Naomi is not really one to complain when she needs a change. Maybe that's because she's the third or because she's just an easy going kid (heh heh), but today after services, while trying to get her into her stroller (a task that is becoming increasingly difficult since she now wants to push the stroller--with an older sibling in it!), she had a total fit so I figured I'd better change her before we left.
The bathroom was crowded in the synagogue and the changing table is close to the door so that everyone coming in greets whichever baby happens to be getting changed at that point. It's an odd spot, because even I find it hard to coo over a baby who is having his/her dirty diaper changed.
So as I was changing Naomi's pants, an older women I didn't know began cooing and fussing over Naomi while I tried to hold her down and all of a sudden the woman looks a bit concerned and says, "Oh my..." I look at the diaper I've just opened and in addition to the usual, there is a 4x6 index card with smiley face on it.
"That must have been very uncomfortable," the woman says to me, giving me a look that pretty much says, 'what kind of a mother hides pictures in her baby's diaper.'
"Yeah, wow. Very strange," I say.
Just as I'm finishing up with Naomi, Talia comes hopping in and I say, "You will never guess what I found in Naomi's diaper--a smiley face drawing!"
"I knew that, Mommy," she says giggling. "It was a surprise for you!"
Nice. Who doesn't love a surprise?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Sunday, August 05, 2007
regret starts early
It’s been two weeks since she’s nursed and she didn’t even seem to notice or miss it, but this morning, Naomi climbed on top of me and looked at me questioningly before hesitantly pulling at my shirt.
“Mama?” she asked.
“There’s nothing there, Baby,” I said and her completely and clearly distraught expression made me realize she truly understood, though she rejected the bottle I’d made for her.
Apparently the ability to feel regret starts so early that even a fourteen month old can feel that sort of loss. We’d both moved on so quickly—me looking forward to having my body to myself again (and maybe a bit more sleep) and my daughter eyeing that fat, warm easy bottle—and as we both sat there silently, I knew that what we shared at that moment was regret at the fact that greediness got the best of us.
At least we were in it together.
“Mama?” she asked.
“There’s nothing there, Baby,” I said and her completely and clearly distraught expression made me realize she truly understood, though she rejected the bottle I’d made for her.
Apparently the ability to feel regret starts so early that even a fourteen month old can feel that sort of loss. We’d both moved on so quickly—me looking forward to having my body to myself again (and maybe a bit more sleep) and my daughter eyeing that fat, warm easy bottle—and as we both sat there silently, I knew that what we shared at that moment was regret at the fact that greediness got the best of us.
At least we were in it together.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
doogie howser says wear SPF 50
Since skin cancer runs in my family, yesterday I went for my annual skin check to make sure none of my moles have taken on a melanomic look to them. Actually, the truth is that it wasn't an annual visit, but more like a tri-annual (is that right?) visit because I haven't been to the dermatologist for a skin visit for more than three years, despite the fact that everytime a different doctor looks at my history (and since I had a baby a year ago, that has been quite often), they say "Wow, with your history, you should get yourself checked yearly."
But I digress... Sort of. Because it had been so long since I'd been to the dermatologist, I couldn't remember my doctor's name, and even though I looked in all of my old phone books and online at the clinic's site, nothing sounded familiar. So when I called for an appointment, they assigned me to whoever was there and that's how I met Doogie Howser.
I was sitting there in my underclothes and one of those gowns when the door knocked and in came a fifteen year old guy in a white coat. Seriously, he looked so young I don't know how he could possibly be the resident he said he was. It was such an odd experience because I'd heard my parents talk about how odd it was to have doctors younger than you, and I'm not so young that the situation couldn't have happened to me. But all of a sudden I was pretty sure I would not be able to lift up my gown to show this young guy all my icky moles on a body that has birthed three children. I never thought I'd care whether or not my doctor was male or female or what age, but I guess that's changed and maybe I'm old. Or just vain.
Eventually I pulled myself together because it had taken me three years to get there and I had pretty much talked myself into a nasty case of melanoma with a mark on my arm, so I pretended he was a seventy year old woman and tried to forget that I was wearing a nursing bra, and the only real rough spot was when he saw the scar below my ribs (from a previous excision) and said, "Wait, isn't your appendix on the other side?" Oh wait, maybe the rougher spot was when he said it was his first day...
But either way, I walked out with a clean bill of health (a nice, older doctor did a final check) and big bottle of SPF50.
Free for another year...
But I digress... Sort of. Because it had been so long since I'd been to the dermatologist, I couldn't remember my doctor's name, and even though I looked in all of my old phone books and online at the clinic's site, nothing sounded familiar. So when I called for an appointment, they assigned me to whoever was there and that's how I met Doogie Howser.
I was sitting there in my underclothes and one of those gowns when the door knocked and in came a fifteen year old guy in a white coat. Seriously, he looked so young I don't know how he could possibly be the resident he said he was. It was such an odd experience because I'd heard my parents talk about how odd it was to have doctors younger than you, and I'm not so young that the situation couldn't have happened to me. But all of a sudden I was pretty sure I would not be able to lift up my gown to show this young guy all my icky moles on a body that has birthed three children. I never thought I'd care whether or not my doctor was male or female or what age, but I guess that's changed and maybe I'm old. Or just vain.
