Drawing a blank

It's only half-way through November, and I'm already drawing a blank. Blogging every day is difficult because I didn't plan ahead with a theme. Also, instead of being able to go back and rework a previous entry, I have to turn around and write another one the next day. Plus I'm exhausted and it's always late evening.

The obsession with dental hygiene is contagious around here--now they brush their teeth together!

I'm feeling guilty for the lack of journaling about the Bitty Girl I've done. For The Boy, I wrote a journal entry at least every month, and have tons of other little funnies written down on various scraps of paper. I'm worried I'm going to forget the things I'm not writing down. At least I capture a few in blog entries.

So to close tonight's entry, here are things I want to remember about Bitty Girl:

1. The strange game she plays with Daddy where they put bacon (plastic from the play kitchen) in between her toes. It's one of her few words--"bay bay"
2. The way she sits at her table and has a tea party with her dollies that she's struggled to stuff into the rungs of the chair or flop up onto the table.
3. The way she swoops a toy around (usually one of her brother's action figures) and makes the growling/flying/swooshing noise.
4. Although I have deemed it "just not right," the fact that at nearly 18 months old, she already knows (and loves) Darth Vader, Spiderman, Dora, and the scary Halloween masks and decorations at Target.
5. The way she methodically carries things from one container to another, one by one, to fill or empty something.
6. Her sense of humor--she already loves to hide and play peekaboo, or run the other way, giggling, when we ask her to come do something.
7. The sound of her laughter, especially when she's laughing at her brother
8. The way her face lights up and she lets out a screech of delight with this little excited scrunching up of her hands when she hears the garage door open and she realizes Daddy is home!
9. The way she silently and solemnly (and firmly) hugs other kids, even total strangers. It's like she's on a hugging mission and is programmed to hug everyone she sees.
10. The fact that she's so good-natured. When she wakes up in the morning, she will sing and coo and play in her crib for up to an hour before we go in to get her. And when we finally go in, she just smiles at us, so happy to see us!

THWONK!

That's the sound of the stick bouncing off Bitty Girl's head. The stick that just left the hands of her brother as he threw it down. We both heard it - THWONK! She looked up at us, startled, slow-motiony, before her face twisted up into the cry of pain and surprise. I think I said, "Oh my God, what was that?" and am hoping I didn't swear at him. I ran over to her, as she was crying harder now, determined that she wasn't bleeding or hurt badly, and gave her a hug. That's when I noticed he was crying harder.

I know he didn't throw the stick at her on purpose. They were both holding sticks, she imitating his sword-waving, bad-guy shooting, and banging on the basketball hoop pole to make music. I asked her to put her stick down, and he tossed his down too hard without noticing that she had walked over to set hers down on his stick pile. Thus the location issue of her head at the bottom of his stick's path of descent.

I felt a mix of anger and pity for him. I was mad that he threw the stick and that it hit her, because he should know better. But I know how it feels to watch your actions unfold and hurt someone, and then not know how to take it back. And I felt torn--I needed to comfort her because she was the one who got hurt, but he was much more upset than she was. And I felt mildly irritated, because he was crying and crying. I wanted to say, "Shut up - why are you crying? You're not the one who just got beaned with a stick!!" But I didn't.

She calmed down quickly and then we both hugged him, although he continued to cry for a few minutes. I said, "Did that scare you?" and he said, "Yes. I didn't throw it at her."
I said, "I know. She's ok, see? But do you see why I ask you not to throw sticks?"
Sniff, sniff, "Yes."
We talked about how it could have poked her in the eye or scratched her face or cut her head, and how we were lucky it was just a little bonk.

She was fine except for a little bump. It wasn't her first and it definitely won't be her last. So it ended up being a good lesson for all of us, and I had that sigh of relief and word of thanks for the guardian angels that it wasn't a direct poke in the eye or a big split open scalp wound or something that would have completely ruined our nice afternoon.

I think her life motto might be "That which does not kill me (or impale or lacerate or seriously wound me) makes me stronger." At this rate, she's going to be superhuman by the time she hits kindergarten.

Putt, putt, putt, BOOM

That's the sound of my great idea backfiring. During Bitty Girl's nap, The Boy was aimlessly wandering around, not finding anything particularly independent to do. So in my infinite Mommy wisdom, I suggest having him tell me a story and I'll write it down. We've done this before, more in a "caption of the picture I'm drawing" kind of way, but not much with big long stories.

He seemed excited, so I grabbed a notebook and a pen. He wanted to illustrate it, and we talked about making a book, etc. I'm thinking I'm so smart, I've got him turned on to writing, etc. I already know he's a great storyteller (ahem, that's nice word for LIAR), but he really does have a fabulous imagination, memory for details and does a great job taking over the bedtime stories some nights.

