A Thank You

I attended school conferences for both children last night. No surprises with Connor and I always brace myself for Elizabeth but I am fortunate enough again this year that her teacher allows her spirit to flourish.

School conferences always offer the amazing opportunity to enter the world through your child's eyes. The fact that both kids are writing now makes it all the more interesting. What seem to me everyday occurrences or "adult issues", take on a life of their own when told from a child's perspective.

In one of Connor's stories, he recounts a day when I made him refold all the laundry he and Tasha destroyed while playing fetch in the house. From his perspective it was a memorable moment because it was the first time Tasha, a frightened and timid rescue dog, played with him. A big deal for a boy who lost his dog and best friend earlier this year. He comments that everyone had fun and was laughing except Mom and includes a lovely picture of his stern Mother!

Elizabeth wrote about a series of sad and unfortunate events that happened to a friend of mine who lost her home. It is very matter of fact and written and a way that makes me wonder if she afraid the same thing will happen to us. I never considered the impact this had on Elizabeth.

Both experiences make me grateful for their teachers who encourage their independent thinking and self expression. I still think I know my kids better than anyone but it is good to be reminded that I don't know everything.

Ugh...UGG's

I sometimes wonder if I need to intervene when Elizabeth gets dressed. Her outfit today consisted a fuzzy pink sweater and red plaid leggings, which would not have been too bad except for the purple knees socks. She pushed the red leggings up over her knees so everyone could see the hearts on her knee socks. After a failed attempt to encourage her to change, I drove her to Sunday School. I always struggle with when to let her creativity flow and when to let conformity reign.

Then we went shopping. Now shopping with Elizabeth can be entertaining or excruciatingly painful. Her instructions today...pick out one pair of shoes that can be worn with pants or a dress..... Elizabeth picked out the 5 most obnoxious shoes in her size, carefully lined up the boxes in single file, sat on a bench and ever so slowly tried each one on her feet.

Engrossed in this ritual, she hardly noticed when another family arrived. A girl, about Elizabeth's age raced up to her mother with (very cute) imitation UGGs on.

"I want these! They are so comfy. Can I have them." She said to her mother.

"Oh no", said Mom, "Don't worry I am buying you UGGs, just not today." She did not look worried, however Mom did,

"But I like these" she said. And her father pointed out that they were only 19.99 compared to the UGGs they had seen for $100.00.

"I am buying her Uggs", Mom repeated

This went on and on with an occasional "Please!!!" from the daughter..

Finally, the mother said rather sharply to her husband "She is getting UGGs. and that is all there is to it. Now get them off her!"

Elizabeth, completely unphased by the other Mother's rage had narrowed her decision down to a pair of cowgirl boots and a pair of shiny, pink Mary Janes. Turning to me she said,' Mom, I just can't decide,"
to which I responded, "It is totally up to you, Elizabeth".

Because, you know, sometimes you just have to let a little girl live her own dream and not someone else's

Reaching a Milestone

For years now I have held a membership to our local swim club and every summer I have packed my bags and lugged all the necessities a Mom with young children needs to survive an afternoon poolside. During this time, I have watched with much longing and envy, the Moms of older kids reading magazines and novels as their children swim carefree in the surrounding pools. I have longed to be among them.

Some of them even talk on the phone for long periods of time, uninterrupted. But not me. I would be set to swim, every day no matter what my condition or the condition of the pool. I would be prepared to carry children, provide the entertainment and activities for said children, and negotiate between the children when one could swim and one could not.

I would be wet, in freezing water, mascara running, while other moms lay pool side maybe even napping. I would stare at them silently begging for a turn to be just like them.

Finally this is the year I have been waiting for. Both kids can swim, both kids can go down the slide and both kids can dive (kind of). I have finally joined the ranks of those Moms I have long envied. I bring a book with me and on the days that I absolutely just cannot get into the water (you know what I mean) I don't have to come up with some lame excuse for why we aren't going swimming in 90 degree weather.

There is not much more that a Mom can ask for. Now if only they could apply their own sunscreen....