Eventually I pulled myself together because it had taken me three years to get there and I had pretty much talked myself into a nasty case of melanoma with a mark on my arm, so I pretended he was a seventy year old woman and tried to forget that I was wearing a nursing bra, and the only real rough spot was when he saw the scar below my ribs (from a previous excision) and said, "Wait, isn't your appendix on the other side?" Oh wait, maybe the rougher spot was when he said it was his first day...
But either way, I walked out with a clean bill of health (a nice, older doctor did a final check) and big bottle of SPF50.
Free for another year...
Sunday, June 03, 2007
naomi is 1!
Naomi is one year old... It's unbelievable how fast this year went by and I can't believe the baby is one. On the one hand, it's so exciting because she's doing all of these new things. She's trying so hard to walk and to talk and we're all getting to really see who she really is, which is this sweet, sweet, funny, smart girl who loves to laugh.
But it's also the tiniest bit bittersweet because I keep trying to hold on to the little things that just fly by. All of a sudden, she doesn't want to be cuddled for long because she has so many new places to go and new things to try and stick in her gummy mouth (where oh where are my daughter's teeth? how many one year olds don't have any teeth???). She wants to feed herself and push the stroller and hold her own cup. They're all good things in creating a strong independent person. But still, I feel the tiniest bit sad even though the trade-off is so good.
But mostly, it's sweet. I wish I could can the sound of her laughing when her brother or sister tickle her under her chin, or the way she yells "Ta Ta" or "Ba Ba" to them when they walk in the room.
And luckily, I don't have to try to remember how happy she makes us all feel. It's amazing to have this little person that we're all in love with all the time.
(hey, it's a birthday... i get to be sappy.)
Friday, April 06, 2007
a new look at spring...
“That is so unbearably cool,” Samuel says as he watches me get driving directions from an online site. “Is that the map of our city? Where’s our street? Can I do it? Where can I go?” And then he sighed, "I can't believe you can do this. It's so amazing."
He is obsessed with computers. We’ve given him our old iBook and it is very definitely his most prized possession. He loves the video games, especially Club Penguin, which is now my favorite game, too, because it’s so interactive, free from adult marketers and marketing (so says the marketer), plus he gets a kick out of going to the coffeeshop, picking up one of the books on the shelf in there, and settling into a good story. It makes him feel grown-up, which I suppose, is definitely a part of growing up.
And today, right after asking about how our bodies know to breathe, he asked how wireless connectivity works and what a router is. He's learning how the world works, how our bodies work, and while computers were a hobby when we were kids, it's now an integral part of our lives. They're everywhere in his life. So along with "Why is the sky blue?", we're getting "How does Bluetooth work?" And once when wondering about G-d, Samuel even suggested googling for more information.
It's definitely a new world. The Charlie Brown Encyclopedia better come up with a new edition.
We're working on our answers and setting screen limits and installing safety software, and urging him not to respond to his desire (at least for now) to take the computer apart to see how it works .
It's finally spring. The flowers are coming up, it's gorgeous and amazing outside, and the days are long and getting longer. All of the excitement of being a kid and playing outside until bedtime is still there. And though I love Samuel's intense interest in all things networked and digital, there's a lot to be said for getting outside, pretending the playset is a fort, and scrambling up the slide to avoid the "lava grass." There's a lot to be said for just feeling the new spring grass on barefeet and dripping popsicles all over you.
There's a lot to be said for disconnecting.
He is obsessed with computers. We’ve given him our old iBook and it is very definitely his most prized possession. He loves the video games, especially Club Penguin, which is now my favorite game, too, because it’s so interactive, free from adult marketers and marketing (so says the marketer), plus he gets a kick out of going to the coffeeshop, picking up one of the books on the shelf in there, and settling into a good story. It makes him feel grown-up, which I suppose, is definitely a part of growing up.
And today, right after asking about how our bodies know to breathe, he asked how wireless connectivity works and what a router is. He's learning how the world works, how our bodies work, and while computers were a hobby when we were kids, it's now an integral part of our lives. They're everywhere in his life. So along with "Why is the sky blue?", we're getting "How does Bluetooth work?" And once when wondering about G-d, Samuel even suggested googling for more information.
It's definitely a new world. The Charlie Brown Encyclopedia better come up with a new edition.
We're working on our answers and setting screen limits and installing safety software, and urging him not to respond to his desire (at least for now) to take the computer apart to see how it works .
It's finally spring. The flowers are coming up, it's gorgeous and amazing outside, and the days are long and getting longer. All of the excitement of being a kid and playing outside until bedtime is still there. And though I love Samuel's intense interest in all things networked and digital, there's a lot to be said for getting outside, pretending the playset is a fort, and scrambling up the slide to avoid the "lava grass." There's a lot to be said for just feeling the new spring grass on barefeet and dripping popsicles all over you.
