Good for the Soul

It is funny how certain things that people stay stick with you. Lately I have been thinking often about an old college professor that I had when I went to Villanova. Dr. Ernest Ramirez was a 300 pound good old boy with a Texas drawl. I distinctly remember our first day in class and his admonishment to call him "Ernie". He was the antithesis of pretentious which in academia is pretty rare. Needless to say, I so enjoyed his down to earth manner and humor that I don't think I ever missed one of his education classes that semester.


It was during one of these education classes that Ernie mentioned how sad it was that the use of art and aesthetics in the classroom declined as the student got older. The truth of this statement clicked with me, and when I finally had a classroom to call my own, I made sure to create several assignments each marking period that required some type of art work. All the students, regardless of age or level, enjoyed these assignments and I was always taken away by the results. Now that I have children of my own, I find Ernie's comment coming to mind more and more often; perhaps it is because I often find myself coloring or painting or involved in some type of artistic endeavor with my three year old. These experiences have made me realize Ernie's observation left out a whole other group of people- adults. We don't have enough art and aesthetics in our adult lives. Now, I realize that many people have objects d' art in their homes and offices. As adults, we have the means and ways to go to galleries and museums. What I mean by "art" here is the stuff that we create with our own two hands (regardless of how skillful those hands are). When you consider all the stresses that percolate in the typical adult life( bills, work and family situations…the list is endless) the lack of art is particularly sad as we need the release that it provides the most. Personally, I did not realize how "art-less" my adult life was until I became enmeshed in a Crayola centric world. I forgot how much fun coloring in a coloring book can be; and, as dorky as it sounds, I still get a little charge of excitement when I open up a box of perfectly sharpened new crayons. I love finger painting the shapes that Alice and I fashioned with cookie cutters and our homemade Bake Doh. I have a blast creating decorations and mobiles using some of my yarn stash. Despite being forced by my three year old to use safety scissors (hard when you are left handed and an adult) and having some hefty clean up after most projects, I find myself smiling and less tense as I look at the results of our artistic activities. I even have noticed a difference in John after he manipulates some Play-Doh with Alice. The work pressures and annoyances seem to wash off of him as he creates airplanes and cars and the odd assortment of objects Alice requests.


Now I am not a Pollyanna. Coloring will not make bills, a bad relationship or clinical depression go away. But, it might make you forget about some of these things, at least for a few minutes. So, go to the store and buy yourself a new book of crayons and a coloring book. Now that you are an adult, you can even give yourself some freedom to play outside of the lines (and perhaps have some ice cream for dinner).

Never Thought to Put that on My “To Do” List

I hate Blue's Clues, Blue's Room or any derivation of the Blue franchise. Actually, let me clarify this a bit. Hate is a strong word after all. I like the concept behind the show- taking things step by step as a way to introduce the concept of critical thinking/reasoning. Unfortunately, the execution is rather nerve grating. Naturally, Alice enjoys the show tremendously and has days when all she wants to watch is Blue. Those are the days when John comes home and instead of saying, "Hi Honey. How was your day?" I greet him with, "We are having wine with dinner."


I particularly despise the "Old MacDonald" farm episode. Blue and her brother Sprinkles fill in for Old MacDonald on the farm. I am not sure why he leaves in the first place. Perhaps he is off to visit a brothel? Anyhow, Blue and Sprinkles have to take care of the farm and they use a "handy dandy" checklist to help them remember the four things that need to be done. I can't believe that they need a list to remember four things but I digress. The first thing they need to do is collect a dozen eggs. This is when I really appreciate Disney and their care for the motherhood induced ADHD parent. Disney would have a conveyer belt under the chickens catching the eggs. The eggs would come out of the chickens with the same speed as machine gun fire. I swear, with Blue and Sprinkles, it seriously takes over five minutes to count twelve freaking eggs. The next item on the checklist is to milk the cows. The first time this episode was on I was in another room. Panic shot through me as I thought a porn came on. All I kept hearing was the command, "Squeeze, squeeze!" I ran into the room to see Blue and Sprinkles milking imaginary cows. It looked like they were giving imaginary hand jobs. Again, once the task is complete it got checked off the list. This happens two more times, which when you multiply that by the number of times Alice has watched the show, is enough for her to have internalized the concept of a "to do" list and checking off the items that are completed.


