Home of The Brave

I got home late from a Yoga class, but when I peeked in on Little One, She was still up.
She was pretending to read. But really, She was sulking.
I asked Her what was up.  She was upset because the school Basketball Game and Party was that night, and She was missing it.  And J and I didn't even CARE!
I had heard something about this event at some point in time and that's about all I could relate to this issue.
A hard part about Little One's new school being so far away, is that I am hardly ever there. I pick Her up at the bus stop, on this side of town, so I don't have much opportunity to interact with the staff or other parents, and gave up months ago on the PTA, so I'm pretty disconnected from the school as a microcosm.  The fliers She gets almost never come home on time, if at all.  They get colored on or torn up in games on the bus, or they sit in Her cubby before She remembers to pack them.  Sometimes I forget to check Her backpack.
I feel terrible about all this of course, so the Mama guilt kicked in right away.
I immediately checked my phone for the email about this event, and to our mutual relief, it was actually happening the next night.  I was reading the notice out loud.  They also still needed bake sale items and someone to sing to National Anthem at the big parents vs teachers basketball game.
Little One, who believe it or not has struggled with massive stage fright for a long time now, shocked me by saying, "Well maybe I could do that". 
"You would like to sing the Anthem for your school? For everyone?"
"Yeah....you know, mom.  I have some bad stage fright.  But...but I think...I think if I just go up there, and just give it a big try and like, go for it, you know...I think I could do it."  
I was so surprised, and so excited to hear this inkling of confidence from the Little One who somewhere around 6 hit the massive brick wall of realization that She cared what other people think of Her, that I instantly replied "Of course you could! That's just great! I'll see if they still need a singer".  And I sent that email right off.
*THEN I bothered to ask if She knew the song.*
How is it possible that the public school system, her family and friends, and J and I, have all so epically failed at teaching this kid the Star Spangled Banner?! Doesn't everyone know that song? I mean, the kid is American.  It should just BE in there somewhere.  Right?!
Nope.  She had never even heard of it.
So imagine my predicament, when I got an email the next morning, after I'd packed Her off on the bus, saying how happy the organizers were to have a singer, and to meet them at 6:15 sharp by the stage to get Her set up with the microphone.
Hmm.  I thought this over.  Sure, the reasonable thing would have been to politely withdraw the offer, seeing as how it would be hard for Little One to sing a whole song She'd never even heard.  But have we ever known me to be a reasonable person?  Nope.
This was an Opportunity.  I could hear it.  It was totally knocking.  And we also all know how I feel about those.  So here is the crazy thing I did.
I emailed the school, and said that Little One had "an appointment", and I'd be there to pick Her up.  In 30 minutes.  And then I did; I took Her out of school in the middle of the day.  She had an appointment all right.  With destiny, guys.
Ok, well.  With me.  An appointment with me, in the basement.
Little One and I spent the whole afternoon learning and practicing the Star Spangled Banner.  We listened to it on repeat during dinner, and all the way to the school.
We brought the music we'd printed at home, and shyly approached the MC.  He showed Her the microphone, and asked Her to say "testing".
She was horrified. She couldn't even look at it. Like a toddler, She hid Her face in my shirt, and wouldn't even speak.  The guy looked at me with the fear in his eyes of a man realizing he had made a terribly rash decision.  I smiled at him.  "We'll be fine.  Come get us when it's time, k?"  And I pulled Her outside.  She sang it for me twice, with all the right notes and words.  We went in and waited.
Finally She was called over, and we sat together at the front of the gym, while the bleachers filled and the players were announced.  She hummed nervously and every 10 seconds or so made a funny squeaking noise and pressed Her face into my neck whimpering "I can't! I just can't! I can't ever do this! Oh no. I can't do it!" 
"Whatever happens, just be confident.  Get up there and have fun with your great new song. You can do it." 
Her name was announced and She squeezed my hand tight.
"Oh no!"
She was frozen.  I picked Her up and set Her on Her feet.
She turned to run!
I put a hand on Her shoulder and looked as calm as humanly possible.  I was like a freaked out teenager trying to be cool. Heeey man.  No big deal. Nooo big deal.
I looked Her right in the eyes.  "Go for it." 
She looked right back at me. Took a deep breath.  And stepped up to the mic.
She looked at the many dozens of people in the stands.  Her teacher, Her fiends, strangers.  She looked at Her music.
And She sang.
She sang the first line beautifully.  After that, She got the words right, and sort of marched to the beat of Her own drummer with the melody.  But She never faltered or paused; She stood there and She sang it out.
The fans cheered.  She smiled.  She ran off to watch the game with Her friends.
On the way home, I told Her how I was so proud of Her.

"Really, mom? Even though...I got all the notes wrong." 

"But you told me that you were scared to do it.  You said you had 'stage fright'.  And still, you worked hard to learn this new song, and then you didn't let yourself down.  You got up there and you did it.  I always tell you to be brave.  Brave doesn't mean to never feel nervous or afraid, brave is to do what you have to do, what is right, and what you love and want to do, even when you ARE scared. Tonight you were brave. I am proud of you."