Elizabeth is graduating!

Elizabeth will graduate from preschool next week and I am tearful already. It will be an emotional day for me, not so much because my baby is growing up, (she does still fit nicely on my hip), but because I nearly died from complications following her birth. Every milestone my kids achieve, especially Elizabeth's, is marked by joyful tears and thankfulness that I am there to be a part of it .

I do not really talk much about what happened when Elizabeth was born because people sometimes seem overcome with an awkwardness or they do not know what to say. I don't mind but would like to tell them what a gift it is to be given a second chance and how different the world is for me now.

On graduation day I won't argue with Elizabeth over what to wear or what to put in her hair or how clean her fingernails are. It doesn't really matter. I will be the Mom with tissues in hand, just thankful that Elizabeth has someone there. Someone who has been there to hug and to coax, to discipline and teach, to encourage, to marvel, to give, and most of all to receive. Someone who knows her better than anyone and loves her even more.

Broken Eggs

Elizabeth broke 17 eggs last night and informed me of my culpability in the mess, as I failed to place the eggs in a more secure location. She approached me before dinner, as I played a board game with Connor. "It's the eggs" she told me, "they were in my way. I needed the happy milk" (i.e. organic milk, from happy cows).

"What about them? " I asked.

"I broke one and you know, it's your fault because you made them slanted in the refrigerator."

I venture into the kitchen to find a carton of 18 eggs on the kitchen floor with every egg displaced. One is clear across the kitchen. Several are huddled fractured and leaking against our island. One is in pieces and appears to have been stepped on. "Oh Elizabeth.." I start and then stop. I am so angry but refrain from yelling at her. She reminds me it is my fault and we discuss the concept of asking for help if we can't reach the happy milk from happy cows.

"What are you going to do?" she asks.

"Clean it up." I tell her. I start and fail. Half solid, half liquid mess, the paper towels and rags don't work.

Frustrated, I am speaking to her in a very controlled voice, trying not to yell as she pulls up a chair sits down and stares. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Watching", she tells me. To which I ask, through gritted teeth, "Why?!?"

She looks at me perplexed, as if I should already know the answer. finally she explains, "In case I have a girl. You know, when I grow up and have a girl of my own. I have to know what to do. She will break my eggs and I want to know what to do if she does."

And I am suddenly calm. As she swings her feet back and forth, it occurs to me that she is always watching and storing information. She learns how to cope from how I handle situations just like this.

"Well you can help me" I tell her. "That's what I would want your little girl to do: help you and then move on to something else."

And that's just what we do. She gets me a dust pan and together we scrape the sloppy mess onto the pan, into the trash and then we move on. Incident forgotten and for me a valuable lesson learned.

Boys Will be Boys

I went to see Connor's basketball game last night. He performed very well, scoring on a rebound and making many good passes and blocks. I never played sports so it is fun watching my son play. This was the first time his league separated the boys from the girls. There really is something to be said about boyhood. Boys just have so much fun running a muck, especially when adults let them be boys.

I always found the expression "boys will be boys" sexist until I actually had a boy and found out first hand how true it is. Boys will be boys and it is so important to let them. When 2 or more boys get together, they evolve from the polite child you are raising oh so carefully, into a bundle of hot wired energy. They wrestle, they run, they climb and push and shove all in the name of fun. I love it when we, as parents don't apologize for their actions or make excuses but just let them be boys. There is no fighting, no complaining or bickering just an action packed adventure that only they truly understand.

I will miss basketball season more than I thought, but I know Connor will find a new outlet for all his energy, whether it be 16 boys running through the house with foam light sabers (New Year's Eve at our house), or discovering a fresh mud puddle at soccer camp (one boy was actually drinking the muddy water with a straw while the others cheered him on). I hope to sit back and marvel at how well they can just be boys, if we let them.