There's a lot to be said for disconnecting.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
tali learns life lessons
In an effort to not have to clean the bathroom every single day, I've recently embarked on a campaign to help the minority gender in our household remember to pay attention to what they're doing whilst in the restroom. Apparently, my nagging is having some effect, but perhaps not on the right people because this is what I noticed when Talia was playing with her Barbies this afternoon.
Scenario: Prince Charming Ken is standing in front of the Barbie toilet, pants down. (Why does my daughter have a Barbie toilet? You should go ask her Safta...) He then pulls up his pants, leaves the toilet and is immediately accosted by Bride Barbie Kayla (all Barbies in our house are named either Kayla or Lemonade), who is still wearing her veil.
Bride Barbie Kayla: "Hey Mister, I didn't hear you flush! And, you left the seat up! Hmmph!"
Prince Charming Ken: "I'm sorry, Kayla. I guess the reason I can't remember is because I'm a boy."
Hmmm... Wrong audience, wrong message. I guess I'm back to rethinking my strategy.
Scenario: Prince Charming Ken is standing in front of the Barbie toilet, pants down. (Why does my daughter have a Barbie toilet? You should go ask her Safta...) He then pulls up his pants, leaves the toilet and is immediately accosted by Bride Barbie Kayla (all Barbies in our house are named either Kayla or Lemonade), who is still wearing her veil.
Bride Barbie Kayla: "Hey Mister, I didn't hear you flush! And, you left the seat up! Hmmph!"
Prince Charming Ken: "I'm sorry, Kayla. I guess the reason I can't remember is because I'm a boy."
Hmmm... Wrong audience, wrong message. I guess I'm back to rethinking my strategy.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
happy birthday, tali!
:
I just got back from Tali's birthday celebration at school, which was incredibly sweet. The parents bring a photo from each year of the child's life and they talk about their birthday kid during each year of their life, and then afterwards, the child walks around the "sun" (a candle) with a globe in her hands to symbolize a year. It's really sweet and I know that Tali loved having her parents there to show off her gorgeous baby pics and bring in yummy yogurt and fruit salad.
But I walked away feeling like I totally fumbled in talking about my girl. How could I possibly sum up in a short way the most important parts of each year of Tali's life? Granted, my audience was tricky--it's hard to hold the attention of 3 and 4 year olds, and it'd probably be weird for me to let loose and be all gushy in front of them. So... Here's what I'd really like to say about my girl:
I just got back from Tali's birthday celebration at school, which was incredibly sweet. The parents bring a photo from each year of the child's life and they talk about their birthday kid during each year of their life, and then afterwards, the child walks around the "sun" (a candle) with a globe in her hands to symbolize a year. It's really sweet and I know that Tali loved having her parents there to show off her gorgeous baby pics and bring in yummy yogurt and fruit salad.
But I walked away feeling like I totally fumbled in talking about my girl. How could I possibly sum up in a short way the most important parts of each year of Tali's life? Granted, my audience was tricky--it's hard to hold the attention of 3 and 4 year olds, and it'd probably be weird for me to let loose and be all gushy in front of them. So... Here's what I'd really like to say about my girl:
- I love that the fast and powerful way she entered this world completely represents the way she maneuvers herself through life. I'm so proud of Talia's confidence and drive--she absolutely believes in herself.
- I love that Talia's favorite way to sleep when she was a baby and toddler was on top of me, Snoopy on doghouse-style. She's still incredibly cuddly and when she runs to hug you, you know you're loved.
- I love that Talia didn't learn to even crawl until 11 months because she was able to get what she wanted by pointing and asking for things, since she started talking at seven months. She just didn't feel the need for walking, but when she started, she never stopped!
- I love that Talia never wonders about whether or not she can do things--she just does them. She plays along with her brother at his sports practices, does her own "homework" along side Samuel, and is teaching herself to read. She never thinks she's too young to play with older kids.
- I love that Talia is passionate about art and can spend hours drawing and cutting and pasting and creating, and that her favorite (and my favorite, too) picture of hers is a study of abstract kitchen drawers. :)
- I love that though she can be a little bossy at times, she is genuinely very, very sweet and tries very hard to be a good friend.
- I love that she loves to dance and only wants to listen to the classical music station in the car because it "reminds her of ballet."
- I love that genuinely has a sunny and positive outlook on life and believes this world to be a good and happy place.
Happy Birthday to my girlie... I have never been able to get over how blessed I feel to be her mother and to have her in my life.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
birthdays without pressure
Talia turns four next week and I can't believe it. I mean, not only can I not believe that my baby girl is a confident and sassy four year old, but I also can't believe how truly pleasant this birthday is coming along.
For one thing, we're exiting the terrible threes, which are truly terrible in our house--much more terrifying than the fairly benign twos, and were even more horrifying with Talia, who is both very adventurous and also quite outspoken. Thankfully, she's also quite sweet.
But also, after 6 and a half years of parenting, I have mastered the birthday party!
Tali has been talking about her birthday for about six months now. At first she wanted a party at the bouncy place that you rent out and bring in your own cake and treats to the tune of at least $300. We have friends who have done this for two of their kids at once because their birthdays are close together, and that sounds fairly reasonable and worth it. But for a kid who's not even sure what she wants, it seems like a bit much. And when you also add to the argument that we've never really made it through a huge birthday party without a meltdown, spending that much money starts not making sense for us.