I am kind of amazed by Her.  I would not have been the least bit upset if She'd backed out at any moment.  But She never did.  How many of us would be willing to put ourselves out there like that? I'll be honest.  She's braver than I am.
It's true, pulling a kid out of school to teach them a song isn't exactly on the list of allowable excused absences.
But, I argue, learning Her national anthem is an educational activity.  And besides that, today She also learned how to overcome a fear.  How to work hard for something and not give up on it, how to do something She cared about without being stymied by what others might think of Her; how to be brave.  How to hear an opportunity knocking, and open up the door. Pretty good for a day's work, if you ask me.
Good work, my little American cutie pie.  You belong right here, in the land of the free.  Home of the brave.

Little One Turns SEVEN

Today my Little One is seven.  Seven.
It has been a wild year, full of challenges.  She moved to a new state/town/home/school.  She weathered Her father disappearing into residency and Her mother going back to work.  She had three health emergencies at school, including on picture day and Her birthday.  She lost three great-grandparents, a grandfather, and Her dog.   She switched schools again.  She started riding the bus, 2 hours a day.  She found out that when the year is over, She will switch again, and oh- also be moving across the world.  (More about that later).  She adopted a fish, took on gymnastics, piano, and swimming, and had a sweet baby brother morph into a 25 pound wrecking ball.  And she lost a bunch of teeth.
 Little One has dealt with all of these things in the Little-One-est way possible; with grace, resilience, and cheerfulness.  Little One, surrounded by challenges, peers out onto a horizon of endless mountains and sees a grand adventure in each one.  Her first instinct on facing any steep terrain in life is to find a foothold and start climbing.
As my little girl begins truly to grow up, Her innate drive to Try Hard is something I find so beautiful and inspiring in Her.  It's this adventurous, open-hearted spirit and willingness to go through the struggle of something new that has brought Her through to being a seven-year old who seems to excel at everything She tries.  It's because She tries, and tries, and tries again until She gets it.  I might want to be like Her when I grow up.  In the last year, Little One has covered a lot of ground.  She has:

- Done well in school, and been accepted into the accelerated STEM program at the magnet school that is practically in Siberia it's such an long bus ride from Her mother.  Ahem.

-Become a self-described "book addicted person", consuming books like a flame.  In the last year she has read the entire magic treehouse series, fairy series (good riddance), and most of encyclopedia brown, in addition to stacks and stacks of others.  She usually gets about 20 from the library each week, and burns right through them.

- Started gymnastics for fun and was invited to team-track.  Last week She completed a gym right-of-passage and climbed 20 feet of rope to stick Her name tag on the ceiling!

- Become super interested in robotics, and for Her birthday asked for "small motors, lithium batteries, and lots of scotch tape".

-Begun cooking meals and baking all by Herself.

- Gotten pretty good on Her bike, though not yet ready to let go of training wheels.

-Managed to keep in touch with friends from Her old school, and also make great new friends on the bus and at Her new school.

-Moved forward in swimming and with Her grandad's coaching learned to dive.

-Been a flower girl in both Her aunts' lovely weddings!

-Taught Her brother the alphabet song, and also how to Cha Cha slide.

-Grown tall enough to ride some of the rides at a theme park

-Taken good care of Her fish.

-Eaten probably several metric tons of sushi.  (should I not have put those last two in a row?)

-Realized that Her parents are not perfect (that one stings a little)

-Loved us anyways (at least so far).

-Loved all of us, actually.  All of of us in the immediate and extended family, neighborhood, and basically the world.  She loves the whole world.  She wants to take care of all the everyone.

Her Loves and Not-Loves:

Loves:
Sushi
Seaweed in any form
Japanese food in general
Hot Dogs/Tofu Dogs/anything called dog that gets ketchup on it
Home made bread and honey
French Onion soup
Ethiopian food
Brussel sprouts
Sugar.

Reading
Robotics
Pokeman (because the bus kids play)
Anything that ends with Her covered in mud
Traveling/visiting new places
Learning about Anything
Making Mister Laugh
Art projects and pretend with Missy
Chasing the boys
Riding the bus
Dancing
Cooking (French Onion soup is Her specialty)
Vegan Baking (Brownie Pie is Her top recipe)
Riding Her bike
Being altogether silly
Pigtails
Headbands
Sparkles/ruffles/fancy shiny anything
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Not So Much
Mushrooms
Bell Peppers
The idea of cheese or eggs.  The look and smell and existence of them.
Sitting at the Peanut-free table at school
Missing Her dog
When Little siblings don't get the memo about Her being In Charge
The "frog" stretch at gymnastics
Playing with dolls/barbies
Scary movies or stories
Lights Out at bedtime (She would read until midnight)
Sleeping/snuggling with Her sister

Little One at seven alternates between being curled up reading, practically in a coma She's so still and  quiet and unaware of the rest of the world, and being a whirling top, cartwheeling through the living room, dancing in the kitchen, creating utopian worlds in the backyard with Missy, constructing 4-foot cardboard robots all over the basement, and asking ALL. the. questions.  About ALL the things.

She's at a fragile stage of growing up, wondering aloud if there's really such a thing as a tooth fairy, but not daring to think about applying the same logic to Santa.  She wants the freedom to wear Her crazy mis-matched outfits and to ride Her bike beyond our line of sight, but still wants cuddles and lullabies before bed.  She's beyond wanting us to read to Her, but still likes to read right beside us.  She thinks She should watch these movies Her friends talk about, like Star Wars and Jurassic Park, but hides behind me when Bambi's forrest catches fire.  Sometimes in gymnastics I watch Her, steadily stepping along the high-beam, and it feels familiar.  She's walking the line between a Little Kid and a Big Kid.

