Miles in his bed and the room began to rattle, rattle, rattle. Miles asked what it was, and I told him, and it just kept going on and on. I was just starting to wonder if we were going to end up needing to sleep in the play structure out back when it stopped. Phew. And then the questions started....

The Mom Job

There was an article in the New York Times today about The Mom Job - which is a plastic surgery package for women recovering from childbirth and includes "a trifecta: a breast lift with or without breast implants, a tummy tuck and some liposuction."

The rationale, according to a Dr. Stoker is, "The severe physical trauma of pregnancy, childbirth and breast-feeding can have profound negative effects that cause women to lose their hourglass figures. Twenty years ago, a woman did not think she could do something about it and she covered up with discreet clothing. But now women don’t have to go on feeling self-conscious or resentful about their appearance.”

I couldn't believe what I was reading. Ok, so first off, I've never actually aspired to an hourglass figure, nor I guess have most of my friends. And I'm damn sure I didn't have one prior to children. So I have a bigger stomach now. And lost some of my boobs (which I really couldn't afford to). But what's the big deal? How come we can't all celebrate our motherhood? Aren't these really badges of honor? I'm not saying that I want to see a lot of post-pregancy bellies hanging out of a midriff shirt, but I hardly think we need to opt for discreet clothing. Sure I'd like to be in better shape. But I have better things to feel self-conscious or resentful about. I'm trying to be a parent, not a beauty queen.

Tonight when I was drying my hair after an evening shower, noticed that I had about a thousand grey hairs. Which I've written about before. A couple of years ago I got highlights, then realized I couldn't keep them up and ended up lowlighting it brown and just letting it go. I started thinking that after a three year hiatus that it might be time for some highlights.

So what's the difference then, really? If I truly don't care, then why color my hair. It's a slippery slope....

Sicko

Last night Mike announced that he wasn't feeling well and that he was going to bed at the same time as the kids. Of course we have Miles' birthday presents to wrap, a cake to make, a camping trip to pack for and the usual kitchen clean up and laundry to fold. And today he spent the morning lying in bed.

I should be sympathetic. But I'm not. I'm usually mad. When I'm sick, I still have to keep going. But somehow he has carte blanche to fold up and take his toys and go home. So I usually stalk into the bedroom and ask he needs anything, and if I bring him water or something I stomp all the way up the stairs.

Murphy's Law

So I got some contract work and wouldn't you know it, within seconds Miles was running a fever and has been for three days. And isn't terribly interested in watching TV (although the lure of watching Beauty and the Beast -which is too scary for Mia - was enough to buy me 90 minutes this morning). And insists on playing with legos which means every ten minutes he screams with frustration and I have to go help reattach skyscrapers and vehicles that try to defy the laws of balance and gravity. So I've been working all morning to what probably adds up to about 20 minutes of billable effort.

A million years ago when he was five months old and I was going back to Microsoft from maternity leave, he got an ear infection and kept me up the entire night before.

Of course!

The End of the Affair

We had a special visitor this week -- the Binkie Fairy came to our house. On Tuesday night (the night that Mia had designated) she put all of her binkies into an bowl and told me that "tomorrow I'm going to be a big girl." And then she went to bed. It took FOREVER for her to fall asleep - for 45 minutes I laid down on the trundle bed next to her, until she is finally asleep.

Having been through this drill before - in June - I knew enough to take the binkies and hide them then and there so she couldn't wake up in the middle of the night and dig in. She woke up in the middle of the night - as usual - and got into bed with me. In the morning we were snuggling and as soon as I mentioned her present she was up and running. A Barbie Car! And child-size cooking utensils!

But here's the amazing part - she hasn't asked for them again! Badly timed, we needed a babysitter on Wednesday night and when she arrived Mia told her that she didn't have binkies anymore. And went to sleep without a peep.

Even today, when she had two different crying fits, instead of chanting "Binkie Baa, Binkie Baa" as she has for the past few years, she just asked for Baa.

Could it possibly be this easy?

Helpless

We just found out that our friend has cancer and all we want to do is help, but we're not really sure how. So we're just sending out our most positive thoughts into the universe.

Passions

The past two years have been very intense with schools and stuff (and unfortunately there's no chance of it letting up for the rest of the calendar year) and although I've been lucky enough to get into a slight yoga routine, I'm still feeling like I haven't had enough time for ME.

But here's the problem. I'm still suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. Because when I start thinking about what I want to do with the ME time when I get it, I don't really know.

Yoga, that's a given.

Write the book I always wanted to? That's maybe too hard. Although I'm happy to say that after four years I'm up to ELEVEN pages.

Make more jewelry or knit Mia another poncho? Nice, but doesn't feel like much of an achievement.

Volunteer work? Nice, but my last effort, although successful, has completely burned me out.

Cooking? I'll admit that other than yoga and wine it is one of the only things that is keeping me going. But my aspirations aren't really much higher than adding some variety to our life. I'm not really motivated to learn a souffle or fancy sauce. (Although my scrambled eggs did benefit hugely from a quick perusal of Julia Child.)