After the bouncy place, Tali got stuck on having her party at Club Libby Lu, where little girls go get their hair and make-up done (little girls wear make-up???), dress up in swanky, tiny clothes and learn to walk the catwalk. Granted, most of the girls doing this were at least eight, but the baby sluttiness of this appealed to my girl. It didn't appeal to us.
Of course it's a lot to ask a four year old, or a not-quite-four year old to plan or want a reasonably priced and age appropriate party, but the thing is, she has been to these parties that she's talking about. The rule at her preschool is that you need to invite all the kids in her class or none at all. So the result is a social calendar of Sundays filled with elaborate and expensive parties because not many people want to host 20-25 preschoolers at their homes, especially in the winter. And this isn't even counting their parents (because really, do you want the parents to drop off their 25 preschoolers at your house?).
So in frustration and because neither of Tali's options were reasonable, I googled "out of control birthday" and found my way to http://www.birthdayswithoutpressure.org/. Basically, it's a whole site dedicated to fighting back against birthday party pressure and hyper consumerism. They advocate against huge, planned birthday parties and give some hysterical examples of birthdays gone bad. Their plan seems to revolve around avoiding themes, presents, goody bags, and extravagance in favor of community service and simple activities like group walks and art projects. And while maybe I think some of their party ideas sound a tiny bit boring, and I know that my kids would never see a birthday walk as a great way to celebrate their birthday (unless you make it into an exciting themed scavenger extravaganza, which I'm afraid would miss the point), I do really like the idea of setting lower expectations (I mean, where could you possibly go after Club Libby Lu???). There had to be a way to make it fun and simple. So I decided to try a variation on Tali, whose newest idea involved inviting ten three and four year old girls for a slumber party (the horror, the horror!).
"How about you invite one friend over for a birthday playdate," I said, expecting an immediate rejection, but not getting one, so I continued. "You guys can get in your jammies, have a pizza dinner and birthday cake, and maybe we can make bracelets and play with your dolls. And then when it's time for bed, your friend's parents can come pick her up." No mention of goody bags, themes, or presents, and I held my breath...
Tali looked at me thoughtfully for a second and then said, "That's a great idea, Mommy. I can't wait," and then went back to playing.
When I recovered from the shock of how easy it was to get out of having a huge party, I was thrilled. This year, there wouldn't be any racing around to get invitations out, or putting together goody bags that were exciting, yet inexpensive, or finding just the right theme or decorations. And it's not that I don't love a good party, or don't secretly want to give my kid anything her sassy little heart desires, or even that I don't really enjoy going to those parties sometimes. But at this point in my life, and my four year old's life, I'm overjoyed that I actually get to spend her birthday with her, not running around crazy trying to make a party work, trying to make sure we don't lose any of her friends or breaking up a fight over who has the better goody bag.
Instead, I get to hang out with my lovely girl and enjoy her special day with her. And I'll especially enjoy the fact that we were able to stave off Club Libby Lu for another year...
For one thing, we're exiting the terrible threes, which are truly terrible in our house--much more terrifying than the fairly benign twos, and were even more horrifying with Talia, who is both very adventurous and also quite outspoken. Thankfully, she's also quite sweet.
But also, after 6 and a half years of parenting, I have mastered the birthday party!
Tali has been talking about her birthday for about six months now. At first she wanted a party at the bouncy place that you rent out and bring in your own cake and treats to the tune of at least $300. We have friends who have done this for two of their kids at once because their birthdays are close together, and that sounds fairly reasonable and worth it. But for a kid who's not even sure what she wants, it seems like a bit much. And when you also add to the argument that we've never really made it through a huge birthday party without a meltdown, spending that much money starts not making sense for us.
After the bouncy place, Tali got stuck on having her party at Club Libby Lu, where little girls go get their hair and make-up done (little girls wear make-up???), dress up in swanky, tiny clothes and learn to walk the catwalk. Granted, most of the girls doing this were at least eight, but the baby sluttiness of this appealed to my girl. It didn't appeal to us.
Of course it's a lot to ask a four year old, or a not-quite-four year old to plan or want a reasonably priced and age appropriate party, but the thing is, she has been to these parties that she's talking about. The rule at her preschool is that you need to invite all the kids in her class or none at all. So the result is a social calendar of Sundays filled with elaborate and expensive parties because not many people want to host 20-25 preschoolers at their homes, especially in the winter. And this isn't even counting their parents (because really, do you want the parents to drop off their 25 preschoolers at your house?).
