Flap-jackie Chan

I'm entrenched in a ridiculous drama in which GoogleVoice has abducted my cell phone number and refuses to give it back.  It terrorizes me, Peanuts.  It's a mean, scurvy pirate.  One of the ways it messes with me is by randomly transcribing voicemails and sending them to me as a text that would take all of the Pentagon's cryptologysts to decipher.
I was picking up Missy from school one day, when one of these encoded nonsensical messages came in.  I wasn't yet familiar with this phenomenon, and so for a minute I just stared at it dumbly, wondering which one of us was crazy.  It made no sense, guys, none.
But I could pick out three words:
school
daughter
allergy
Which were the only ones I needed to see to turn my stomach inside out.  I smiled at Miss, who I had been unsuccessfully beguiling away from the sandbox, walked over to Her calmly, picked Her up, and sat Her on Mister's lap in His stroller.  I measured my words out like sugar in a teaspoon, "There is an emergency, so we are leaving right. now.  Hang on love!"
And I hauled our three tushies down the path, up the road, past the park and through the parking lot in record time, dialing the school as we trucked it.
She was ok.  She was looking scared and embarrassed, but She was breathing normally.  Other than some hives on Her face, She looked fine.  Except for the eye.
Her left eye looked as if She'd jammed a ping-pong ball under Her lids.  It was big and puffy, swollen and red.
The school features pancakes for lunch (got to start those healthy habits early).  One of Little One's friends was eating pancakes with her hands, and reached across the table to get Little One's attention. She touched Her face.  That's it.  That's all.  That's all it took to blimp up Her eye like that and freckle Her with hives.  The nurse had washed it out and put ice on it, but it was still swelling.
I was relieved.  It could have been so much worse than a swollen eye.  I was just getting my heart to start beating normally again, when She took off the ice pack to let me look.  The white of Her eye was bulging.  The whole eyeball was swollen and eerily fat, and a lima-bean sized pouch was extruding from the white sclera and swelling up and over the iris, covering the color of Her eye.
Eyes, Peanuts.  Heebiejeebie.  Eye stuff is ick.  It was the one part of EMT school I cringed in.
So because I was worried about the eye, and because it was only getting worse, we left kindergarten and spent a long afternoon in the ER.  Little One got some medicine and a cold compress, and after a couple of days was just fine; good as new.
But the scariest part of the story, to me, wasn't physical at all.  It was that when Her eye had started bothering Her, She covered it with one hand, and kept writing.  When Her teacher asked if She was ok, She lied and said yes.  She excused Herself to the bathroom.
She didn't come back for a long time, and so the teacher checked and found Her hiding in the bathroom, embarrassed by Her freakish look, rinsing Her eye in the sink.
Her teacher had FREAKED OUT.  The nurse said she was hysterical.  When she spoke to me, she was angry at Little One for the lie.
I didn't talk to Her about this until we were home, I knew She was ok, and we'd all had a chance to rest and decompress.  Then I filled J in, and we talked to Her together.  We told Her the truth.
"Little One.  It's lucky it was just a pancake and a swollen eye.  Because you need to know that if it had been maybe a nut, and you had gone off and hid like that...you could have died in the bathroom.  You could have stopped breathing and no one would be there to help you.  You HAVE to tell your teacher.  It is the most important thing." 
The silver lining is that when these things happen I don't get brushed off as the over-dramatic mom as much.  Now that Her teacher has seen Little One get a freaky fat eye from one roundhouse-kick by a pancake molecule, She is much more interested in asking me to read labels for snacks and keeping Little One away from spills.  Between our chat and missing a birthday party to spend hours in an ER waiting room, I'm hoping Little One has learned something, too.
The struggle between caution and level-headed moderation is a line as thin as the blade on a double-edged sword.  On one hand, we don't want Her to be paranoid so that She is living under a constant shadow of fear.  We want Her to go out into the big world, have adventures, live.  We don't want Her to be sheltered in a bubble of parental protection to the point that She doesn't learn how to navigate the reality on Her own (after all, the great majority of deaths from allergic reactions occur in teens and young adults- basically as soon as children outgrow their parent's reach).  And we don't want to ignore how real the social pains of food allergy can be at Her age; isolating Her and pointing out Her difference and making Her friends uncomfortable being around Her.  
On the other hand.  There is this story of a seven year old who died at school when a friend gave her a peanut on the playground. And this one, where a girl died in her school cafeteria.  Or this boy, who had two cardiac arrests, despite being given his epipen, when teacher forgot and gave him a hazelnut  candy in one of those dreaded birthday crap-eating fests that happen in Little One's class every other week.  This one, who nearly died after building a gingerbread house in school.
And many others.
Because talking about food allergy sometimes seems to get across about as well as that text message I got from the nurse. People are so attached to and in love with food. It's like hearing that your best friend goes around and axe-murders people at night- "cookies? really?  cookies are harmless! My cookies could never hurt anyone! It's just a cookie."  People seem to almost take offense.  When I was discussing Her food allergies with Her teacher at the beginning of the year, the teacher seemed a little annoyed- "obviously, I want to keep Her safe."  Yes.  No one is saying you are going to tie Her up and force peanuts down Her throat.  No one is calling you a sadist.
But something that is inherently nice, nourishing, even comforting to you, is- believe it! It's true!- deadly poison for some of us.  It is that big a deal to hand out a treat that "looks ok" without reading the label.  Or to expect that a little child not only have the 100% infallible judgement to stay away from allergens "because they are old enough to know better", but also to expect them to have superhuman psychic powers and know what ingredients were used in every processed cracker or home-baked treat brought into school, or that someone spilled milk on their chair yesterday and it wasn't washed with soap and water.  Or that the girl eating pancakes across the table is about to reach out.
A kindergarten teacher tasked with a bunch of crazy mini-people who have various special needs, language abilities, and behavior problems can easily view a food allergy as just one more kid issue to add to a long list.
Especially when my child does know better, is personally responsible beyond Her years, and classroom days go by smoothly without incidents.  It starts to feel like, hey.  What's the big deal?  She  must not be that sensitive, because every time we've bent the rules and let kids with peanuts/eggs/milk sit next to Her at the table so far, it's been fine.
Until it isn't.
It may seem harsh to tell a five-year-old that She could have died on a bathroom floor.  Or to tell it to Her teacher.  But it's true.
It's a strange world, as a parent, when you spend a whole afternoon in the ER, when your child gets a big swollen eye, and you feel thankful.  But I'm dance-a-jig, shout-to-the-stars, prayers-of-thanks grateful for that ugly swollen eye.
Because even though She had a couple of really bad days- She's still here.
As for the nurse and the teacher, of all the info I've showered them with since before school even started, this episode I think had the effect on them that those three intelligible key words in the transcribed text had on me.  It was just a swollen eye.  But, I hope, it was enough for them to get the message.   

