Risk

This story happened several months ago, but something made me remember it today...

This summer, Davis's new preschool class (aka "the Blue Dolphins") held a playdate prior to the first day of school so the kids could meet one another. Davis was very excited to meet all the Dolphins, and the morning of the playdate, he set to work making something for each one. This something was a piece of construction paper on which he carefully drew a rainbow. Then he poked both ends of a pipe cleaner through to make a handle of sorts. It took him quite some time to make all 11 of these, and the last one was just being finished as it was time for us to go.

My heart was both bursting with pride and sinking with fear as he collected them to bring to the car. I did know that my sweet boy is pure of heart, and these little gifts were made with genuine enthusiasm, acceptance, and trust for the members of this new community. What I didn't know is how the other Dolphins would receive his gift...or what it would do to his heart, or mine, should the gift be ridiculed or rejected.

The gifts were a hit, as he knew with confidence they would be. The Dolphins immediately began to run around the playground, their contruction paper rainbows held high with the pipe cleaner handles. My heart soared, too, relieved that the inevitable day when Davis's little heart will be broken was put off for a time, glad that his gift was received, able to just enjoy the fluttering construction paper attached to such dear little creatures who, like my boy, were pure of heart.

Dreadful

This is the most recent eyebrow-arching word of my almost-3-year-old Zoe. I can't remember the context in which she used it today except that it wasn't especially forceful. Something was dreadful, and I was pleased and surprised that she knew that word.

But dreadful is also probably the best word to describe her behavior in the last week or so. Dreadful. Full...of "attitude" and negativity and contrary-ness. She just hasn't been a pleasant little person to be around.

But here's the dilemna. I've been very consumed by matters outside my own home for the past days, matters too close to my heart to include in this blog post, matters involving people I love and waiting and death and grief and all the logistics that follow. So even when I've been home, I haven't been fully present. Daddy has been fully on-duty, and he's an amazing Daddy, the kind who doesn't need instructions to care for his kids. But Mommy has been MIA, and I think that's partly to blame for some of the dreadful behavior around here.

So, now to the promised dilemna The dilemna is that when I spend time with my friends who work outside the home, part-time or full-time, or who spend significant time working for clean water or organic living or world peace, I feel like my life is sort of small. Honestly, I sometimes don't have lots to talk about outside the world of my home, and I am ashamed of that. I worry that I'll become the sort of woman who never "has a life" outside her kids and that when they leave home, I'll realize I have no idea who I am and that I've stunted my kids' emotional growth by being too available, too enmeshed.

As my kids are getting "older" (if 1, 3, and 5 count as "older"), I'm becoming more involved with things outside my home, and those activities are enjoyable to me and do give me some outlet for gifts I don't use in the course of my mommy-life. But there is a cost to those activities, and the cost is either time to myself or time with my family. Sometimes the time away from my family seems to cause more imbalance than I'm comfortable with. Sometimes it seems like my energies would be best spent poured into family and home life, with whatever time is "left over" spent on sanity-producing activities like exercise and writing in my journal. But how selfish! I do care about things and people outside my home; I want our family to include more than just the five of us.

I just can't figure out which voices to listen to. Hmmm...I've heard about this one still, small voice...

And Some People Say There's No Difference...

between boys and girls.

We are at Monkey Joe's. Monkey Joe's, the land of giant inflatables where children run free. They climb and jump and slide surrounded by primary colors and flashing lights and the whir of the air-blowing machines. It's heaven for Davis, a giant indoor playland. He could spend the whole day there, red-faced, sweaty, and happy, and I wish we could, because it costs an arm and a leg to get into that place. We go once or twice a year for a special treat.

Zoe, though, is getting whiny. It's a bit much for her. She is clinging to me. "Mommy," she intones, "when are we going to do something special?"

I look at her. "Zoe, we're at Monkey Joe's."

"No," she explains, "something special. Like a craft."

On His 5th Birthday

My little guy turned 5 today. Now I understand why my own mother always waxed poetic on our birthdays, why she remembered the exact times of our births and noted that time each year, why she recounted the events leading up to our births. It is an extraordinary event, bringing a life into the world, and commemorating that event involves both remembering how it all started-- and then marveling at how much has transpired since.