So in frustration and because neither of Tali's options were reasonable, I googled "out of control birthday" and found my way to http://www.birthdayswithoutpressure.org/. Basically, it's a whole site dedicated to fighting back against birthday party pressure and hyper consumerism. They advocate against huge, planned birthday parties and give some hysterical examples of birthdays gone bad. Their plan seems to revolve around avoiding themes, presents, goody bags, and extravagance in favor of community service and simple activities like group walks and art projects. And while maybe I think some of their party ideas sound a tiny bit boring, and I know that my kids would never see a birthday walk as a great way to celebrate their birthday (unless you make it into an exciting themed scavenger extravaganza, which I'm afraid would miss the point), I do really like the idea of setting lower expectations (I mean, where could you possibly go after Club Libby Lu???). There had to be a way to make it fun and simple. So I decided to try a variation on Tali, whose newest idea involved inviting ten three and four year old girls for a slumber party (the horror, the horror!).
"How about you invite one friend over for a birthday playdate," I said, expecting an immediate rejection, but not getting one, so I continued. "You guys can get in your jammies, have a pizza dinner and birthday cake, and maybe we can make bracelets and play with your dolls. And then when it's time for bed, your friend's parents can come pick her up." No mention of goody bags, themes, or presents, and I held my breath...
Tali looked at me thoughtfully for a second and then said, "That's a great idea, Mommy. I can't wait," and then went back to playing.
When I recovered from the shock of how easy it was to get out of having a huge party, I was thrilled. This year, there wouldn't be any racing around to get invitations out, or putting together goody bags that were exciting, yet inexpensive, or finding just the right theme or decorations. And it's not that I don't love a good party, or don't secretly want to give my kid anything her sassy little heart desires, or even that I don't really enjoy going to those parties sometimes. But at this point in my life, and my four year old's life, I'm overjoyed that I actually get to spend her birthday with her, not running around crazy trying to make a party work, trying to make sure we don't lose any of her friends or breaking up a fight over who has the better goody bag.
Instead, I get to hang out with my lovely girl and enjoy her special day with her. And I'll especially enjoy the fact that we were able to stave off Club Libby Lu for another year...
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
the cool kids
Last Sunday we were sitting around the living room, listening to music and reading the NY Times and just generally having a very pleasant time.
"Hey, I really like this music," I say to B. "Who is it?"
"Jack Johnson," B says, not looking up from the paper. Samuel was singing along and Talia was strumming the guitar, pretending to play along. I was thinking to myself that our kids were really cool, and how great was it that they were sophisticated enough to enjoy our music. I mean, these kids listen to Citizen Cope to fall asleep.
"This sounds so familiar," I say, after a few songs. "But I really like it. Why do I know this?"
"Soundtrack to Curious George," B. says smiling, still reading his paper.
At least the kids are cool...
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
on good manners...
Tonight at dinner, I had to ask Samuel three times to use good manners and eat with his fork--not his fingers. Finally, he looked at me and asked, "Why do we need to act all royal and have such good manners? Is it Veteran's Day or something?"
Thursday, October 12, 2006
a night out for the old lady...
I broke out on my own tonight after telling B that I couldn't make it one more night without some time that didn't involve babies that won't go to anyone else, children who won't go to bed, evening prep to get Samuel ready for school tomorrow (so that he can be the best, smartest first grader in the history of first graders), or that behemoth pile of laundry at the bottom of the basement stairs.
Since I couldn't find anyone else to go out with me (things are much different these days, I guess. All my friends are so incredibly responsible...), I decided I'd go to the bookstore and just browse and then take myself out for sushi, which is what I always want when I go out to eat.
So, I'm at B&N, browsing and checking out what my favorite writers have come out with lately (since it's been an eternity since I've actually browsed through a bookstore--and no, I'm not counting the kid section), and then I check to see if any of my old professors, friends, and colleagues have published anything (or anything new). And then I see this book written by an old co-worker about a failed relationship with another old co-worker and I can pretty much recognize all of the major characters. I should feel happy for her that she turned this bad breakup into a novel, thus launching her literary career, but I don't because I'm insanely jealous. I find myself thinking, 'What have I been doing with my life? Why haven't I been writing?' I'm just as good a writer as this girl, but I did not write a novel. I don't even write much these days, and I've been putting together different variations of the same short story for about two years. Okay, five years. The only piece I've actually finished recently was a poem I wrote in Italy last year that I thought was pretty good, but then I lost it. Seriously. It was in a journal and I lost it. The one piece.
Granted, I have been a bit busy lately with this whole growing a family thing and sleep deprivation has left me partially brain dead. So to make myself feel better, I buy this year's Best American Short Stories of 2006. I take myself to the sushi place, get a beer and some spicy tuna rolls, and start reading the anthology. The first three stories I thumb to are about children. Not about adults raising children, but from the perspective of kids. It's the quintessential growing up story from the perspective of every writer ever. The first two were good pieces--I liked them. But, I feel like I've been reading these over and over. I want to read about adults. I desperately want to read something that's inspiring or enlightening. Maybe it's just the timing since I have so many things going on in my life right now, or maybe it's because I'm still feeling bitter about the bad relationship book, or maybe it's frustration that I just did not find a good book on my one night out, but I'm crabby. Where are all the good books about people with families going about their boring, but meaningful lives?