Little Mr Nine Months

It's hard to believe it's been only a month since Mr's last birthday post.  He has been whizzing through the milestones. Brrrrrrrrrmmmmm! As He would say.

So what's new?

Well for one, Mr is now the proud owner of eight pearly teeth, which came pretty much all at once.  He's even figured out how to use them to chew, and has been eating up all kinds of good stuff.  He will occasionally make a pretty hilarious face when given something new, but He will eat ANYthing.  He's hungry! All the time! Because He's SO. BUSY.  

This kid, Peanuts.  Ay.  I love to watch Him learn and grow, be strong and explore.  But He's pretty much in constant peril.  He is ALWAYS MOVING.  So much so, that all these capital letters are totally necessary.  For you to get the point that HE IS INTO EVERYTHING.  

He has developed a special and weird affinity for the little bolt covers on the base of the toilet.  He lurks, guys.  He stalks the bathrooms.  If anyone (ahem Missy) leaves the door open even a crack, He bolts for it.  Before you know it He has wrenched the icky chocking hazard from the toilet and is holding it up like a glorious trophy, "ahaha! it's mine! MINE!" preparing to swallow it.  

When that's unavailable, there's always the trash-can pedal in the kitchen to pinch His fingers in (every time.  Every. time.) or the Sister's room to rampage for dollhouse furniture and neglected hair bows.  The shoe closet is an exciting place, when He can break into it.  And He's always scouting about dutifully, making sure I haven't missed a single crumb in my housekeeping.  Way to keep after me, Mr!  Got to have things spic and span.  Otherwise what's the fun in spitting up all over it?!

He's formidable to keep up with now, too, since He's finally acquired a full crawl, and has even started pulling up onto His feet and trying to climb things.  

All that thinking about how to subvert me and get into the bathroom has sharpened His thinking skills, too.  He knows a few baby signs (More, drink, milk, change, all-done), a few words (mama, dada, pat-pat, all done, hi), blows excellent raspberries, and loves to sing with me.  Which is even cuter than it sounds.  

The only things Mr doesn't like these days is being restrained too long (too long=over 5 minutes) and skipping naps.  Otherwise, the world is pretty much His oyster.  He loves crawling around exploring, likes the jumper and "hamster wheel" (anchored walker) for awhile anyways, LOVES His bath, and enjoys our thrice daily walks to His Sister's schools.  

He likes to talk, giggle, sing, and be tickled.  He loves anything that has to do with His sisters giving Him any kind of attention or just being silly near Him.  His favorite food is broccoli, His favorite games are peek-a-boo, rolling or chasing a ball, pat-a-cake, and yank-mama-or-sisters-hair-out.  He loves having His teeth brushed, which either tickles like the dickens or is just really really funny.