I'm really grateful for our Davis. He is, in my very biased mommy-opinion (and only to add to the list of the characteristics of all of our amazing kids) uncommonly sweet, sensitive, and enthusiastic. He has had some struggles in his young life, and we have seen him move through so much with great perseverance. We have consistently appreciated his kindness, his attentiveness to those around him, his eagerness to please, his delightful laugh, his capacity to love.

And so it was really a joy to sit at the dining room table tonight, our family of 5 and his good buddy, eating the birthday dinner which he had requested: hot dogs, macaroni and cheese, carrots, and fruit. We talked about our days and then Daddy asked each of us to say one thing we liked about Davis. This was Luke's report: "He has lots of smiles. He's gentle, and he's kind." Kudos to Luke for having such a kind spirit himself, for being willing to praise a friend without any return. Praise God that our little boy has such a friend. And praise God, for our sweet Davis, for whom we are so grateful on his fifth birthday.

Focus

When I had two kids, the prospect of a weekend without Daddy struck panic into my heart. I would do just about any amount of traveling or begging to find a way to have help for the weekend. It seems kind of silly now, but in defense of my silliness, my first two were pretty rotten sleepers and pretty intense little people, not to mention that their mommy is on the intense side. Or so I'm told.

But since the advent of the third, my perspective has changed. I certainly don't relish a weekend without Daddy, and I would never choose one, but I feel confident in my ability to get through the days and even to enjoy the kids along the way. I think perhaps my expectations and the reality of parenting have finally collided. I don't really expect to be rested or that the kids will follow my plan for their napping schedules or that the weather will be perfect or that friends will be available, and so I'm freed to just enter into the weekend, not sure what it will hold.

One thing I do notice about single parenting, though (and man, do I respect single mothers more every time I do it!) is that I can become more stern and joyless as I have sole charge of all the chores and transitions of our days from morning to night. I forget to laugh sometimes because I'm so focused on the preparing food, serving, cleaning it up, dressing, diapering, pottying, tidying, maintaining order.

This afternoon was classic. We were trying to get out the door to go get favors for Davis's upcoming birthday party and then hit Chick-Fil-A for some playland action and dinner. I'm feeling pretty magnanimous for providing such fun, and the kids had been enthusiastic about the plan until some sort of disagreement broke out between the oldest two. Now Davis is sulking and complaining, refusing to put his shoes on, and I'm delivering this classic lecture about how "this whole trip is for you and if you don't have a good attitude about it, we really don't have to go." I mean, cue the Charlie Brown adult voice: "wah, wah, wah, wah, wah wah." I'm even annoying myself.

Then I realize that Zoe, aged 2 1/2, is behind me, also delivering some sort of lecture. I've been tuning her out but as I pay attention to her little voice, here's what she's saying: "Focus, Davis. Focus. Focus, Davis. Focus."Her lecture not only propelled all of us into hysterical laughter, but it reminded me to chill out a little. As Charlie Brown would say, "Good grief!" Lord willing, Daddy will be home tomorrow. We'll be just fine until then. And if I can remember to laugh, we might even enjoy ourselves until he comes home.

Saturday Soccer

It was not raining when we left home for the soccer game. It had been sprinkling on and off all morning, but it most definitely was not raining as we loaded up the minivan with all the requisite chairs, strollers, snacks, jackets, water bottles, soccer balls, and children it takes for a family of 5 to enjoy a 45 minute U5 soccer game.

I have to admit that part of the reason we signed D up for U5 soccer is that it's cheap entertainment. We have such fond memories of watching the son of our dear friends "play" soccer when he was three, which at the time meant zooming around the field like a superhero, only to be interrupted periodically by a black and white ball whizzing by. Mac is now a respectable athlete, I understand. But there's nothing like watching a group (gaggle? herd? pride?) of four year olds in their first experience with team sports.

Today did not disappoint.