It's all in what you watch

Sometimes I wonder what the other 4 year olds are watching. Elizabeth prefers Animal Planet over the traditional shows found on PBS or Noggin. She cannot recite her ABC's but knows the appropriate use of words like documentary, endangered species, carnivore, and habitat.
She became very excited yesterday when I informed her that she would be learning about arctic animals in preschool this week. She told me she needed to explain to her class how polar bears don't have enough ice to live on and are drowning in the water. Then she informed me that her classmates probably don't know the difference between emperor penguins and chin straps (neither do I for that matter).

I hope her teacher survives. When I dropped her off this morning, she informed her teacher that she had watched a documentary on wolves over the weekend and that wolves often sniff each others butts, which she found very amusing. She felt inclined to impart even more information when she entered the classroom. Penguins, she explained are unusual because the father takes care of the egg. No one really cared but she seemed satisfied that she'd provided a public service.
Some of classmates had commented on the wind this morning, to which her teacher added that the wind was howling like a wolf. (Wow, did she set herself up for this one. ) "Actually," Elizabeth explained, " wolves howl much louder than the wind. It sounds like this, "auwwwlll" (very loudly).

I left and heard her howling as I walked down the hall; petite, bright eyed, girl in a pink My Little Pony hoodie, doing her best howl, and the moon isn't even full yet.

Connor ate sloppy joe's for dinner last night which may not seem like to much of a big deal but to me it was a small victory. I am still savoring in the fact that he requested them! Unbeknowst to him, I quite cleverly, added carrots, onions, mushrooms and bell peppers to the mix!
This battle has been a seven year saga. He has always had an aversion to vegetables and prefers a meal of 100%protein with sugar on the side.
Once there was an incident with the pizza we made. "I cannot eat this pizza, " he announced. There is something wrong with it." He spit it out, like poison. "It is pizza for goodness sake what could be wrong with it. " I detect vegtables" , he insisted over and over again. Upon examination of the sauce jar, it turns out we served a vegatable medley sauce on the pizza. The horror. From that point on he would scrutinize every homemade pizza for quality assurance.

Then there were the meatballs. Disappointed, he looked at me ," You made these with vegetables?" He accused me further, I can see vegetables in here. , look!" He pulls out an onion sliver. A debate ensues. Onions don't count as a vegetable they are really a spice when you think about it. We discuss how they are grown and where they are purchased and conclude they are in fact a vegetable.
Next failure, sweet potato french fries. "They are not the same."
"They are potatoes. They are orange. You love orange. Your favorite football team is orange."
" I want real french fries, the kind we get at McDonalds."
I sigh.
I had actually considered admitting defeat when I had this small, sloppy joe victory. I sat there smug, watching him eat and wondering how long I can refrain from telling him, "your eating carrots, my boy! Carrots!" But I know that I can't so for know I will just offer him seconds.
I

The Silly Hat

My daughter is moving out. This may seem like the natural course that life takes except that Elizabeth is 4 years old. It is not the first time she has informed me of her desire to part ways, but perhaps it is the most endearing. It started innocently enough with a preschool assignment, requesting that she wear a silly hat to school tomorrow. This assignment quickly became an afternoon experiment in creative expression complete with beads, feathers, stickers, pom poms and the like. She even managed to burn herself slightly when grabbing the hot glue gun from me because I was not clumping the glue to her satisfaction.

The hat itself turned out to be a beautiful creation, one I hope she will wear with pride. As with all things, the creation did not come without cost. There was much cleaning up to do...which is where the high drama began. First there was the need for a nap. Fine I tell her. I will wake you up at 3 so you can clean up. This turns in to another realization. "Mom, what I really need right now is a time out. I am going to sit in my chair. Call me when 4 minutes is up". This seems agreeable I tell her but remind her she still needs to clean up. She returns from time out, eyes up her mess and with a clever gleam in her eye tells me, "Mom I have made a decision (her exact words), I have decided what I really need is to move out and go live somewhere else." Our eyes lock, battle lines drawn. I know that in her sweet little mind I am supposed to crumble, tell her I will clean up her mess if only she promises to never leave. Instead I tell her I will miss her. Her eyes fill with tears and I hug her as she climbs onto my lap.

As I help her clean up, I realize that one day she really will move out and decide I had better save the hat.