Knowing how close that era of Her life (and ours) is now, it's impossible not to look ahead, as a mom, and go breathless with the wonders and worries of the more complex years ahead.  But being around Little One helps me to keep from panicking.  Hanging out and chatting with Her, it's hard to imagine She could ever not be sweet, fun, and fantastic.  When I'm with Her, I see all those challenges ahead in the Big Kid years for what they are through the Little One lens- adventures waiting to be taken on and made into successes.  Mountains waiting to be climbed.

Seven on the Seventh.  A golden birthday! Happy, happy birthday Little One, my golden little girl.  We love you so much, and love going through all your grand adventures with you.  May you always climb with such strength.   

Not Breaking The Internet

C:"time for dinner! We are having daddy's famous chickpea masala!"

Littles:"yay!"

Then Little One gets all teenagery and rolls her eyes. She deadpans: "famous? It's not famous."

C: "well, sure it is!"

LO:"is it on a website?"

***crickets***

LO:"yeah. Didn't think so. Not famous." 

Bad Blood

A benefit to writing your own story is you get to be the hero if you want!  Which, of course, I do.  SuperC! Saving the day by changing the baby with one hand and sticking a bandaid on the preschooler with the other, while answering the gradeschooler's questions about why a / is used to denote fractions.  Tum-ta-da!

But every good hero has nemeses. One of mine, is Kidzbop.  

This diabolical entity is many things.  But in my life it takes the form of a Pandora station that plays all the crap pop songs you have never heard of because you are not a 12 year old girl, and then plays them in re-mixes performed by Alvin and the bleeping Chipmunks.  

I have Little One's Kindergarten teacher to thank for this monstrosity.  Apparently, she liked to play it in the afternoons and let the kids dance around to such educational gems as "all about that base".  The Disneyfied version.  She let Little One set it up, so Little One knows all about how to get Kidzbop on any device.  And She is. OBSESSED.  

It is all Kidzbop, all day.  Every. Day.  And so, SO loud.  

In my effort not to already be the curmudgeonly older generation (too much) I mostly try to just plaster on my haunted grin, and bear it.  Though sometimes it feels a little like the CIA is probably playing a joke on me, spying to see how long it will be until I crack under the torture.  

Sometimes I get into it and dance along. But really, guys, as a general thing?  

Chipmunks singing Katy Perry??? Why????

Every time I think I win a battle against this villain, playing something else, or hiding the iPad, it's little minions find a way to blast it again. 

Last month I arrived in Ethiopia, allllll the way across the world, in a place where there is no Pandora.  No Spotify.  No iAnything.  No Kidzbop! And what do I see. 

 I CAN'T ESCAPE!

Both Sisters are into this stuff.  

But at least I have my uncorrupted baby. 

Last night, I was washing Little Mister in the tub.  He started singing. 

Mr: "ya wa ga baaaah bod! ya wa ga baaaaah bod!"

He's so cute! Right?  So cute, all innocent and tiny, singing in His sweet little voice in the tub.  Singing His cute little made-up song.  

His sisters hear Him and start giggling.  A little too something, those giggles.  

They clap for Him and say, "Yes! Yes that's right!"

Then they start signing.  They start singing: "baby now we got bad blood you know we used to be bad love..."  

And I realized my sweet baby was singing some violent, angry, girl-drama Taylor Swift song.  

He learned Bad Blood before the ABCs.  I die.  

Kidzbop Strikes again.    

Baby You're A Firework

 For Independence Day, we celebrated with all the standard stuff.  Picnics, bounce castles, popsicles.  Construction paper flags, big band music, and glow sticks.
Documentary videos and books about the history of the declaration of independence, of America, and fireworks.  And of course, fireworks.
I think this might be the first year Little Miss has stayed awake long enough to see any.  Since last year we were all sleeping by the time the sky lit up, it was also Little Mister's first encounter.
He was amazed.  At first, He jumped and held onto me like we might all be about to blow up, and looked at me like, "whatintheholyheckmom!" But when He saw that I wasn't in a panic, He settled in to watch (from the safety of my lap).
He kept pointing up at the display and saying, "Color! Color-color! Color! Nice."  
Nature celebrated with us, too, as a big orange harvest moon climbed up through the lights.  It was as amazing as the fireworks.  Mister pointed- "Ball!" He asked for it.  "Ball! Please?" 
Oh my Mister.  If only I could fetch you the moon, I would.
Luckily, the whole point of the holiday is that you are lucky enough to belong to a country in which you have the freedom to chase any dream you choose.  If you want to shoot for the moon? Have a ball.

Birthday

Yep.  I had one.  

It was kind of hard to tell, at first.  Since J worked like 12 hours that day, and I spent it cleaning bathrooms and organizing the basement and covering my ears and rocking back and forth signing REALLY LOUDLY to drown out all the WHINING from the kids who were stuck in the house due to a mosquito invasion of apocalyptic proportions, and neglected due to the bathroom scrubbing and basement cleaning.  

As a special treat there was the insurance adjuster who came to assess my birthday present this year, which will be a new car door, seeing as how I smashed the other one into a wall.  Tricky, those walls! He knew it was my birthday, so he brought me a back-scratcher shaped like a bear claw.  Er.  Thanks..