It was also enough to provide me with a good laugh yesterday. I was finishing up changing Angela's poopy diaper. Alice came by with a piece of fabric (her list) and a game piece from Don't Break the Ice (her pencil). She asked me what I was doing. "Changing Angela's poopy diaper, honey." Alice gave a big smile and said, "Check" as she made an imaginary check on her pretend list. I looked at her and quizzed, "Angela taking a poop was on your 'to do' list?" Alice nodded and left the room all the while checking off random things.


Well, at least I can now accomplish something from my "to do" list every day. Who knew I could put regularity and laundry on the same list?

Home Sweet Home

I was really dreading this week and not because Alice is home on vacation. I enjoy spending time with her, except when she is recovering from an illness. To say she is not a good patient is a very politically correct way of stating she is a major pain in the rear. For whatever reason, Alice becomes this clingy, whiny adhesive shadow as she transitions from sickness to health. So, you can imagine how I was feeling as I cancelled all our outside activities and prepared to hunker down with a post pneumonia toddler.

I am still shocked that my pith helmet was not needed. Alice has been downright pleasant and fun. The week has generally unfolded with her and Angela playing together in the morning and afternoon with some cartoon or other in the background. Alice has been creating picnics, tea parties, and birthday parties around her sister. Every morning Alice takes a blanket from our pile in the living room and spreads it out on the floor next to her sister. She then proceeds to set up all her plates, cups, and other paraphernalia on top. Angela knocks it all down and smiles a great deal. In many respects, Angela reminds me of my former students who did not speak English. She looks amused and she smiles a great deal; but, you know that in her mind she is wondering, "What the heck is going on?" I like to stay out of the room as they play because I hear the cutest things (especially of late because Alice has taken to supplying her sister's dialogue during their "conversations"). I am still chucking about one of these said "conversations" from two days ago.

A little background- I have been trying to teach Alice that she cannot take a toy from her sister if Angela is actively playing with it. I don't know why Alice always wants that one particular toy, especially when you consider my home is teeming with playthings. I guess the toy someone else is playing with always looks like the most fun toy in the universe at that moment. Anyhow, I was checking email in the kitchen and the latest tea party was unfolding in the dining room nearby. I was listening and half watching them as I replied to the day's communications. Here is the written account of the scene:

Angela is happily playing with a toy as Alice enters stage right. Alice sits down next to her sister and watches what she is doing for a few seconds.

ALICE: Hi Angela. Can I play with that?

ANGELA (dialogue supplied by Alice in a slightly different tone to indicate a different person) Sure Alice. Enjoy.

ALICE: Thank you, Angela.

Alice takes the toy leaving a slightly bemused Angela in her wake until a shadow on the wall distracts her.

By now I had stopped typing and sat there wondering what I should do. Do I reprimand her for taking the toy? In Alice's mind, Angela gave her the toy willingly. It's times like these when I realize how much Alice has grown up. Perhaps that is why she was so good this week. She is growing up (and has Angela as a captive constant playmate). Whatever the reason, I will take it.

Go Away, Germs!

Alice has pneumonia. Thankfully, the two antibiotics that the doctor prescribed are working their magic. She is almost back to her old self. Although Alice has not reached her "hurricane" status yet, she is definitely a "tropical depression". While I generally long for peace and quiet several times a day, I have to admit I am happy to have the crashing, yelling, laughing and general chaos back. It is funny how unnatural silence is these days.

The dissipation of the hurricane started a week ago on Tuesday. Alice came down with a fever. Because she also had a persistent cough for the last few weeks, I figured it was high time for us to check in with the doctor. Alice was diagnosed with a sinus infection and bronchitis. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, and I left the office with a sense of ease. What she had could be named, and more importantly, I had something to give to her for her illness. I hate the viral stuff. No drugs speed up the healing process.

And then nighttime came.