He has recently (in the last two weeks) been forced to go cold turkey on the pacifier.  While He occasionally laments this loss, He continues to be a fabulous sleeper, 12 hours at night and as much nap as I will give Him.  

While I wouldn't call Him cuddly, He does love hugs, kisses, attention, and a cozy lap for bedtime stories.  He does love to hug my shoulder, nuzzle my neck, and then give me a big fat raspberry on the arm and laugh hysterically.  He does love to hurl Himself into my arms for the occasional hug before moving on to explore some more ( my mother calls this the 'body-slam hug'), and He is fond of big, wet, slimy, baby kisses right on the face. When He's feeling really lovey, He loops one arm around your neck, then uses the other to pat your back gently, resting His head on your shoulder and purring, "pat-pat, pat-pat-pat".  

All I hear when we are out is what a happy baby He is, what a friendly baby He is, what a sweet baby He is, and is He like that all the time?  And yes.  Yes He is.  I find Mister at at nine months to be about as much fun as anything could possibly be.  He keeps me hopping these days, but it feels like a dance.  Like dancing with the music loud, dancing like crazy because you are so happy you can't help it, dancing till you're tired and don't care and keep dancing.  

Little Mister Nine Months, you are so busy.  So busy! You are so curious, so strong, so terrifyingly fearless.  Keeping up after you is a constant and never-ending activity, and it is the most wonderful fun there could be.  I can't wait to keep dancing with you.  Happy birthday.

Tongue Tied

(TMI alert- this post contains blood, gore, and breastfeeding. But it's important, so read it anyways.)

Little Mister doesn't have any words yet.  But that doesn't mean He isn't a talker.  This little dude has a ton to say. He LOVES a good conversation.  He'll strike one up with anyone!  So it's sort of an irony that it turns out that Little Mister was born tongue-tied.

I'm a little ashamed to admit that in all the babies I've fed in my life (dozens), I never really knew about this (apparently quite common) affliction.  Did you know that midwives have been snipping the too-tight frenulums of newborns since forever?  There are records from the 1600s, from the middle ages, even the bible.  People in rural corners of the world cut them with sharp rocks.  Apparently, everyone knows about this but me.  And probably a bunch of other moms who also suffer from ignorance, which is why I want to preach some tongue tie here.  

Because when I say suffer, I mean it.  Little Miss nursed like a champ from, literally, the first minute of Her life.  When Mr was born, I figured, heeeyyyyy.  I got this.  This is my third time around, right?  I nursed my last baby for a long time, like a pro.  I'm pretty much an expert.
So when He was born and finally handed to me, I went to feed Him and was all kinds of surprised that it didn't really work out.  I attributed it to both of our exhaustion from a sort of intense birth, and let it go.  And then He screamed all night.  ALL. NIGHT.  And most of the next day.  Because He was hungry, and I could not get Him to eat.  Eventually, He did start to nurse, but it was a struggle every time.  

He would suck in air, get a belly full of it, arch His back and scream.  He would work terribly hard and not get much out of it, get frustrated and hungry and tired and scream. There were very few positions I could hold Him in to get it to work out at all, and then it would take 40 minutes for Him to get enough to be full.  Every. Single. Time.  Forget nursing in public or under a cover or when He was already tired.  It was always a pretty painful experience on my end. And even though He'd take nearly an hour sometimes to nurse, at four months He was still needing to be fed every two hours.  Including at night.

If this hadn't been my third time, and if I wasn't such a stubborn person, I'm not sure I'd have stuck with it at all.  Especially because, to my great frustration, when Mister was given a bottle of expressed milk He would suck that thing down in minutes, settle into a comfy milk-coma, and sleep for hours.  For about a month, I had resigned to giving Him a bottle every evening, when He was already tired and simply refused to nurse at all.  He clearly preferred the bottle and, frankly?  I was a little offended.  

J and a couple of experienced friends noticed that He couldn't stick out His tongue, and encouraged me to have it looked at.  But I was like, pffft.  Whatever, we will work it out.  He'll grow out of it, we'll get the hang of it.  No need for snipping my poor little baby.  

But at four months, feeding every two hours? I have had enough baby experience to know that He was truly hungry at each waking, and to know that wasn't normal.  So I decided to bring it up at His next appointment.  