One of my friends is learning Spanish. Which sounds nice, and I could practice with our babysitters or Miles when he gets to school. It would be even more fun to learn a language I could practice in a destination that I really want to visit. But that would be France or Italy, and none of our babysitters speak those languages.

Several months ago I read an article in the New York Times about a new moth that is preparing to attack California agriculture. It was found for the first time in the state by a retired eptymologist (?) or moth expert, who had a net set up in his backyard for ha-has.

And it made me a little sad. Not so much for the agriculture, I'm sorry to say, but for myself. If only I had devoted myself to a life of moths, I could have been the one in the New York Times. If I had devoted myself to a life of, well, anything, I could be in the NYT for that thing.
Even Mike, who isn't likely to be in the NYT for any of his passions, is at least very good a few things -- skiing, fishing, to name a few. But me, I'm still working on my triangle pose, trying out new recipes from Cooking Light, driving my children to school, and wasting time on my computer.... I can't even say I'm an amazing mother or friend. Oh well. Tomorrow is another day!

Mia's Babyhood

Mia is a little over three now, and she's on the cusp of some pretty big changes. In some ways, she's a very big girl. She knows most of the letters of the alphabet and what sounds they make (many more than her brother who is a year and a half older, I might add). She can sort of write her name (which is cool even if it is only three letters). She's also doing amazingly well at swimming. She's completely settled into preschool, and is generally too busy to even kiss me goodbye.

But in other ways she's still a baby. She still takes a binkie. Basically whenever she can get you to give it to her. And she sleeps with a diaper. Which is pretty full in the morning. (I won't talk about how she fell asleep and peed on the seat of the airplane last week except to say that I felt terrible about the next passenger...). And more often than not, she sleeps with us!

Sometimes, especially when I look at that dirty binkie or go to Walgreens for more diapers, I want to hurry her along into girlhood. Haven't we had babies long enough? But then I realize how fleeting and fragile her babyhood really is, like a soap bubble that is floating off through the air... And I want to pull her into my lap, sniff her hair and hang onto every last moment.

The Elements of Style

You know the woman I'm talking about - you see her in the grocery store and her bag perfectly coordinates with her jacket. And her hair is clean, and her nails are perfect. Or out at the museum and she has on a plain white shirt and a stunning stone necklace. Sometimes she might be your friends, and she has the perfect outfit for every occasion - playdate, wedding, dinner out. She might partake of the current trend, but somehow she rises above it. The trend fits her, she doesn't fit herself into the mold. There's one thing all these women have in common. They don't worry if their sweater matches their shirt, or if their flats look good with a skirt of if they have on the right type of hose. They know that they make it right. The are surrounded by a force field of confidence.

Let's face it. You can't buy style. You are either born with it or not. Unfortunately I was not. Try as I might, I'm always just a little off. And I can't even tell you how many times I've been to a wedding, or preschool event, or book club meeting and wished about half way through that I'd worn something else. It's hard to believe but my first job was at a fashion magazine, and one of my responsbilities was to help write fashion guides. This experience taught me how to spot style, but somehow I didn't acquire it for myself.

My vision for myself was somewhere along the lines of Grace Kelly with Audrey Hepburn's clothes. It would have been great. And for a long time I thought that if I just grew my hair out, or had a shopping spree at Banana Republic or got a makeover, I'd suddenly have it.

So last month it occured to me. I'm over 40. If I don't have it now, I'm never going to get it.

It didn't stop me from getting that shirt at Banana Republic though...

Invisible Mom

Sometimes I feel like I'm invisible. Friends that only talk to you about carpool and playdate logistics. Children that whine about dessert. Potential babysitters who take days to return your call (or don't call back at all). Even worse, potential employers who don't return your call.

But now I have the best one yet. We had part of our house painted back in May. The job is 95% of the way done. And the painter isn't returning my calls. But here's the kicker. I owe him $1,500. And STILL he won't call me!

California Boy

My friend Claire just reminded me of something Miles said recently. He saw her husband smoking and said, "That man's on fire!" She said he's a real California boy!

This isn't the first time I've been struck by how different my kids' upbringing is from mine. I never had Mexican food until my twenties. (And it made me very sick). My kids have quesadillas at least once a week. And Mia loves black beans. Sometimes I'll give my kids half an avacado with a spoon with their dinner. When I was growing up, my mother sometimes bought avacados at our upstate New York grocery store and they sat on the window sill like little green bricks for months until we could eat them. And - of course - my kids learned how to do downward dog at age two at their daycare yoga class.... while the first time I did yoga was at the ripe old age of 34!

Mia's Addiction

When Mia was born my Mom gave her a soft white lamb - the kind with a head but a flat body (reminiscent of a bear rug) that functions as a blanket. Miles already had the doggy version of this toy - which he loved - so we named it Baa and kept it in her bassinette with her. Marcia, our babysitter, used to sometimes wrap her little fists around Baa's ears.

But then something happened. At some point Mia decided that she liked Baa's stubby little tail better than her soft pink ears. And she decided that what she really liked about the tail was the way it felt when she rubbed it under her nose while sucking on her binky. Even better if it was dirty. Better yet if it was moist from her snot.