As we reached the field, it began to rain. Rain, not sprinkle or mist or fall lightly. It was really raining, and blowing sideways. Alex and I looked at each other, knowing that we probably should take the girls back home rather than subjecting them to watch soccer in the rain, but neither of us really wanted to be the one to miss the game. Some kind people lent us umbrellas to hold over the girls, and they had jackets and covers on their double stroller. (It was a warm day, Mom, really, they were OK!)

At first, D and his fellow Silver Streaks kept looking at the parents incredulously, as if to say, "Do you know it's raining? And we're out here? With no jackets? Is this really OK?" But then they got into the spirit of it, led by ever-cheerful and dripping wet Coach Huong. It wasn't the crispest play I've ever seen by the Streaks, but some soccer was happening.

And then they saw it. The water was running in a rushing stream down a little concrete culvert at the end of the field. Oh, the joy of running water! It is time for a throw-in, but where are the Silver Streaks? Two of them were wading in the brook, happily splashing and kicking a ball with gusto. From then on, the game depended more on how many children could be coaxed out of the stream and back to the field. At one point, the normally 4-on-4 match-up was 5-on-2. I think those Orange Tigers were definitely trying to take advantage of the situation.

Suddenly, it was just like in the movies...cue the music...the rain stopped, the sun came out, the world was fresh and dripping wet. The umbrellas came down, jackets were stripped off, everyone was so glad they had not run for the minivan after all. Time for the second half. Time for some soccer.

Well, it's hardly fair to expect a bunch of four year olds to concentrate on a silly game when a pair of fighter jets appears from behind the trees, roaring overhead. The game was halted for a moment to allow the entranced children to watch. The whistle blew. Now we're ready. But wait, here come the jets again, circling the field. There goes the ball...where are the players? Two have wandered back to the stream, three more are completely oblivious to anything but the powerful aircraft in the sky. The jets continued to circle the field for the remainder of the second half. Some soccer was played intermittently. Coach Huong's whistle blew to end the game, but that second half was a suspiciously shorter than the first.

Another game in the books for the U5 Silver Streaks. See you next Saturday!

Kindness

Every once in a while, I get a glimpse that the hard work I put into training our kids is really paying off.

We recently checked out a library book called, "You Don't Always Get Everything You Hope For." In it, the protagonist wakes up hoping to have eggs and toast for breakfast. He likes eggs and toast. Instead, a tornado whisks him away to a castle on a hill where a king forces him to eat an ice cream sundae for breakfast...and if he refuses, the king threatens to cut off his head.

Zoe's response: "Oh, Mama, it's not kind to cut off ANYONE's head."

No, indeed, Zoe. Not kind at all.

What can I say? I think my job as a parent is about done here.

An Animal in a Trap

Strong-willed, exhibit 7,183:

My Zoe. She likes to do things on her own terms. She can be so cooperative and helpful, as long as it is her idea to be so. Which it often is. And sometimes, it is not.

As with most of parenting, and maybe all of life, transitions pose particular challenges. "Transition" usually means moving from something pleasant, like playing with her ponies, to something less pleasant, like using the potty. So she is not potty-trained yet, not because she could not be, but because it does not often suit her to make that transition.

But I have outwitted her in one particular arena.

Getting out of the bathtub is not a transition she loves. It's warm in the tub, and fun. It's cold in the bathroom, and getting out involves the work of getting dressed. If I just announce, "It's time to get out of the tub," I will surely encounter some resistance which, true, can be overcome by the force of the necessity of obedience, the threat (and the carryout) of discipline, and the like. But who wants to deal with all that at 7:00 in the evening, the time when my mind and body are crashing?

So instead, this is what I say. I kid you not, it works every time. "Zoe, are you an animal in a trap?" She nods shyly. "Oh, little animal," I say, "can you get out of that trap all by yourself, or do you need help?" Suddenly, that little animal shows me the way to get out of the trap/bathtub, slowly and carefully, and into the snuggly towel and the waiting arms of her Mama. I exclaim that it is such a clever little animal I have! She reveals to me what kind of animal she is, and we are both very pleased with ourselves.