But I didn't have to.  His pediatrician noticed that He had fallen off His growth curve, and took a look without me mentioning it.  She sent us straight to ENT, that moment, where the doctor took one peek and said, "Oh yeah.  We're going to snip that.  Nurse! Wrap him up!"  At which point my eyes bulged out of my head like a loony toons character and I started stuttering.  "oh, uh, ah, you're, he, but, um.."
In a whirlwhind it seemed, the nurse wrapped Him like a mummy in a sheet so He couldn't move.
The doctor, with a flashlight headband on as if she was going spelunking in there, opened His mouth, took a pair of surgical scissors, and just cut it.  Just snipped the thing under His tongue like some kind  of macabre arts and crafts project.  Scissors.  What, was she going to patch Him up next with some elmers glue?!  Blood squirted all over.  The sheet was all splattered, the nurse and I and Mister all looked like extras in a vampire movie.
He SCREAMED.  And screamed and screamed. And screamed for 20 minutes.  After five everyone left so I could "calm Him down".  At ten I started to cry a little. Not going to lie.  I was thinking, "What have I done to my poor innocent baby? How could I do this to Him?!"  After 20 minutes He wore Himself out and fell asleep.  We went home.  The rest of the evening He was clearly sore and cried every time He nursed.
But.
That night?  He slept twelve hours straight. And in the morning, someone had abducted Him and left me with a new baby.  He wasn't in pain any more.  And overnight, He went from nursing every two hours to every four, and sleeping 8 to 12 hours through the night.  We went from nursing 45 minutes at a time, with a struggle, to under 10 minutes.  Easy.  Under a cover, sitting up, laying down, in the dark, in a park, in the house, with a mouse, in the rain on the train.  Yes I can nurse Him, yes I can, I can nurse wherever I am!
It was that awesome.  It was the best scissor snip ever, and totally worth it.  This was five months ago now, and I still marvel at the difference it made in both our lives.  He is now healthy and growing and strong.  When I feed Him we cuddle and it's nice, and there is no frustration or pain for either of us.
I wonder now whether His "colic" was just crying from hunger and being too tired at the end of a day to fight for a little milk.  I wonder how many other moms have no idea about how much this little problem can interfere with breastfeeding and how fast and simple the fix is.  How many moms stop nursing because of it.
I know this post comes far after the fact and is kind of personal in nature if you're squeamish about these things, but on the off chance that it might do for someone else what my good friends who noticed His tongue tie did for me, I had to shout it out.
If you are having trouble nursing, have your baby checked! By someone who knows, like a lactation consultant or a good pediatrician.  If you're wondering whether to snip it, DO IT.  Do it yesterday.
Google it, people.  It's a thing.   And if your friend is having problems like I was, don't be shy.  Don't be, shall we say it , tongue tied.  Speak up!  You'll be thanked for it later.  To my friends who badgered me into getting it done?

Thank you! 

Little Life Plans

Little One: "Mommy? I'm worried."

C: "Why?"

LO: "Well, when I grow up, I want to be FOUR things, a scientist, a baby-catcher*, a person what discovers and digs up dinosaur bones, and a gymnastics teacher.  But! How can I do all the four things, if I have to be there at the same time?"

Miss: "Well.  When I go up, I wahnt to wah-tuh plants.  And I want take cay-uh foh Little Mistah."

LO: "Ok but, you know Miss, when you are a growed up, Little Mister will probably be a growed up. Or even a teenager."

Miss: "Ooooohhh.  Oh, no.  OH. NO!  If He's a teenage-ah, then I can't sing sweetly to Him!"

C: "Sure you can, Miss. You can sing whenever you want to a'course."

Miss: "Yeah no.  I don't want to.  A-stead I will go up to be a bea-ah.  On'y, I don't want to have claws.  I on'y want to have some fingahs."

C: "You want to grow up to be a bear.  With fingers."

Miss: "Yeah!  Hmm.  Or! Or if I can't go up to be that, I think, I want go up to be Daddy."

LO: "Ooh, Miss.  That's a good one."  