He also tried to give me the gift of "hey, you're not that old" by giving me his number, and repeatedly telling me to call and text him, but not to tell my husband.  Or to tell him about the back-scratcher either.  And if he were my man, he wouldn't be mad at me for wrecking the car.  ('Don't tell your husband I said that').  And then after he left, he sent a few text messages and then came back, texting me from the driveway to ask if he could come in and borrow some duct tape.  Really? At which point I directed him to the furthest hardware store and went back to the basement, where it was less creepy.

The Sisters wanted to throw me a "party", which means they got out every piece of everything and flung it around the room, draping beads and scarves and, ahem, my bras ("they're so fancy!") from the furniture and lamps and taping stuff to the walls.  

Then, while I tried to wrestle a two-ton angry crocodile (or maybe it was Mister, hard to tell which was what that day) into a nap, Sisters decided to bake me a cake.  I guess the floor in there was white anyways, so whats a bunch of flour and sugar and stuff? Right?!

The whole gang of them wanted in on decorating it, too, so we got out- the sprinkles. Which, all the moms who shuddered upon reading that know, are almost as bad as glitter.  

J had offered to bring a birthday dinner home, but he got stuck at work until after bedtime, and couldn't text me until the children were already gnawing on their own elbows they were so hungry.  So it was microwaved tofu-dogs and freezer peas for dinner.  And wine.  For me. 

I re-wrestled the crocodile into bed, and stopped at the door to chuckle.  

Because I mean.  

This day.

This day guys! 

Then, guess what?

I walked back to the dining room, where I'd left the sisters finishing their dinners, and there they were. Grinning. With such a beautiful chocolate brownie cake, a banner that said "happy birthday mommy we love you so so so so much", a stack of handmade cards, and two gloriously decorated boxes.  

They sang to me.  

We had cake, and I opened the boxes, which they had apparently been hiding under their beds for weeks.  They were filled with little treasures.  

We chatted and laughed and I was showered in hugs and kisses.  

It was the best birthday ever.  

It was the first time that my children, all on their own, threw me a birthday celebration.  They worked hard and they did it because they love me.  

I realize that as I've aged and grown another year, so have they.  There has begun a great tectonic shift beneath the surface of our relationship, a change by which now, and more and more from now until forever, I not only take care of my children, but they take care of me, too.  

My children have always saved me, taught me, and brought me joy.  But now, they do it on purpose. 

On my birthday I realized, there is certainly a gift in that.  

News From The Ark

Well hello there.
It seems that every time I post here, I start out with some iteration of "it's been a long time".
It's like a person who loves to cook grand, multi-course meals, whose life speeds up so fast they realize one day they've had nothing but drive-through take-out for months.
Me, I like to write overly involved stories about things that are important to me, trying to preserve these gorgeous, fleeting moments, but it's come to a point around here that Instagram is about as good as it gets.
But the busy cook-at-heart would surely stay up late stirring spices into a pot from time to time, for the sake of remembering who they are, right?  And now and then, even though I should be doing other things, I pop in around here.
Hey.  It's been a long time!
But we're all still around.
This has been a rough year in some ways.  In the last six months, we lost J's remaining grandparent.  And his father, unexpectedly.  We lost my Nana, as I've mentioned.  And then, just a week later, my grandfather.  My grandaddy was a really, really important and special person to me.  I think I just shut down for awhile.  But I'm just carrying on, as we do, and missing him quietly.
We have also been adjusting to not only having J in residency (with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails) and having me go back to work (from home, mostly, with the erratic, stressful schedule that entails), but doing both at once.  We've had some struggles with Little One and school, plus, you know, Life.  Waah wahhh wahh.
The last year almost, it's felt like our little family was sailing through a storm.  We hunkered down, getting tossed around and soaked and bumping our heads on the rafters and just riding it out.
But, slowly (and with the help of J's parents and my mom, bless them), we've adjusted ballast so that, even though it's still windy out there, we've got a pretty even keel and strong sea legs.  Balance.
I returned from a trip to Ethiopia just in time for the last week of school, and all that fun and chaos. Little One had one more snow-day-make-up on today, and now we are FREE for the summer.  Freeeeeeeee!
It is possible that this change will knock me sideways again for awhile, but I have to admit I am incredibly excited to have long days spread before me with all my littles home.
Here are a few updates on those little monkeys, since it's been awhile:

Little One
Well for one thing, She lost another tooth tonight.  The growing up just will. not. stop.  It's crazy.
Little One has had a great year at school with friends, and a rough year with the learning part, but She handled all of it like a star.  I'm so proud of the way She has faced Her challenges and been a good friend and not stopped hugging me goodbye at drop-off yet.  She might be a little boy crazy.  But this is not really new.

Miss
Missy has traveled light years in Her ability to express Herself and handle Her emotions.  She is still our drama queen, no doubt. But She's able to reassure Herself that the world is not actually ending if She can't find Her favorite shoes.  She was the darling of Her preschool teachers, who really truly will never believe that I could call Her dramatic or accuse Her of refusing to get dressed for school in the morning, leading to Her arrival at school in nothing (I mean nothing) but a bathrobe.  She painted Her way through preschool, but somehow learned to read. It's because She quietly notices everything. She's the most cuddly, loving, kissy Little of all time, and also hilarious.  Mostly on purpose.