Evening Sweetness

We have lots of stressful times around here. We really do. But lately, I'm appreciating that we have lots of sweet, sweet times, too, and I feel wistful about them already, even though they are still here. If you know what I mean :)

Tonight, I raced out after dinner to mow the lawn and was just sweeping the clippings off the walk when the kids came downstairs, bathed and pajama-ed, thanks to Daddy, who graciously gives me the lawn mowing chore on gorgeous September evenings. The kiddos were ready for their bedtime snack of dry cereal or banana, so tonight they brought their little bowls and their sippy cups of milk and sat on the front step while I weeded the overgrown front bed.

We chatted about the fall weather, discussing how this cool night air makes us eager for the state fair and Halloween, our two favorite fall events. We watched planes fly overhead as they descended toward the nearby airport and reminisced about our last trip to Poppa-Choo-Choo and Grandma's-- and we eagerly anticipated our next trip. We agreed that we should plant some mums soon, and laughed that mum is short for "Chrysanthemum," which is also the name of the heroine of our current favorite story.

Sweet conversation, earnest faces and shining eyes, a gorgeous evening, clean and cozy children, a warm house to enter as the darkness fell and the last of the cereal was eaten. What a rich life I share with this little family.

A Delightful Day

It really was a delightful day today. Daddy brought Davis to preschool this morning, and Emma Kate took a long nap. Zoe and I passed the time playing "birthday," working with playdoh, chatting, and reading books, all with the screen door open so we could hear the rain falling and the cool breeze blowing-- the first cool air we've felt in a long time!

We dashed out the door just as the deluge started, outfitted in boots and raincoats, to go pick up Big Brother. Soaking wet, we arrived home again to change into "cozy pants." We had a picnic lunch on the playroom floor since we had to cancel our plans for a picnic with friends. Then it was time for naps.

At the end of naps, we made chocolate chip cookies and turned on Mary Poppins. The kids had never seen it before, and they thoroughly enjoyed it. I enjoyed sitting with them, planning our grocery list while they laughed.

And then the magic ended. The movie ended. The rain stopped. It was time for dinner and teeth brushing and pajamas. Many, many quarrels erupted. I spent the last hour and a half of the day mostly disciplining and separating kids.

But I don't want that last bit to color my impression. It really was a delightful day.

Today's Observation

Davis is loving preschool. Loving it. He goes off happily and comes home full of things to share. The hilarious song they sing at circle time about someone with a daughter named Wednesday. The way they sing the Alphabet song all sorts of ways, backwards and fast and slow. Always, who brought snack and what it is and who is VIP and who has Squirt. He looks forward to the next day.

But I'm realizing that the 30 minutes of outside time he enjoys at preschool is not enough. When he is home, he typically gets much more exercise than that, and I can tell the difference on school days. When we get home for lunch, he's antsy and ready to wrestle and burn off some of that I've-been-in-a-happy-but-structured-environment-for-the-last-three-hours. He ends up pushing Zoe and getting in trouble right away, which is not a fun way to come home, for him, or for me. I've missed him all morning and I'm excited to reconnect with my boy, not discipline him!

Therefore, we're finagling our schedule so that we are going to stay after school to picnic and play on the playground or head from school right to the park with our bikes to picnic and ride. Hopefully, that will give him a chance to burn off some of this energy and get all the exercise he needs- and now that the weather is getting cooler, it should be fun for all of us!

She's Got it All Figured Out

Over our cereal this morning (my first breakfast, her second or third)...

Zoe (out of the blue, following a conversation about what we need at the grocery store): "Someone will always love me."

Me: "Yes, Zo, Mommy and Daddy will always love you."

Z: "Yes. And God and Jesus. And my grandparents."

What else is there to know?

Big, Huge, Update

As back-to-school season is upon us and my baby turns one, I'm feeling reflective about the kiddos and how much they have changed and grown of late. So here is a giant update about each one, more information than anyone but a mama (or maybe a grandparent?) cares about...