Beautiful

Awhile ago, J's did a rotation at a VA hospital.  When you first walk in, you find yourself in a huge room.  Little rooms open off to the sides of it, like spokes in a great hub.  The ceiling soars to the glass half-walls of the floor above.  This arena is littered with signage, equipment, and, well, litter.  It is filled with tired people in scrubs, sick people in wheelchairs, sad people in ragged clothing.  And at the exact center of it all, surrounded by velvet ropes as if it were some specimen of royal lineage, is a shiny grand piano.
We visited several times, and never saw anyone playing it.  It just sits there, a nice thought that maybe was never practical, never a priority, and forgotten.  People bustle past it, they sit on line in queues all around it, and never seem to notice it.
We visited J a few times at the hospital, mostly when he was on an overnight shift and we would bring him dinner.  Because he was busy with patients, we would come and just wait.  Hang out in the lobby until he had a chance to run down to pick up some food and give us all a hug.  So we waited in the room with the piano.  Little One always noticed it.
On night, while we were waiting and it was late and almost empty inside, Little One sat staring at it. And staring at it.  And staring.  Finally She whispered, please mommy, could She play it.  So we asked the security officer guarding the front door.
"Piana? What piana?"  We pointed.  She looked surprised.  Like in all her time working there, in the same room, she had never realized there was a grand piano surrounded by velvet ropes.  "Well sure honey, I don't care if you play that thing. Go ahead." 
Little One clapped Her hands in front of Her chin and said thank you.  She turned and sort of sideways, sort of slowly, sauntered towards it.  As it it were a wild thing to sneak up on.  As if She might scare it away.
She ran Her hand along the rope, ducked under it, and slid onto the shiny bench.  With effort She lifted the lid, then sat for awhile with Her hands resting on the keys.  After some time, She began to play.  She played bits and pieces of songs She knew, then paused another moment.  When She settled on a song and began again, a man had just come down on the elevator, and was crossing the room in his wheelchair.
She began to play "Old MacDonald".  She played it through to the end.  When She began, the man in the wheelchair stopped short.  He turned.  While She played, he sat frozen.  Watching.  When the song was over, he hollered.
"Yeah! YES!"  Little One looked up.
He clapped and clapped his hands and pointed at Her.  "Old MacDonald! Right? Yes! And you played it! She played it! That was great.  It was! What a thing to hear! Little girl, you got something.  Mom! Don't ever let her stop playing! Don't let her! That was great! Yes! Made my night!" And then, somewhat more quietly, "Thank you."  Little One was bright red.  And smiling.  "You're welcome", She said.
Later that night, Little One asked me, "Why did that man get all a'cited and clap like that?  Why did he say thank you and don't to stop playing piano?"
"Because, Little One, you played music and music is beautiful.  You made something beautiful and he enjoyed it.  It made him happy.  You made him happy with your songs."
Little One looked amazed.  She whispered, "I did?  I did that?"
"Yes!" 
"Wow.  Well.  He made me happy with his clapping and cheering me on, so.  I thought he was beautiful too."  

Magical

Isn't it great when babies learn new skills?  It's so magical.
Except, maybe, when they learn how to take off their own diaper, while they are crawling around the living room and you are in the kitchen.  Because you're hastily packing up snacks for a long day of doctor appointments and it's TIME TO GO and then you turn around and- oh look! Little Mister has learned how to take off His diaper.  Which was full of poo.  And He has crawled right over it, like a monster truck going over a mud pile, and distributed it- two elbows and two knees at a time- around the whole. room.  Magical.  And then Miss (who is practically phobic about getting dirty) steps in it, freaks out, and RUNS.  What would you do, Peanuts? What do you wash first? You have three minutes to get out the door into car seats.  GO.
Bathe and dress two kids, wash out the cloth diaper, keep the third kid out of the monster truck arena, clean the entire living/dining/kitchen floor, start the washer, pack up snacks, bags, coloring books, WASH YOUR HANDS, buckle them in- under five minutes.
Like I said.  Isn't it great when moms learn new skills?

All Drains Lead To The Ocean

Little Miss (holding Her tummy and looking a bit concerned): "Mommy, is theh fishes swimming around inside my body?"

C: "What?"

Miss: "From when we ate the sah-mon last night. Is the fishes swimming in theh?"

C: "Oh. No Missy, that salmon is gone now, love.  Your body absorbed it and turned it into energy!  Isn't that cool?"

Little One: "Pffft.  Turned it into the toilet you mean." 

Missy: "Oooohh.  Like Nemo."  

Made A Man Out Of Me

Pandora was playing this song from Disney's Mulan.  The phrase "I'll make a man out of you" is repeated often.  Not my favorite song, but whatever.  Background music.  Little One, though, if there's music on She's always listening.
She started to giggle.

LO: "Hee hee.  Mama.  You've already made a man out of YOU!" 

C: "What?! I'm very happy to be a tough strong lady, thank you!"

LO: "No, no.  Hee hee.  'Cause guess what?   Little Mister is a man and you made Him out of you! Haha! Made a man out of you! Get it?"

First Days- For Those Of Us Left Behind

 I have been asked if there were any tears on the first day of kindergarten.
From Little One: Please.  The girl was like a chihuahua on pixie stix She was so excited to be there.  Walking up to the teeming masses before the bell rang, She admitted, "I am a little scared, Mom.  But I'm pretty brave.  So it's ok."  Other than that moment, She was all smiles.
No tears from me, either.  You read right! Because:
Miss had enough sadness for us all.  For Her, the trauma was multifaceted; She lost Her best friend, being left behind in both a physical and metaphorical sense, and preschool doesn't start for another week and a half.  Which is, I'm told, "Impinity" years away (three-year-old time).
To lessen the blow a little bit, I tried to talk up how great it will be for us to have all this time together in the mornings, just us two (and a half. Mister naps, so He only gets a half), and I told Her that on the first day, we could do ANYTHING SHE WANTED.  ANYthing.  Go to the zoo, out for ice cream, a museum, swimming, whatever She wanted to do.  I braced myself to hear what crazy thing She would come up with.  She's got a good imagination.
Here's Her choice:  To stay home and play together in the playroom with toys.
So we did.  We played with airplanes, princesses, dress-up dolls, and an aircraft carrier.  We played pretend.  And, because it's Missy, we cleaned everything up as we went, and we also played "orga-zizing" games.  Here are the animals, orga-zized into flying, walking, and swimming.