Little Mister
This guy.  He has his moments.  Moments in which He is hangry, and then gets frustrated, and reacts by throwing Himself backwards with all His might, whacking His head on the floor, and then, every time, freezes for a moment- in complete shock, as if it's never happened before- and then cries because, you know.  THAT HURTS.  In those moments I can only look at Him blankly and wonder if maybe I drank heavily during pregnancy and forgot about it.  But most of the time, most of it, He is sweet and fun and adorable.  He talks all the time, constantly, and we are realizing that He is actually saying stuff.  We can make a lot of it out now, and He's pretty funny.  He loooooovves His sisters.  He loves raisins.  And shoes.  And, ok, all the things.  He loves all things.  Except the ones He can't have.  Those things are WAHHHHHAAAAHHH!  Lucky for Him, with two doting Sisters wrapped around His pinky, there aren't a lot of those.

J
Not a Little.  But he counts right?!  I hear he's doing fine.  If you see him, you can ask.  I'll have to take your word for it.  Kidding, kidding.  Sort of.  J is working long hours and long weeks.  But he's still making time to be superdad, and I'm trying to accept the extra housework and kid-wrangling he's been picking up lately as we adjust that ballast.  It's funny how difficult it can be for a person who considers herself to be a feminist to allow someone else to do the laundry.  I just bite my tongue really hard, and breathe deeply in a quiet place for awhile repeating, "it's ok that he sorted into only two piles. If they all turn out pink I can buy all new clothes. Let it go. Let it goooo".   That Frozen movie song really applies to mis-sorted laundry.  Which never turns out pink.  He's basically a champ.

Me
Well I have a laundry problem, clearly.  But I'm thankful that J is so supportive of the new balance we are finding as a family.  I'm thankful to have a job I believe in that I can do without hiring help with my Littles, and that our moms step in at crucial times when I otherwise would have had to hire help.  And I'm especially thankful for this time when my Littles are all going to be with me all day, all summer. And like it.  At least, hopefully they'll like most of it.  I know these days are finite, I know they are precious.  I take none of it for granted.  And, despite the rough waters at times (that's life!) I am thoroughly enjoying the ride.  

With Chocolate and Kleenex

We have been s-ICK over here.  The last couple of weeks have been a toxic slurry of nose goo, coughs, fevers, and the dreaded pink eye.  "When can She go back to school?" I ask the doctor.  "How about when She stops looking like an extra in a zombie movie?" Ok then.
After a week and a half of un-planned vacation, we have stir-crazy children and a behind-at-work mama.  Luckily, the Sisters have come around in the last day or so, and my mom is here to save the day. (!) So Mister has a lot of love to soothe His oh-so-pitiful self, and we are determined to have a happy Valentine's Day.
Now, in the case that tomorrow I'm the next one hit (I hear that if you get slimed by a zombie, you turn into one), or in the case that we are all well and having too much Valentine fun to stop, or in the (most likely) case that I fall into a chocolate coma, here is a happy, happy Valentine wish for YOU from the Littles.
We may be far, I may not check in often enough, and we might not say it as much as we think it, but it IS true, Peanuts.

We love you.  

Superbowling

Superbowl-pajama party.  Double win!

The day before Superbowl, we had a fun but very busy day- we were jetting from one activity to another for 12 hours.  So on Sunday, we really didn't feel like getting back on the road. Mister was practically threatening revolt if He had to miss one more nap.  But we still wanted to have all the most important elements of a good Superbowl party:  chips, dips, game, good company.

So we decided to throw our own family Superbowl party!  

For dinner we had nachos (Little One's thanks to daiya vegan cheese), chips, raw veggies, and lots of home-made dips.  The Sisters thought it was about the most awesome thing ever.  

Missy was unimpressed by the football ("They don't even SAY anything.  They jus' run AWOUND.  This is a boh-ring movie")  but She sat and watched, and waited for the halftime show.  

And then fell fast asleep during the commercial break before the halftime show, and missed it.  

Little One has long liked to watch football, and She was super into the game.  She didn't like the commercials, but loved the football, and the halftime show (during Missy Elliot- "I don't know what they call this dance- but I. LOVE. IT!) and, also, the chips.  

She almost made it to the end of the game, but got too tired.  

Little One: "How much more of the game is there?" 

C: "Well we are in the 3rd quarter, and - how many quarters in a whole?"

LO: "In a what?"

C: "A whole. How many quarters do you need for a whole?"

LO: "What?! You don't need any quarters for a whole. All you need is a shovel!" 

One Fish, Two Fish

Little One recently developed a love of rabbits.  She asked for one for Christmas, and was valiantly thankful when She got one- that was plush and stuffed. "Fluffy" has become a favorite, but She still kept asking for a real bunny.  To be Her very own, to care for and love.
Soon Missy was drawn into pining for a pet, and their little hearts were just bleeding all over the place making a huge mess.  So J and I had a powwow; we needed a plan.
Soon after, I surprised the Sisters with a visit to the aquarium store.