I finish my beer and my sushi and go home. It's 10 o'clock, but Tali is still up and I hear her little footsteps into the hall as close as she can get without me seeing her, so I go up to say goodnight. She's got the huge volume of The Complete Curious George under her arm and tells me, "Oh Mama, I'm so glad you're here because I want to show you my favorite something about George." And after an evening away, I feel no frustration at all that she's still awake and out of bed, or even that instead of staying in her room, she's been sitting in my bed and "keeping it warm." And it occurs to me that maybe the reason there isn't a best selling novel, or even a memoir about kids staying up too late and their parents not minding after a night out is because maybe it is a bit boring. But then, maybe boring isn't so bad.
And there's still time to write that novel... What a difference a few hours can make.
Since I couldn't find anyone else to go out with me (things are much different these days, I guess. All my friends are so incredibly responsible...), I decided I'd go to the bookstore and just browse and then take myself out for sushi, which is what I always want when I go out to eat.
So, I'm at B&N, browsing and checking out what my favorite writers have come out with lately (since it's been an eternity since I've actually browsed through a bookstore--and no, I'm not counting the kid section), and then I check to see if any of my old professors, friends, and colleagues have published anything (or anything new). And then I see this book written by an old co-worker about a failed relationship with another old co-worker and I can pretty much recognize all of the major characters. I should feel happy for her that she turned this bad breakup into a novel, thus launching her literary career, but I don't because I'm insanely jealous. I find myself thinking, 'What have I been doing with my life? Why haven't I been writing?' I'm just as good a writer as this girl, but I did not write a novel. I don't even write much these days, and I've been putting together different variations of the same short story for about two years. Okay, five years. The only piece I've actually finished recently was a poem I wrote in Italy last year that I thought was pretty good, but then I lost it. Seriously. It was in a journal and I lost it. The one piece.
Granted, I have been a bit busy lately with this whole growing a family thing and sleep deprivation has left me partially brain dead. So to make myself feel better, I buy this year's Best American Short Stories of 2006. I take myself to the sushi place, get a beer and some spicy tuna rolls, and start reading the anthology. The first three stories I thumb to are about children. Not about adults raising children, but from the perspective of kids. It's the quintessential growing up story from the perspective of every writer ever. The first two were good pieces--I liked them. But, I feel like I've been reading these over and over. I want to read about adults. I desperately want to read something that's inspiring or enlightening. Maybe it's just the timing since I have so many things going on in my life right now, or maybe it's because I'm still feeling bitter about the bad relationship book, or maybe it's frustration that I just did not find a good book on my one night out, but I'm crabby. Where are all the good books about people with families going about their boring, but meaningful lives?
I finish my beer and my sushi and go home. It's 10 o'clock, but Tali is still up and I hear her little footsteps into the hall as close as she can get without me seeing her, so I go up to say goodnight. She's got the huge volume of The Complete Curious George under her arm and tells me, "Oh Mama, I'm so glad you're here because I want to show you my favorite something about George." And after an evening away, I feel no frustration at all that she's still awake and out of bed, or even that instead of staying in her room, she's been sitting in my bed and "keeping it warm." And it occurs to me that maybe the reason there isn't a best selling novel, or even a memoir about kids staying up too late and their parents not minding after a night out is because maybe it is a bit boring. But then, maybe boring isn't so bad.
And there's still time to write that novel... What a difference a few hours can make.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
lemon
Our new car broke down.
I've been meaning to post for awhile about what happened to Crybaby Sally, our Volvo wagon, and since one of our friends threatened (as nicely as possible) to out us, I figured I should post that we did end up buying a lovely minty silver SUV of the Volvo kind and we all love it. The kids sit relatively peacefully in it, everyone has their own space, and it's a dream drive.
Until today, that is, when it broke down on the freeway and left me stranded at the Volvo service shop with an ear-piercing screaming infant and a three year old who wouldn't stop touching every single hockey chotchke on the front desk of the sales guy who finally said he'd help me despite the fact their schedule was backed up for the next four days. They were out of loaner cars, he said, but he'd help me find a rental.
And so now, despite every effort to avoid it, there's a minivan (albeit, a rental minivan) in my driveway. (And I sort of like it, too).
I've been meaning to post for awhile about what happened to Crybaby Sally, our Volvo wagon, and since one of our friends threatened (as nicely as possible) to out us, I figured I should post that we did end up buying a lovely minty silver SUV of the Volvo kind and we all love it. The kids sit relatively peacefully in it, everyone has their own space, and it's a dream drive.
Until today, that is, when it broke down on the freeway and left me stranded at the Volvo service shop with an ear-piercing screaming infant and a three year old who wouldn't stop touching every single hockey chotchke on the front desk of the sales guy who finally said he'd help me despite the fact their schedule was backed up for the next four days. They were out of loaner cars, he said, but he'd help me find a rental.
And so now, despite every effort to avoid it, there's a minivan (albeit, a rental minivan) in my driveway. (And I sort of like it, too).