 I think it's interesting how She so instantly and definitively categorized the ducks and geese, and not always into the same pile.  The snake got it's own pile, because, as She explained, "it on-y sliss-ahs."
After Mister woke up, I talked Her into a picnic at a new playground and She loved it.

A tractor drive right onto the playground, and a couple of deer walked by as well, so there was plenty of excitement.  Without the shadow of Her big sister, She was unusually chatty with strangers who said hello, and was so proud to be the one that got to show off baby brother and list all the ages of the kids in the family.  On the way to pick Little One up, She even said She wanted Little One to go to school another day so we could have more "fun things wif us".  In the last two days, we've baked cookies together, played games, read stories, worked in the garden together, and even just cuddled on the couch.  Each day, I offer any outing of Her choice, and so far She'd rather just hang out at home.  This morning we read for two hours, played chutes and ladders, and then as I pushed Her on the backyard swing, She sighed, "Oh, Mama.  Isn't it just so. nice. and. PEACEFUL. I love this a bazillion."  I love it.  I love Her appreciation for the simple; how many of us never get it?  I love the wisdom beyond Her years (and maybe mine) for Her to know that we will have more real, quality time, if we just stay somewhere quiet, the two of us, and be together.  I have truly enjoyed these few mornings with my middlest baby.  As much as I'm looking forward to Her getting to go to school and begin making Her own friends and Her own way in the bigger world, I'm also really treasuring these days.  In which She's the teacher, and I'm the student.

Fist Day Of Kindergarten

So this is a pretty perfect representation of how the Sisters each felt about the first day of kindergarten.

Little One is like,"YAY! Kindergarten woohoo!!" and Missy is like, "No. Just No."


Again:

The face!  The Missy face!
She was soooo sad to let Little One go.  She came around a bit later on (more on that soon), but She is really just not at all a fan.  The angst, guys.  Epic. Still, She put on a smile for Little One when we met Her at the door after school.

Walking Out From Her First Day- Photo Credit: Missy

Miss walked right up to Her, hugged Her and said,
"Little One! How was yah fuhst day?  Look I picked for you this flowah!"
Little One thanked Her and hugged Her and talked a mile a minute-
"I LOVE kindergarten mom it is fanTACstic and ever-thing is aMAZing and I have, like, a ba-zillion new friends and my teacher is nice and I got to be a special helper and I wish I could go back again RIGHT NOW!! It was the best day ever!"
We were walking towards home during this speech, and when Little One paused, Missy stopped short, and put a hand on each of Little One's shoulders.  She looked at Her with an earnest expression, and said, "Little One.  I am so proud of you for kindahgahten."
They had a big hug and held hands the whole way home.
For me, I have only one big kid in school right now, but I'm pretty proud of two.

The Night Before Kindergarten

Tonight we began our new family policy of letting Little One stay up a little later than Miss (who gets to stay up a little later than Mister, so is only a little offended).  I'm hoping this will be a good opportunity for us to have some real time together in the months ahead, when She's gone from me so much of the day.
Tonight we gave Little One a small package- a book called "The Night Before Kindergarten".
J and I snuggled up to Her on the couch, and She read it to us.  Then together, She and I made Her lunch, picked out Her outfit, wrapped up a gift for Her teacher, and packed up Her backpack.
Tonight I'm going to bed with three little ones, and it feels like tomorrow I will wake up with just two- and a Big Kid!
I'd write more, but Little Mister is (very unusually) crying insistently in His crib.  It looks like a long night...but there area silver linings all over, right Peanuts?  What a reminder that even though Little One is heading off to big kid school... I have plenty of baby snuggles left here.  At least for now.  

Riding Out The Summer

What better way to let the summer go out with a bang, than a day at the state fair?

Ready for some fun!

We saw lots of animals:

Went crazy and sprung for some sweet treats:

Rode tractors:

Watched the pig races:

 And went on rides:

This fair was a landmark, because it was the first time Little One was big enough to ride a 'big kid' ride.  She was VERY proud of Herself.  To tell the truth, J and I were pretty excited about it, too.  She's growing! Yes!  Despite being rained on much of the time, it was warm and we all had fun.  

Even Mister, who missed His nap and had to be nursed in the rain under a funhouse, had a great time and lots of laughs.

They all fell asleep in the car.