We oohed and aahhed over all the exotic creatures, and then stopped and fell in love with the stand of vivid, flowy betta fish.  I pulled them aside and presented The Deal.
IF they earned all the money needed to buy the fish, AND all the stuff fishes need, and IF they promised to take care of the fish and understood that I really, seriously, no seriously, would take-the-fishes-right-back-where-they-came from-so-help-me in the case they weren't being taken care of, THEN they could have a fish.  Of their very, very own.  To be In Charge of, to love, to name, and to keep.
Well, Little One mused, it's not quite a bunny.  But still super great! We had a deal.
They patiently listened to the pet shop guy preach about all that would be needed to care for this menagerie of one.  We added up the cost.  And went home to the chore chart.

All of those flowers are responsibilities the Littles are expected to complete each and every day.  But in the little basket there are stars with extra chores they may do to earn money.  There are plenty of options, but since they have not yet figured out how to form a union, the wages for these tasks are quite low- a quarter to vacuum, 10 cents to polish the fingerprints off the chairs.  They did lots of extra chores to add to their piggy banks.

Chopping veggies

Working hard for the money

Mister wanted to help too

Baking brownies from a recipe.  All I did was put them in and out of the oven. And eat them.  I did lots of that.

Plus, they have both been hoarding money since forever.  They each spent some money at Christmas buying presents for each other and for Mister, but otherwise they've scrooged it up in their room every time they find a penny on the sidewalk or rake in cash from selling their old toys at a yard sale.

They also pooled their resources, both in terms of labor and cash, and decided to share a jar of fish food and water conditioner, to save on overhead. Wise financial planning.

Also, all my cheap ways have rubbed off on them. Rather than buy the pricey glass bowls and marbles at the fish store, they chose to shop for these supplies at the thrift store.  They carefully compared prices in the glass isle, and chose less expensive options.

So before we knew it, our little laborers had saved up all they needed.  They were just a little excited about reaching their goal.

Finally, the big day came.  The bowls and rocks were clean, filled, and temperature acclimated.  The pennies and nickels were counted and packed up.  When I got home from yoga class, the Sisters were at the window, and were jumping into their shoes and jackets before I got through the door.

We drove to the aquarium store and the Littles explained their purpose (by which I mean shouted it while jumping up and down giggling), and the manager was all about it.  He told them all about how wonderful they were, and gave them a veritable college course in betta-fish ownership.  They listened, they nodded.  They asked a few questions.  And then.  Drumroll please.

They got to pick out the perfect fish.  It took a good long time, but in the end they were certain they had chosen just the very exactly perfect, right fish for them.


Little One chose a robust and vivid blue fish with red underfins which swam and swirled quite like a peacock.  Blue like the ocean, She named it "Wave".

Missy selected a slender, docile, pale pink opalescent fish with a few purple spots.  She'd had the name ready a long time- "Smiley".

We've brought them home, released them from their dixie cups into their new, slightly larger habitats, and they have been quite doted upon already.

Smiley and Wave have joined us at the dinner table, they've been shown countless drawings made just for them, they have been sung to and talked to and cooed at.  They are each read bedtime stories by their new girl, and placed on the bedside table to "almost cuddle" through the night.

It will be very interesting to see how these relationships play out.  For now though, I'm happy to think that some message about work ethics and economics must have filtered in through the excitement, I'm happy to have had so much laundry sorted for me, and I must admit they are pretty and fun to watch.  Mister and I spent half an hour sitting together today, peacefully eating banana slices and watching them swirl.
Of course, part of that time I was thinking, "What are we doing all I need is another two creatures to keep alive around here".  But after laying in bed this morning, listening to Missy croon love songs to Smiley, and after Little One whizzed through Her homework yesterday with Wave's "help", I confess it's true.  The more, the merrier!

Always

C: "Little One, can you turn on the light?" 

LO: "Um, sure, I think so mom."

She reaches, it's too far.  

She hops.  She jumps.  

Again and again, throwing Herself up the wall with Her fingers stretched waaaaaay up, trying to hit the switch.  

She's six, but She's little.  She's still so little, and the light switch is just too high.  

I watch Her a few more times, then offer, 

"Little One, would you like a little help with it?" 

She doesn't slow down.  She's jumping with all Her might now, running out of breath.  

"Just-a, few-more, times, mama-"

"Ok, love, no hurry.  Just let me know."

I look on as She jumps again.  Five times, ten. Twenty? I don't know how many.  

Then-  

She gets it.  

The light flashes on.  

She stops, panting, Her hands on Her hips, beaming as bright as the bulbs.  

I'm grinning too.  

"You did it!!"

Little One smiles, She wiggles Her hips in a little victory dance and chants, 

"Always believe in your self."

This is  one of the most beautiful things about being a parent.  Getting to witness these little moments, these trivial things, that are not little or trivial at all.  

Mary Had A Little Lamb

Mary had a little lamb. But Missy has a little dog.
Well.  Not that little, really, at 50 pounds, but Her dog seems to have other things in common with Mary's lamb.  Like being soft and fuzzy.  And wanting to follow his mistress to school.
We are lucky enough to live within walking distance of both Sister's schools.  Today Miss and I had dropped Little One off and were heading to preschool, when we were surprised at being charged by a big brown dog.  Who happened to be ours.
I told him to go home, at which he looked surprised, but turned to obey.  I watched him run across a green space and up a hill, where he made a valiant effort to get back into our yard through the hole he had dug under the fence.  He tried, but could't wriggle in.
So he just looked at me helplessly, a little guiltily, until I sighed.  "Ok then, X.  Come on."
He bounded over like he had just won christmas.
Little Miss, who had been complaining of the cold, of her feet being tired, of "please-carry-me-I-need-be-unner-yoh-ja-cket" was suddenly and miraculously cured of Her ills.
We backtracked a block to pick up his leash, and then he followed us to school.