As she has grown older, I have found her rubbing Baa's now-grey tail on other body parts. Her toes are a favorite. So is her vagina.

Sometimes, as a mark of affection, Mia will offer you a rub of Baa's tail. Sweet and yet disgusting at the same time. I have made a point of washing Baa once a week. (Sometimes difficult to schedule because it needs to be during a time when her presence is not mandatory for an hour). But still she has a smell that is best described as "unique."

What I have found so interesting about this addiction is that Mia's need for Baa has not diminished as she has grown older. But as her ability to vocalize her needs has grown, she has been able to express this need much more.

For example, as we're about to part with Baa - either because we have to put her in the washer or leave her in the car before we go into the grocery store - she'll often say "I just need two more tail rubs."

She recently started preschool and I was wondering how the whole transition would go. She's had free access to Baa all day at her daycare. I bought her a backpack big enough to hold her lunch and Baa in case she needed to bring her. But I was reluctant to let Mia know she could bring Baa, because I'm afraid that if she gets into that habit in two years we'll be having a tug of war outside the kindergarten gates. Or she'll be sneaking her into her locker in 7th grade.

When I brought her home after her first day she was tired, tired, tired. And she lay down on the floor with Baa and binky. When I told her that she needed to pee and wash her hands after an outing (our family rule) she said, "I just need some tail time."

Don't we all?

The Greying of Me

For a long time whenever I saw a grey hair I would yank it. But after awhile I started having so many that I was afraid if I kept yanking I'd end up with a little halo of stubble across the top of my head as the hair grows out. So now I'm just watching it grow trying to decide whether I want to get back on the highlight treadmill.

My understanding of grey hair is that it comes out of your head grey. A perfectly fine, brownish blonde strand doesn't suddenly go grey over night. So I was quite surprised tonight, when brushing my teeth with my ponytail hanging jauntily over my shoulder, to see a grey hair inside it.

Somehow, this bugger had made it through the plucking stage and grown past my shoulders. If my understanding of the mechanics of grey hair is correct, it has been growing out of my head for three or four years at least. And it suddenly occured to me that throughout the plucking stage, I had never actually looked at the back of my head. For all I know there are MILLIONS of greys back there. So good to know that I wasn't fooling anyone.

But for anyone out there who didn't hear the newflash last month - I got CARDED at Bell Market. Which is quite an accomplishment at my advanced age. So instead of getting depressed about the greys I'm just chanting to myself, "I got carded. I got carded. I got carded." Who cares if the light isn't so great in there?

Mia Thinks She Owns The Place

We had another milestone this week. Mia started preschool. (Ok, so I cried again).

But here's the amazing thing with the younger siblings. It was actually sort of anticlamatic. Not that we didn't make a big deal out of it in our house or anything, but she was so ready that it took most of the stress out of it. The most difficult part was that she insisted on bringing two items for show and tell instead of the one that she was supposed to. And got into a snit when I made her leave one in the car. (Which is why she is frowning in all of her first day pictures).

But I found it quite amusing. When we got there she complained about the location of her cubby. Then she went to play with the tactile bins. And later in the morning, when some of the big kids put on bathing suits and got into the kiddie pool, she went into the adult bathroom (which is strictly off limits to kids), into the cabinet, found the box with her emergency clothes, put on her own bathing suit and went outside to play.

I'd say she was settled...

Bye-bye Diaper Pad

Tonight I was cleaning the dining room. And I looked at the diaper changing pad that is tucked under my desk and thought, "I don't need that gross thing anymore", took it outside and stuffed it in the trash. Then I poured a glass of wine. I had a great sense of accomplishment. It isn't exactly the same as running a marathon, but, nevertheless this is a nice place to be.

What A Difference A Year Makes

Ok, so really fourteen months....

But Mike had to leave early from our family vacation to Hawaii last week. And I had to come home alone with the kids. Oh yes, and of course not predicting this, I had booked tickets with a change of planes in Honolulu. Oh yes, and we had mechanical difficulties that kept us on the tarmac for an extra hour.

But here's the amazing thing. It wasn't that bad. Granted my Mom and stepfather were staying down the street and took us to the airport. I don't want to in any way diminish the fact that they took us to the airport and helped us check in. But still, they had to leave us at security. (And did I mention I cried?).

My trip alone to Florida with them last year was probably the most stressful outing of my life. (African safari? No big deal. Coup in Fiji? Piece of cake). And I still think I deserve some type of Purple Heart for Mommies for surving that one.

But now, at three and four years old, I didn't have to bring carseats on the plane (we checked our boosters). I didn't have to bring a million extra outfits. I didn't need diapers! Our seat was near the bathroom so I could leave Miles while I took Mia to the potty. Miles could go by himself! They could drink without sippy cups. (Although it was a teeny bit tense when Miles poured his ginger ale into his lap). They actually napped! They watched DVDs!

Also, one of the things I've noticed about Miles is that although he can be really naughty sometimes, when the chips are down he usually comes through for me. And when the plane landed in San Francisco, no less than FOUR different people who were sitting around told me how good the kids had been!