"I've Heard About You"

Yesterday we went to the school open house and got to meet Little One's teacher.
She seemed very nice, and as soon as Little One introduced Herself knew all about Her health issues and was ready to reassure me.  Which was, you know, reassuring.
Little One was super thrilled to get to bring Her sister along for the fun, and together they did a scavenger hunt and explored the classroom.  We had a chat with the nurse and the principal, and when we left Little One declared, "Great mom! From the last thing was was worried it might be a super BORING school, but now I see that it will be FUN and FANTASTIC and I can't wait-how-many-days-left-can-it-be-tomorrow?!"  
It's not tomorrow.
It is Monday.  DON'T RUSH ME!!!
But it's coming up and I'm happy that She's happy.  I'm happy that She's growing up and I get to witness it.  I'm going to miss Her a terribly lot.

Brave

Monday will be the first day of Kindergarten.
It's true that Little One has been going to school for three years now, but this will be public school.  All day school.  With hundreds of kids.  With lunch time. It's a whole new thing.
Tonight Little One and I walked through the drizzling evening to attend the "back to school" info session.  It was mostly hum drum, mission statements and conduct codes and pick-up schedules and such.  It was late (and boring) and Little One leaned on my shoulder, lacing Her arm through mine.
When the teacher got to the part about lunches and snacks, I perked her up to listen.
Hearing the talk about how all the kids get milk, about the class eating breakfast each morning in the classroom,  class-provided snacks (the ubiquitous goldfish crackers being the example),  the various options for lunches on long tables in the cafeteria, caused knots to form in my stomach, slowly tightening with each paragraph.
One parent in the back asked, "is this a nut-free school?"  
"No, no it isn't" answered the teacher.
At that, she got the biggest reaction from her listeners she'd had all night.
"YES!!" exclaimed several parents in the crowd, one pumping his fist in the air.  "Awesome!" "great!" "Oh that makes everything easier!"
Everything easier? Really?
Now, I am actually not an advocate for nut-free schools.  There are nuts in the world, and kids like mine have to learn to navigate that fact.  I also understand the fairness issue with asking many to be inconvenienced for the sake of one.
But it is, after all, the sake of one life.  
How can I explain this to someone who doesn't live with life-threatening food allergies?  Imagine the teacher saying that all the children would be allowed to carry loaded handguns, and all the parents going, "Yes! I'm sending mine with a semi-automatic!"   Only worse.  Because if kindergarteners did carry guns, at least they might have been told to be careful with them.  At least the teachers would know they were dangerous and would instinctively supervise to some degree.
But for my kid, the peanut butter sandwich and the cups of milk are just as dangerous.  And no one handles pizza with caution.  Meaning that the burden of staying safe in an actual minefield of danger, all day long, will fall on the shoulders of a five-year-old.
Hearing all those parents exalt over getting to send nuts into the place my Little One will be spending the majority of Her time,  watching Her innocent little eyes get big and round, feeling the delicacy of Her hand pressed into mine... I felt a wave of real terror.
I put my arm around Her shoulders as if I were sheltering Her from an attack; for a moment I thought I was going to be sick. I can honestly not remember the last time I felt so afraid.  And that's me.
How must She feel?
I squeezed Her hand and the talk moved on to folders and homework.  Afterwards She thanked the teacher and we started for home.  By now it was late, late enough to be dark out.  To get home, we take the short-cut around the back of the school, behind the baseball field and down a little path through a wooded area.  But we've never walked it at night.
As we turned the corner of the school, the back was unlit, littered with broken chairs, flat basketballs, and overflowing dumpsters.  The thought was just flashing through my mind, that this was pretty sketchy looking and I was a bit uneasy about it, when Little One stopped short and grabbed my hand.  "Um, no way Mom.  No way we should go through here, it's too dark! I'm scared.  This looks like a place where Bad Guys come out from."
I looked again.  It did look like a scene that might be accompanied by creepy music.
But it was the way home.
"Little One, it's ok.  This is our own, safe neighborhood.  I have a flashlight, and we know the way.  We are tough and brave, and I am right here.  We're just going to keep going." 
She looked a bit doubtful.
"If a bad guy jumps out, I will whack him with this umbrella. I'm not afraid of anything. Let's go!"
She held my hand tight, and we walked.
Even though what I said was true, that it was a short familiar walk in our own, safe neighborhood, if I'd been by myself, I might have run through the dark part, or gone the much longer way through the lit streets.  But sometimes when you're mom, you don't have the luxury of being scared.  You have to be rational, you have to be brave.  Because it's one thing to teach my child to be cautious, and another to make Her afraid of the dark, of Her own shadow.
So I walked with confidence; I smiled and pointed out the lovely song of the crickets, the beautiful pattern of the moon through the leaves.  I kept a careful watch and I held onto Her hand- but we walked right into the dark and kept walking until we were home.
I wish I could walk Her like that through life.  I wish I could hold Her hand in every darkness.
Kindergarten and school and the wide frightening world are right around the corner.   They are shadowy with Unknowns and there are dangers to navigate.  I would give anything to make every back alley and lunch room safe and sunny for Her! But I can't, and there's no way around it.
Still, even if I can't always be there with Her, I will always be there for Her.
All we can do is hope things aren't so dangerous as they seem, to navigate as smartly as we know how, to walk into the darkness and keep walking.  And be brave.