X has never been a runner.  He is the dog who, as a puppy, stayed in our front courtyard during the day.  One day, a parcel deliveryman left the front gate open while J and I were at work- all day. When we finally got home, there was X, wagging his tail on the doormat.

There have been times he has jumped fenced before.  Always to get to the front door, where he waits expectantly to be invited inside, where he knows he belongs.

Until he developed a serious grouchiness with other dogs in his middle age, we never even bothered walking him on a leash.  He likes to be near his people.

The great tragedy of X's life was Little One's asthma.  Little One is allergic to dogs (of course).  A lick in the face gives Her a swollen eye that could compete with a bar fight injury.  She does pet and cuddle Her doggies, but always at the price of sneezing, wheezing, itching, and hives.  Dog time is always followed by wash time.
When She was three, She began to have serious trouble with asthma.  It was the dogs.
Numerous doctors have told us, in no uncertain terms, to "get rid of them".  But we couldn't.  Just couldn't.  So we tried everything; we restricted them to one part of the house, away from Little One's room.  We shaved their fur and bathed them every week, washed their beds every few days, vacuumed the house twice a day, and had HEPA filters all over the house.  Little One took a daily inhaler and a daily allergy medicine.
She was still needing Her rescue inhaler a couple of times a week.
So with heavy hearts, we built them a dog house in the back yard.  Within two weeks, Little One stopped having asthma attacks.  Soon She didn't need any of those medicines.  We couldn't argue with that.
So X and E became something none of us ever expected- outside dogs.  In Virginia they had reign over the yard and garage, but this house has no garage.  There is a storage room in the basement, and when we moved in it became the "dog room" for them to sleep in at night or during bad weather.
But just a few weeks in, Little One began having breathing trouble again.  Just having the dogs walk through Her playroom twice a day to get in and out was enough to affect Her health.
So we have converted the shed in the back into a behemoth dog house.  We fitted it with a dog-door, and they have their beds, their bones, their basket of toys in there.  They will have heated pads to curl up in when the weather gets cold.  But we still miss each other.
With the all-consuming life of babies and toddlers, we are sure they have felt quite neglected for some time.  But we've found a new turn of events now that the Sisters are six and three-and-a-half.
The dogs still don't get anywhere as much attention from me and J as they did before their banishment.  But, like all siblings in large families, they now get it from the other kiddos.
Miss and Little One play with them in the yard, throwing things for them, running with them, playing around and cuddling them.  They are now old enough to walk the dogs, holding the leashes themselves while I hold Mr, making their attendance possible on family strolls.  They seem to be reintegrating into the family in a new way, and the bond between the dogs and the children is pretty sweet to see.

It's why our otherwise well-behaved, never-been-a-runner dog X plotted an escape- to walk his girl to school.  It's why he greeted Miss first when he ran up to us.  And why he wagged his tail all the way to drop off- and whimpered all the way home.
Yesterday, Little Miss spent two hours in the back yard mixing mud and decorating a beautiful, elaborate "cake" for X, to celebrate his tenth birthday.

It's hard to believe it's been a decade since I held a tiny flop-eared puppy on my shoulder and whispered him a promise that I was taking him out of that county shelter and would take care of him forever.

Looking back over those years, I remember how he stood guard at my bedroom door every night when I was pregnant with Little One.  I remember how he herded her into the room with us when she was toddling around, how he he loved going down the slide with both girls at the playground and letting the neighborhood kids throw sticks for him or mob him to wash him together in the summers. I remember that time a foster puppy got out and I could not catch her- then I let X out and he rounded her up and shepherded her home.

X with the foster puppy he rescued

 
 There have been times I've watched a Little lean into his fur and cry quietly, and know that it helped them because I've done the same.  I remember the time all the houses on our row of town homes got robbed one night- except ours.  The time when J was deployed that he and E barked so ferociously in the middle of the night, and then the police knocked to tell me that a neighbor had seen a man trying to break in- who didn't.  I realize that while I've kept my promise to feed and shelter him, maybe he's the one who has taken care of me.
On the tenth birthday of the member of our family who was sort of our first baby, I maybe should have scolded my dog for digging a hole under the fence and wriggling through to chase us to school.  But I can't help thinking that he wasn't doing something wrong, so much as righting a wrong.  After all, he ended up right where he should be.
By our side.

 

Vitamitzvah

C: "Little One! What are you doing up on the counter?"

Little One: "Getting our vitamins.  We finished breakfast."

C: "O...k.  But you need Mommy's help to open the containers.  So hang on minute, please." 

Little One shrugs: "It's ok, Mom.  I got it."

C: "They're child-proof, love.  That means that-"

Little One expertly pops the lids off.

C: "Um.  Who taught you how to do that?!"

Little One looks at me almost piteously and shakes Her head.

"Oh, Mom.  You know, I can read now."

She smiles at my blank stare and pats my shoulder, as if consoling a small child.

" Look here- 'push down and turn right'.  Want me ta show you how?"

I guess we can skip the sweet 16 party.  Apparently, once one can read, they are no longer a 'child'.