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
the fine art of thumbsucking
In order to avoid becoming the human pacifier that I really already am, we have spent a good part of Naomi's life (eleven of her thirteen weeks) trying to get our girl to take a pacifier (because she really, really needs one). B and I have tried practically every single pacifier sold on the market (yes, I am obsessive and stubborn when faced with a challenge of this size) and our little baby has refused every single one of them. Latex or silicon, it doesn't matter. Nothing works. And now that pediatricians are saying that it's good for babies to sleep with pacifiers because the sucking helps prevent SIDS, we've been feeling even more pressure to get our girl sucking. Ironically, when Samuel was a baby, he LOVED his passy and we spent most of his first three years trying to get him off of it. And then becuase it was so hard to wean Samuel from his rubber love, we kept Talia from them, though whenever she happened upon one at daycare or at a friend's house, she'd immediately pop the contraband passy in her mouth.
So now we're spending this hot summer trying to get Naomi to take the same thing we've had so much trouble getting the other kids to give up. And each time she refuses, Talia comes around and snaps up the rejected loveys. "I can have this one?" she asks, and then scurries off with the tiny passy in her mouth.
So since Naomi is absolutely repulsed by the mere thought of a p
acifier, we've been working on getting her to suck her thumb. The girl really needs some self-soothing methods. Last week, my niece Maya helped the kids spend some time showing Naomi how to suck her thumb. She was pretty agreeable to it, since once she discovered she had one, she's been fairly fascinated with it.
I think the session went well, though note that Naomi is the only one without a thumb in her mouth.
So now we're spending this hot summer trying to get Naomi to take the same thing we've had so much trouble getting the other kids to give up. And each time she refuses, Talia comes around and snaps up the rejected loveys. "I can have this one?" she asks, and then scurries off with the tiny passy in her mouth.
So since Naomi is absolutely repulsed by the mere thought of a p
acifier, we've been working on getting her to suck her thumb. The girl really needs some self-soothing methods. Last week, my niece Maya helped the kids spend some time showing Naomi how to suck her thumb. She was pretty agreeable to it, since once she discovered she had one, she's been fairly fascinated with it.I think the session went well, though note that Naomi is the only one without a thumb in her mouth.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
what's black and blue and red all over?
Tomorrow Talia is going to preschool with two black eyes and a bruised cheek with scratches on it. She looks like the loser of a pretty bad brawl (you know, only the kind a three year old could get in). But really, these are only the results of a normal weekend.
This morning she accidentally got in the way of a speeding basketball passed to her by her brother (black eye #1).
This afternoon, she accidentally stepped in the way of a speeding dress-up pump passed to her by her friend (high heels should never speed, but this is black eye #2).
Facial scratches and bruises are just the results of good, hard playground and backyard play. Her knees and legs look the same way.
Last week she knocked her front top tooth loose while riding on a tricycle at school and while the dentist assured us that this was very common among preschoolers, he also warned us there was a good chance it would turn grey and he'd have to pull it. Now I obsessively check it every morning to see if it's getting more discolored and I've got the poor kid carefully chewing her food with her back teeth. And while I know if she loses this tooth, it won't be the worst thing to ever happen to her. It's a baby tooth and her permanent teeth are undamaged. But I'd be sad to miss what's left of her baby smile as she quickly gets bigger and more independent every day.
So at the same time she's having a good time and being an active three year old, I'm becoming a paranoid mess. I don't want her to be scared of playgrounds or running or jumping or being the strong, independent, and active kid she is. But at the same time, I know that everytime she goes out to play, she comes back with some sort of injury or in some sort of predicament (remember bad hair week?). Mostly, I try not to watch, which is a problem in itself.
Or maybe I'm scared because if she can get into this kind of trouble now, what will year four bring? Though, when I asked her this, she said confidently, "Don't worry, Mommy. At least it wasn't Vaseline."
eeek.
This morning she accidentally got in the way of a speeding basketball passed to her by her brother (black eye #1).
This afternoon, she accidentally stepped in the way of a speeding dress-up pump passed to her by her friend (high heels should never speed, but this is black eye #2).
Facial scratches and bruises are just the results of good, hard playground and backyard play. Her knees and legs look the same way.
Last week she knocked her front top tooth loose while riding on a tricycle at school and while the dentist assured us that this was very common among preschoolers, he also warned us there was a good chance it would turn grey and he'd have to pull it. Now I obsessively check it every morning to see if it's getting more discolored and I've got the poor kid carefully chewing her food with her back teeth. And while I know if she loses this tooth, it won't be the worst thing to ever happen to her. It's a baby tooth and her permanent teeth are undamaged. But I'd be sad to miss what's left of her baby smile as she quickly gets bigger and more independent every day.
So at the same time she's having a good time and being an active three year old, I'm becoming a paranoid mess. I don't want her to be scared of playgrounds or running or jumping or being the strong, independent, and active kid she is. But at the same time, I know that everytime she goes out to play, she comes back with some sort of injury or in some sort of predicament (remember bad hair week?). Mostly, I try not to watch, which is a problem in itself.
Or maybe I'm scared because if she can get into this kind of trouble now, what will year four bring? Though, when I asked her this, she said confidently, "Don't worry, Mommy. At least it wasn't Vaseline."
eeek.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Saturday, July 15, 2006
bye bye crybaby sally...
What do you drive when you have three kids?