Bahama Mama

Where have we been?
Well, since we've been home for a whole month now, it was obviously time to pack up and take another trip!
For me, that is.  J is confined in the brig of residency and gets no days off.  So it had to be a solitary confinement last week, while I whisked the kids away on a family reunion cruise to the Bahamas!
Rough life, right?  
Now, try to follow me here.  This reunion was put together by my step-father's step-mother.  So...that's what? My dub-step-gramma?  The kids' step-great-step-gramma?  Whatever she is, she rocks.  This is the first family reunion without her husband (my step-dad's father), and he was missed by all of us.  But it's a wonderful tradition, and I don't take for granted that even with all the "steps" between us, she has never made me or mine feel like anything other than family, period.  This is further fortunate for me because she is an extremely fun, kind, smart lady who I look up to very much and love to be around.  Thank you doub-step!

There are distinct levels of maturity going on here...

Since it was a reunion, there were cousins, my sister and her fiancé, my parents;  a whole team of people to help me keep my Littles from drowning!  And, Peanuts, I used them all.  I have never in my life relied so much on so many other people to keep eyes on my progeny, but with all the water hazards, partying, and partiers, it was a good thing I had so much back up.

 Mister pretty much got passed around like a hot potato.  Cute one.  Teething one. But cute.

Thanks team!


The kids had an absolute blast getting to basically live in swimsuits.

Little One and even Little Miss went down the giant water slide

They played mini-golf, blew bubbles, played games, and went to real tea parties

 Tea Time!

Sweeties

Little One and GQ here played some life-sized chess! Missy rode the pony.  

Top Deck Wind!

They rocked it on the cruise when there was dancing- check out my babies getting low:

 

Little One lost Her second tooth (and by "lost" I mean She wrenched it out Herself) at sea, and we were all very curious to see whether there would be a tooth fairy so far from home.  It turns out that there was! We can't be sure whether it was an ocean fairy, or ship fairy, but in any case it left a rhinestone anchor necklace as treasure, and also an adorable half-lisp for Little One.

 

On one island, we took a glass-bottomed eco-tour of a lagoon and got to see lots of sea life, including a shark!

  

One of the highlights (for me) was getting to swim with dolphins.  Unexso is one of the only three open-ocean dolphin centers in the world. While dolphin captivity is controversial and I have mixed-to-negative feelings about it in general, I did some research on this particular organization ahead of time, and I was impressed by the facility, staff, and appearance of the dolphins. It made it possible to really enjoy the time these amazing fellow-creatures allowed us to spend in the water with them.  All the Littles got to play with them, pet them, and give and get a kiss!

 The Sisters were thrilled, and Little Mister even splashed and giggled when the dolphin came near.  The only part He didn't like?  When the dolphin gave ME a kiss.  
No worries, J! I may have left you to go on a tropical vacation, but your little Mister man is lookin' out.  Not even slimy sea mammals will sneak in a smooch on His watch.  Apparently, Little Mister was chaperoning me.  
We also had a little time to explore, and made friends with some parrots.
Not to mention spending long, peaceful hours in the sapphire waters of caribbean beaches.

Exactly what "Vacation" is supposed to look like

 I didn't get into the night-life aspect of cruising around.  I had three Littles to tuck into their cabin bunks!

But with no phone or internet access, those quiet evening hours were the most peaceful I've had in a long time.  I read books! I slept actual sleep! For consecutive hours.  One of my young cousins expressed pity for me at my having to retire so early, when the rest of the crew were up partying past one AM.  I could only laugh.
It wasn't my first cruise; it wasn't the first 1AM I've lived through.  Trust me, I know what I was missing.  And I didn't miss it at all! Chasing after three small crazy people with a can of spray-sunscreen, making sure no one eats too much sand, squealing with them over the slimy feel of a sea cucumber and digging through bananas and plastic mermaids in the bottomless beach bag for passports?  Actually, yes, that is my idea of fun.

Doing it with the help and company of a couple-dozen lovely family-members, plus some guy cleans my room twice a day? I'll take it!

Now.  For when I'm doing the laundry amassed during this trip.  For when school starts.  When it's February in DC and I'm to my knees in freezing mud-

Let's just hang on to that thought.