DAVIS, at 4 1/2, just completed his first week of 4 year old preschool. He has become a confident, enthusiastic preschool-goer, marching right into class, enjoying the company of his buddies, reporting who the VIP of the day was (he got to be the VIP on Tuesday) and who got to take home Squirt, the class dolphin mascot, that day. His preschool teacher, Miss Julie, has already noted to me how kind and sophisticated he is socially, willing to share, offering reasonable solutions to sharing problems, asking nicely for things, clearing his area after snack time. He really is a dear and delightful boy.

He also began soccer last week, and he seemed to enjoy his first practice, consisting mainly of 15 kids runnning around and kicking the ball into the goals as many times as possible. They also played duck-duck-goose and chased the coach around the field-- it was hilarious and fun for the onlookers as well as the kids, who mainly enjoyed the novelty of being decked out in shin guards, tall socks, and cleats.

Davis made big strides with swimming this summer, and by the end he was swimming by himself and jumping off the diving board. At home, he still loves his Thomas trains and his cars, playing outside, coloring and painting, reading books, jumping on his friend Luke's trampoline, and playing with his sisters...most of the time. He is a big helper around the house, taking out the recycling for me and opening doors and turning on lights for his sister.

Each day Davis and I spend a "little time" (his title) together after the girls go down for naps. I really treasure that 30 minutes when I get some uninterrupted time to play with him and listen to him. He is making great progress with his speech and his fine motor skills and we are confident that he will be ready for (gulp) kindergarten next fall. We are really proud of our boy, and we enjoy him so much!

ZOE, definitely 2 1/2, is sweet, sharp, verbal, and has a strong sense of herself. She is charming, observant, and funny. She can be very stubborn, sometimes at times which are very inconvenient for us, but she can also be incredibly kind and sensitive. She loves pink and all things princess. Her current career ambition: to be a princess at the State Fair. Mind you, she's never seen a princess at the State Fair, but those are her two most appealing concepts at the moment, so why not combine them?

Here is, from Alex's blog, a bit about how she's responded to all the fall excitement: So all this celebration and hoopla over the past couple of days leaves one out: Zoe. Our little in-the-middle girl is a little too young for soccer or a pre-school class, but she's old enough to realize that she's being left out. And her birthday isn't until January. It's been a little hard to be in-the-middle Zoe the past week. But this morning after dropping Davis off at pre-school, Kelly decided to see if there was a spot open for a Monday morning Little Gym class. Little Gym basically runs exercise and dance and flexibility and coordination classes for kids that are a whole lot of fun. There was a spot, and she loved it. Kelly signed her up for the fall on the spot. "A class just for me, mom?" little Zoe squeaked excitedly. Yes, Zoe, a little class, just for you.

Yes, it was sheer delight for Zoe and I to be in that class together (while Emma Kate naps at home while Daddy works), and we are looking forward to our class on Monday already. But it's also nice to have some time at home with Zoe on Tuesdays while Emma Kate naps and Davis is at school. She paints and we chat; sometimes we go to Starbucks and she gets a chocolate milk, we read a lot and play in the sandbox.

In the past couple of weeks, I've seen Zoe take huge strides in becoming more aware of the needs of others and willing to bend her will. Just recently, a little baby friend "tried on" Zoe's new, beloved pink shoes. She looked at me with concentration and said, "Ellie has my shoes on, but they're mine, and it's OK to share." Sweet girl.

Zoe loves hymns. She sings the first verse of Amazing Grace with me, and it's awfully precious to hear her little voice. This summer, the ENT diagnosed nodules on her vocal cords, and we did attempt some speech therapy to address them, but she's way too young for it. (see previous post :) The nodules may well resolve themselves, and if not, she'll retain her raspy, squeaky voice until she's a bit older. We love our Zoe, and we are so grateful for our great girl.

and now for EMMA KATE, known here at our house as "Emma-Katie-bug." Words can't express how grateful we are for this little gift. She is generally relaxed and happy and has this fantastic sense of humor that finds many things funny...and then she rewards us with a hilarious giggle that sets us all laughing. She loves to eat, anything and everything, and she's incredibly communicative. Emma Kate chatters all day long, using both a pretty extensive list of real vocabulary words and a whole other language that only she understands but which makes her meaning very clear. She loves to be in the center of things, but she also loves to sit with a book. She's crawling, climbing the stairs (ugh), and cruising some, but not all that interested in walking just yet. She's very physical, though, loving the play area at the mall where she can climb and roll around, and she thinks it's great fun to crawl off Zoe's toddler bed. Emma Kate is a delight, a gift to our family! At her birthday celebration, she enjoyed her ladybug cupcakes, as you can see. Happy Birthday to our precious girl! (enjoy the video below-- though it's way too dark and you have to listen to me sing, you'll get a sense of why we love to have her around!)