The answer is turning out to be very complicated when you have a five seater car, five people in your family, and three very bulky carseats/booster seats. Figuring out the right seating plan is comparable to tackling a Rubik's cube in the dark. Well, sorta... At least when you consider the following:
1. Infant seat is safest in middle seat
2. Infant in infant seat is safest furthest away from three year old
3. Infant in infant seat is most likely to stay asleep when not sitting next to six year old
4. Three year old and six year old will fight loudly if seated next to each other.
5. Someday very soon (and even sooner if six year old continues to grow as fast as he has been lately) the six year old will outgrow the very, very narrow middle spot once used as an armrest.
The answer is that if you have five people in your family, you cannot drive the beloved Volvo wagon named Crybaby Sally. Waaah...
So we have been car shopping.
And when you arrive on a car lot lugging a ten hundred pound infant carrier and dragging a six year old boy behind you, salespeople tend to promptly steer you towards the minivans without even asking you what you're looking for.
And let me tell you, I DON'T WANT A MINIVAN!
I know they're easy. I was almost swayed by that little remote on the Mazda MPV that opens the doors automatically on both sides of the cars to let your kids spill in or out of the car on their own. And Mazda Frank, the Mazda salesguy, tried to get me to believe that if you have leather in your minivan, a cool stereo, and a moonroof, you're practically driving a sportscar.
I almost believed him because for once the kids did not fight in the backseat when I came back with the whole family for another test drive.
"I love that minivan," Samuel confided in me after the ride. "Not one sister can touch me. And I don't care that you won't buy the DVD player."
I still don't want the minivan. But my only other choice is an SUV and that seems wrong somehow, too, to buy a huge tanker of a vehicle that will cost the price of decent dinner out to fill up at the tank.
B and I tried to talk ourselves into thinking that if we got a minivan, we could make it cool. That rejecting the SUV would be cool. And our dear Scion-driving friends assured us it'd be cooler to drive the minivan.
So I drove by the dealership again to take another stealth look at the family van ("Do you think Frank is going to notice us if we keep driving by here?" Samuel asked as we drove by again and again.) And the van we were looking at was gone. Sold. To another family in the same position as us, but more confident with their choice. Maybe cool enough to not worry about losing their cool. A family at one with the fact that it's hard to be hip with three kids.
But I was very, very glad that family was not us.
The answer is turning out to be very complicated when you have a five seater car, five people in your family, and three very bulky carseats/booster seats. Figuring out the right seating plan is comparable to tackling a Rubik's cube in the dark. Well, sorta... At least when you consider the following:
1. Infant seat is safest in middle seat
2. Infant in infant seat is safest furthest away from three year old
3. Infant in infant seat is most likely to stay asleep when not sitting next to six year old
4. Three year old and six year old will fight loudly if seated next to each other.
5. Someday very soon (and even sooner if six year old continues to grow as fast as he has been lately) the six year old will outgrow the very, very narrow middle spot once used as an armrest.
The answer is that if you have five people in your family, you cannot drive the beloved Volvo wagon named Crybaby Sally. Waaah...
So we have been car shopping.
And when you arrive on a car lot lugging a ten hundred pound infant carrier and dragging a six year old boy behind you, salespeople tend to promptly steer you towards the minivans without even asking you what you're looking for.
And let me tell you, I DON'T WANT A MINIVAN!
I know they're easy. I was almost swayed by that little remote on the Mazda MPV that opens the doors automatically on both sides of the cars to let your kids spill in or out of the car on their own. And Mazda Frank, the Mazda salesguy, tried to get me to believe that if you have leather in your minivan, a cool stereo, and a moonroof, you're practically driving a sportscar.
I almost believed him because for once the kids did not fight in the backseat when I came back with the whole family for another test drive.
"I love that minivan," Samuel confided in me after the ride. "Not one sister can touch me. And I don't care that you won't buy the DVD player."
I still don't want the minivan. But my only other choice is an SUV and that seems wrong somehow, too, to buy a huge tanker of a vehicle that will cost the price of decent dinner out to fill up at the tank.
B and I tried to talk ourselves into thinking that if we got a minivan, we could make it cool. That rejecting the SUV would be cool. And our dear Scion-driving friends assured us it'd be cooler to drive the minivan.
So I drove by the dealership again to take another stealth look at the family van ("Do you think Frank is going to notice us if we keep driving by here?" Samuel asked as we drove by again and again.) And the van we were looking at was gone. Sold. To another family in the same position as us, but more confident with their choice. Maybe cool enough to not worry about losing their cool. A family at one with the fact that it's hard to be hip with three kids.
But I was very, very glad that family was not us.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
our new pink mouth--naomi rose
I'm a month late, since Naomi is a month old tomorrow, but she's finally here and she's a total miracle. She was born quickly and easily (relatively) on June 2nd and weighed 8 pounds, 7.7 ounces--two pounds more than the doctors predicted! Life with three kids is a whirlwind to be sure and I'm just hoping that I'll be able to hold onto these days for as long as possible (at least the good parts--I'll be happy to forget the fussy cocktail period everynight where all three kids are whiny and miserable). Who knew that chaos could be so lovely and enjoyable?
Here are a few photos from our first few days...
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