Halloween Tricks and Treats

Our Sisters had the idea of being the Frozen Sisters for Halloween the first time they watched the movie, back in the summer sometime.  They are obviously not the only ones to be struck by this particular inspiration, but they were so excited about it (mainly about Mister filling the role of Olaf) that even though I prefer not to get characters involved in Halloween,  I couldn't say no.  Plus, then they got their Nana involved, and after that it was just out of my hands, guys.  
And into her very talented ones.  My mom whipped up all three costumes from nothing in a couple of weeks!  Complete with capes, appliquéd flowers, and embroidered snowflakes. So, while their theme may not have been unique, their costumes certainly were.  
Thanks Nana! Now.  When it comes to those characters, my Sisters faced an existential dilemma that had them debating for weeks.  Who is which sister??? On the one hand, they reasoned, Little One is the eldest, so She should be Elsa, and Missy Anna.  BUT then again!  Missy has the blonde Elsa hair (an all-important aspect of Disney identity, you know), and Little One has Anna hair.  
Problems. 

Almighty Nana solved this crisis for us, by sizing the dresses such that both Sisters could fit into either.  And they worked out amongst themselves how to trade off. 

Little One got to be Elsa for Her school parade and party.  

Miss and Mister came to cheer Her on, and got to join in the class party as well. 

 Little One's favorite part of it all was getting to have Her sister sit next to Her at Her desk. 

 They had snacks, played bingo, and helped me lead the class in some crafts, which was a lot of fun. 

 Another parent had brought candy corn for the bingo game, and had tried three stores to find a version (which I did not know existed) that was allergy safe for Little One. When the mom told Her, Her face lit up like fireworks, and Her teacher exclaimed, "it's a Halloween Miracle!"

Little One also played Elsa at a Halloween party, and this time Missy dressed up too. 

Little Olaf stayed home to nap, but the Royal Sisters had a ton of fun, especially after the party, when they discovered a huge leaf pile.  Lots of kids got involved. And ok.  So did I.  Who could help jumping in a leaf pile on a perfect autumn day?!  We came home bedraggled, but it was worth it.

When it was time for the costume parade at pre-school, Little Miss chose to be Elsa.  

She must have been pretty in-tune with those ice powers, because it was a very chilly parade.  Luckily, Olaf was toasty in that snowsuit, Little One huddled in Her cloak, and Elsa was so proud to be showing off Her own school event, that the cold never bothered Her anyway.  

In the deal brokered between Sisters, Missy also got to wear blue for the Halloween-day party and actual trick-or-treating.  Our neighborhood has this strange cosmic phenomenon of providing residence to quite a few sets of sisters the exact age of Little One and Miss.  So we got some of the pairs together to run wild and dress up together before the party.  The giggles could be heard for miles, I am sure.  

Mister courageously survived as the sole representative of His gender.  

Then we all struck out for tricks and treats.  J joined us, even though He was coming off a 30 hour shift.  Actually it worked out for him; he was a totally believable zombie.  

We walked to a neighborhood famed for it's Halloween spirit.  The police even close off the street, knowing that scores of tiny costumed monsters come to beg for candy and ogle the amazing decorations.  

It was a little busy, but a lot of fun.  Everyone was in an excited spirit, we ran into lots of friends, and the setting was really cool.  One house had transformed itself into a diorama from Harry Potter, one was a haunted castle, there were graveyards, haunted houses, and yards full of costumed actors.  

Pirate tales and treasures

A "produce stand" on the street filled with dragons tails, newts eyes, and the like

Grumpy trolls 

20 foot ghouls behind me!

Someone, somehow, had even gone into the storm drain under the street and set up an entire ghoulish scene, with lights and music, for kids to peek down and exclaim over.  There were fog machines, lights, music, and of course, candy.  Our gaggle of girls had a blast.  Olaf took it all in from the cozy stroller with eyes that were as wide as saucers.  Until they fell asleep.  

Not long after that, we walked back towards home.  Zombie J and Olaf called it a night, and the Princesses and I trick-or-treated around our own neighborhood before heading home to divide the candy.  

This year we bought allergy-safe candy to hand out, and let Little One trade in Her chocolate for treats from our dish.  It was like a magic trick for me- we started with this extra pile of lollipops and such, and by morning had a whole bowl of chocolate.  Another Halloween miracle! 

You know.  Halloween has never been my favorite holiday. The macabre element of it is so far from my thing, it belongs in the netherworld from which it supposedly comes.  I don't like teaching my kids its ok to take candy from strangers, and I don't like them to consume loads of refined, artificially flavored sugar.  

But this year, I think I made friends with the holiday.  As we travelled door to door, greeting neighbors we knew and meeting some we didn't, I saw a different side of this tradition.  I guess it's not really about taking candy from strangers; it's about this one night in a year when our culture breaks down the barriers that make us strangers.  Door after door opened in the dark to give warm words and token treats to my little kids.  At door after door, my Littles met smiling faces, smiled back, and practiced their please-and-thank-yous.
Looking down the street and seeing a line of porch lights and flickering pumpkins, watching the doors open and the children walking in and out, weaving the porches together with their steps, it felt less like a row of self-contained homes, and more like a community.
It's always a treat to watch your children lose themselves to the magic of innocent fun.  But for me to really appreciate the tradition of this holiday, seeing the sweetness beyond the candy, was the trick.