Voices

A few weeks ago I mentioned that my 2 1/2 year old daughter Zoe had a potential medical issue. Turns out she has nodules on her vocal cords, a very benign problem that results in a raspy voice. They don't do surgery on kids, and the worst case scenario is that she'll have...a raspy voice. Which she already does. Nonetheless, the ENT recommended some voice therapy.(As an aside, most adults with vocal cord nodules are prescribed vocal rest. For, say, two months. I was having a lot of fun imagining this. "Zoe, we love you, but for the next two months, you may not talk.")
So we have been dutifully attending our voice therapy sessions. They are ridiculous.

Therapist: "Zoe, can you make the owl sound? Hooo...Hooo..."

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no"

Therapist: "Zoe, look, here's a baby. Can you hum to the baby? She's sad."

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no." Takes baby and proceeds to "feed" her. Opens play bottle, pretends to pour something in, puts top back on, feeds her some more. All silently.

And so on. So the therapist and I have a lovely conversation about how Zoe really shouldn't scream. And how we need to encourage her to talk in a sing-song, pleasant voice. Gently. So as not to strain her vocal cords. I'm looking at this very competent, sincere, childless 24 year old therapist, and I can't decide if I want to burst into hysterical laughter or sob. My inner sarcastic voice wants to say, sweetly and in a sing-song voice, "Oh, you're right. We've been encouraging her to screech and yell when she doesn't get her way, but since it's so bad for her vocal cords, maybe we should consider asking her to speak gently." For the love.

But the therapist and I speak in gentle, sing-song voices for the whole painful 45 minute session, so as to model this new, excellent way of speaking.Every once in a while, we address Zoe.

Therapist: " Zoe, what sound does the bee make? Bzzzzz....Bzzzzz... Can you do that?"

Zoe: Silent. Shakes head "no." Resumes feeding baby.

We get in the car to go home. I mention to Zoe that we need to run a quick errand on the way. She announces, defiantly, but in a gentle, sing-song voice: "No, I don't want to, Mommy."

And her vocal cords breathe a sigh of relief.

Thanks...I think!

I'm on my way out the door this evening, having exchanged my grubby shorts and tee for a red sundress. Hair hastily thrown back, a little concealer dabbed on...it's time for good-byes and good night kisses and I'll see you in the morning.

D: "Mommy, you look beautiful. You are the most beautiful Mommy ever."

Me: "Davis, you are so sweet. Thank you."

D: "You don't look like my Mommy. But I know you're my Mommy."

Love is in the Air

Both of my kids love balloons, but my son has always taken a special delight in them. His first word was "boon." A couple of weeks ago, my daughter and I went to Trader Joe's without him, and we came home with one balloon; to say he was disappointed that day is a gross understatement. He had been betrayed. So today, when Daddy and daughter hit Trader Joe's again, they picked up two-- and the kids arrived home, delighted to show me her bright red balloon and his bright green one.

But then, as they exited the car, Daddy, who was juggling groceries, diaper bags, flowers (for our anniversary!), and kids, loosened his grip on the red one...and up it went, quickly aloft in the bright summer blue sky. We all stared, disbelieving, for a moment, and then her face crumpled and she began to sob. Oh, the face of a two year old who has lost her balloon.

Meanwhile, the green balloon bobbed merrily, safely tied around the wrist of big brother. He, though, looked uncomfortably at his balloon, at his sobbing little sister, and then back at his balloon. Then I noticed his hands, working to loosen the string around his wrist. Another wiggle, and a lovely green balloon lifted up into the sky.