First story he wants to tell is the Army guy story. His friend at school has some camouflage outfit, so now he's into soldiers. I'm thinking, "At least it's not a Ninja Turtles story."
(Cue creepy foreshadowing music for silly mommy who can't see this coming)

So we begin. First, he talks faster than I do, so he's no easy transcription job. The story is about some Navy guys in a submarine who are going out to kill a shark who's been hurting scuba divers. Lots of good details, including the big bow and arrow that's going to STAB the shark until it DIES. Then a long explanation of how the Navy guys go run up into the mountains to get snow, which they grind up and bury for an hour until it turns into a fossil and when they dig it up, it's turned into METAL! Metal that they need to make motorcycles and "RINE speeders," as in submaRINE. I am not kidding - he made that up himself.

We stop that one when he says he wants to tell a Ninja Turtle story. And then a Star Wars story... I should have seen it coming. I'll continue this post with the story transcription tomorrow - I am too tired to do it justice tonight, but here's my point. I got frustrated when he was basically retelling me a movie he saw. I know he's still remembering the whole thing, and some of the details he added are flat-out hysterical. But it didn't seem like HIS story, and that's what I wanted.

What did I expect? That a nearly-five year old could tell a perfect story with a beginning, middle, and end? That a boy obsessed with bad guys and guns and violence is going to tell a story about rainbows and making friends?

I have to chalk this up to learning, and realize that he enjoyed himself, and making Ninja Turtle books of his stories are better than none at all. And--sigh--I have to keep transcribing for him.

Groundhog's Day

I know it's not until February, but we are living like that Bill Murray movie, where every day is brand-new! We watch Bitty Girl doing something sassy, struggling to be independent, flashing her temper, and we find ourselves SURPRISED! Suddenly, we remember--The Boy was just like this at 18 months. How could we have forgotten?

Yes, let's see... 18 months. The age where husband had to build a gate across the driveway because The Boy would bolt out of the backyard. The age where I actually bought (but never used) one of those harnesses to keep your kid from running away in a crowd. The age where, at the family 4th of July picnic, he was obsessed with the teenagers' pick-up basketball game at the other end of the park, and had to be carried to the car screaming.

Direct quote from the wonderful journals I used to keep monthly for him. (Sorry Bitty Girl, not quite so on top of things 2nd time around)
"The Boy is an absolutely delightful tornado--he is sweet and funny with so much spunk and determination, but he never stops moving, runs us ragged, and has quite a stubborn streak! Wonder where he gets, that, huh? It stinks to see my own stubborn sassy face staring right back at me. He sleeps very well, is generally so happy, but is just VERY 2 - already. Typical toddler and typical boy - we keep saying, "This is what we signed up for, we just didn't know we were going to be so tired!"

So as we say these things in 2007, we act like the words have never sprung from our lips...

Maybe it's like that amnesia of labor "they" tell you about--you forget how much it hurt to have the baby or else you'd never consider having another one.

So Bitty Girl, keep reminding us, and please be patient.... We seem to be slow learners.

Fishbowl of Tears

Today I took The Boy to the children's museum, and they have a great art studio. Each day they have some appropriately-themed project for the kids to do, based on a famous artist's birthday, etc. So today, for Veterans' Day, they have this very nice, respectful project of "decorating a brick." The brick walls outside the museum are being decorated by brick-sized pieces of plastic vinyl that the kids decorated in honor of veterans in their families.

Now to the fishbowl reference. If you didn't have a veteran in your family to honor, you could draw a name from the fishbowl. A fishbowl, sitting on the counter, filled with tiny slips of paper, on which are written horrifying things like "John Smith, 22, Private First Class, May 12, 2007." I felt sick. That bowl is full of the names of poor young men and women who DIED, most of them probably in Iraq.

I fully believe they should be honored, and I thought it was a great project. But those people shouldn't be DEAD!!! I didn't know how to explain it to The Boy. Since he can't read yet, it kind of went over his head. We've been talking about soldiers and Army stuff lately, and he has a very light understanding of what soldiers do. They talked about Veterans' Day at school, and we've talked briefly as well. I feel like I missed a teachable moment, but I just can't start talking to him about Iraq. Not yet. He has so many awful grown-up things ahead of him to worry about, I just want his innocence to continue for a while...

The Schlepper

Filling and emptying. Filling and emptying. Over and over. She carries her treasures, one at a time, from a box to a cabinet or bag. Seventeen months old, and her sense of purpose is strong and amazing—she definitely knows where she’s doing. Her face is serious and determined, and even the sound of the dishwasher or the pantry cupboard opening does not change her course. Efficiency is not her strong suit, and why should it be? She’s in no hurry. Her entire agenda consists of the “now,” of carrying her dolls and spoons and cups from their original cupboard to a new bag. The latest? A paper grocery bag, recently emptied of some bigger clothes from the garage. She discovers the empty bag, and in goes her most precious possession—Baby Jeff, followed by four pairs of her shoes. Poor Jeff. Next a few assorted Tupperware cups and lids, the spoon from her tea set, and some stolen action figures from her brother.

I love watching her. She carries things one at a time, scurrying across the floor on her quiet little feet. If she has a bag, it’s slung over her shoulder and she carries it proudly, even if it reaches down to her feet. Pick up item, carry over to new cupboard. Open cupboard and put item in. Walk back to original pile of items, choose a new one. Pick up item, carry over to new cupboard. And so on, and so on. Dear God, please let her be organized and neat like her father. I seem to have inherited my mom’s piles and perpetual intentions of “getting organized” but 10 years with Pat hasn’t changed my evil ways. Audrey makes a huge mess in seconds, but she seems to like putting things away, so we’ll try to encourage that one.

What’s going on in her brain with all this organizing? She has great fine motor skills, and can pick up tiny pieces of stale food or lint from the ground, put them in her mouth, and then retrieve them with a “blech!” and run them to the garbage. Another favorite activity—finding bits of trash and running over to the garbage, demanding that someone open the cupboard for her, and flinging her trash into the garbage can. She’s getting better at leaving the trash in the can, although yesterday Pat did utter the words, "Did you get that out of the garbage?” I turned to see her “Who, me? look” and her hands full of crusts from her brother's leftover jam sandwich, sneakily pulled out of the garbage when I forgot to completely shut the door. She was quite insulted and let out a loud protest when we took the crusts away. Maybe she was telling us that should have gone in the compost and not the garbage.

She must be building synapses and connections and pathways with all her organizing. She learns what fits inside what, and how much you can fill something before it overflows or becomes too heavy to carry. (Note to Bitty Girl: You can fit inside the biggest soft-sided cooler if you squeeze sideways. Your brother and Mommy are too big.) She learns how deceiving clear plastic tote bags can be—why can’t I grab what’s inside, since I can see it? She learns about zippers and how you have to pull the sides of the bag apart to make the top opening big enough to put things inside. She learns just how quickly Mommy responds when she whines. Hopefully she’s going to learn the words “help, please” “open,” and “cracker” soon—we’re all getting a little frustrated with the “eh, eh, eh” whining. We're making progress with the signs for help and please, but I think she secretly likes to see how far she can take us, whining and fussing, while we say, "Audrey, show me 'help, please' or Do you need help?" over and over. She only relents when everyone is frustrated, then she does the "help please" sign with an amused smile, like she just gave in because she took pity on us poor speakers.

The Big K

For years, we've been throwing around the idea of Kindergarten. Of course he'd go someday, and of course he'd be ready for all-day, how glad we were that he's a December baby so he'd be nice and old. But there it was, lurking in my mailbox--the school district flyer announcing the Kindergarten Information Fair on JANUARY 12, 2008. Ummm, that's in 2 months? This can't possibly be for us?

To make matters worse, we decided to tour this K-8 school that's part of our public school district, but is a "choice" school, so you get in only by lottery. It's a parent cooperative, so there's a volunteer requirement with committees and parent meetings. Of course we loved it. It's a beautiful building, designed for the co-op program, with these great pods of classrooms that have flexible meeting space outside each pod. Of course you have to have space when you require the parents to spend 1/2 day a week in the classroom. The place is crawling with parents. But it seems like an amazing place, so we threw our names in the hat and will try not to get our hearts set on it. The regular neighborhood school would be fine too (note to self: set up another tour)
If we get into the co-op, we'll figure out how to swing the volunteer thing with a 2 1/2 yr old at home and my work schedule.

During the whole tour, although I was thoroughly impressed with the program, and the idea that this would let us avoid the hideous issue of middle school, I kept thinking, "I'm in the wrong place. What am I doing here? Lance isn't possibly ready for KINDERGARTEN!"

But he is..or he will be. We have a long time before September. It's crazy that they make you register so early, but I'm convinced it's for the parents--so we can do our freaking out thing and then calm down a little over the spring before the summer freak-out begins.

So I'm alternately trying to deny the fact that he's actually going to kindergarten and worrying about whether he'll be able to read by next year, or tie his shoes, or keep his hands to himself. Since his dad is an elementary school P.E. teacher, we fully realize that all kindergarteners do not actually possess these skills, but they are things that make the transition much easier.

But this is my baby, and this week I have actually, honestly thought to myself--maybe we should just send him half day and then he'll still be home some of the time. WHAT??!! I have officially lost my mind. This is the kid who makes me count the hours until bedtime some days.

It's official. The January registration is definitely for mommies like me. If I can get through his 5th (how is it possible?) birthday, the actual school registration, and his last spring in preschool, maybe I can dry my tears over the summer enough to be presentable for his first day of school.
sniff....sniff.....sniff....