I don't care how many children someone has or how great a parent they are. Nothing makes a mom/dad feel more like a bumbling and helpless idiot than those nighttime cries. Alice crawled into the king sized bed with John and me. The heat that rolled off her body was staggering. The thermometer read 103.7 degrees. At this point, I learned something new about my daughter. She hallucinates when her fever reaches this level. It was so freaky seeing her sitting up between John and me in bed with her eyes open and "awake" but lost in a world of her own, reliving incidents that happened at her preschool. It killed me that there was nothing I could do to calm her except wait for the Motrin to take effect and wrap my arms around her.

The rest of the week was a constant cycle of fever spikes and waning energy. The pug must have even realized how sick Alice was. She allowed Alice to use her as a pillow without any type of protest. By Friday, all Alice wanted to do was curl up in fetal position on the floor. I brought her back to the doctor, and after a strep test and white blood cell count, pneumonia was diagnosed. The second drug prescribed was a godsend. The night of Alice's first dose she had no fever spikes and she slept through the night in her own bed. The recovery had begun.

Just yesterday Alice resumed her nudist lifestyle. When I saw the pile of clothing in the living room, I realized something new about my daughter. One can determine Alice's energy level and health based on the state of her dress (or undress as the case may be). Never was I so happy to see a flash of naked butt streaking through my kitchen. Still, I hope she outgrows this as she ages.

Hopefully God Has a Sense of Humor

I have been really amused by Alice's play of late. She likes to impose herself into various constructs. For instance, while looking at the Where's Santa book my mother-in-law gave her, Alice told me, "I'm the baby rabbit (the book featured baby Loony Tunes characters). When I asked her why she was the rabbit, she replied, "Because I like carrots." When she watches Word World, she tells me, "I'm the duck, you're the sheep, Peanut's the ant, and Daddy's the pig." I find this new practice amusing, but it really cracked me up around Christmas time when Alice discovered the Nativity set.

I waited until right before Christmas to set up the Nativity. I had a feeling I would find the figurines all over the house and I did not want anything broken. While I unwrapped each piece from its protective paper, Alice, of course, came over to investigate. The former teacher in me thought this might be a good "teaching moment" to introduce the concept of religion and the chief players in Christianity. I started with Jesus.

"Alice, this is Jesus," I said, showing her the infant.

"No Mommy. It's Peanut."

No matter how many times I tried to correct her, she kept correcting me. Finally, I decided to see who was who according to the Gospel of Alice. The cast went as follows:

Jesus- Peanut

Mary- me

Joseph- John

Three Wise Men- Alice, Grandma, PopPop

Lamb- Puggie

Cow- Aunt Louise and Uncle Joe (Initially, my sister in law was a little saddened that Alice saw her as part of the cow. I told her it could be worse. She could be part of an ass.)

Shepherd- Aunt Megan

 

Yep, all those years of Catholic school are having such a great effect on my kid.

 

God, I Am an Idiot!

I say the above AT LEAST once a day. I would like to blame things like hormones, sleep deprivation, parenthood, star alignment, and so forth. However, I won't. I will proudly admit that there are just times when I am, in fact, an idiot. Take one minute ago. I decided some hot chocolate would be a nice accompaniment to checking out Facebook and potentially writing on my blog. Poured the milk into the mug and set the microwave for two minutes and thirty seconds. Somehow I pressed twenty-three minutes on the keypad and have for the last five minutes been wondering, "Why are two minutes feeling like five?" Well, the reason for that would be it was five minutes and I am an idiot.

 

My big "God, I am an Idiot" moment of the week occurred yesterday. I decided to clean out the junk drawers in my kitchen. While cleaning, I found the Use and Care Guide to the good cookware I got when John and I got married. After cooking with one of the pans from the set the other day, I realized why I stopped using them. Food stuck to the surface and it was a total bitch to clean. Upon unearthing my guide, I thought, "Cool, maybe I just need to re-season or something." I opened the guide and realized that for the last six years I have been using the pan completely WRONG! Apparently, the pan needs to be heated before even the oil is placed in it. Once the oil is poured in that too needs to be heated before the "real" cooking begins. Talk about wanting to take said pan and just pound it on my head a few times! I followed the guide's directions when making dinner that night and guess what? Nothing stuck. The pan even cleaned up with minimal effort.

 

Yes, I am an idiot!

Namaste My Ass

Ever since Angela's birth, I have been experiencing pretty frequent back and hip pain. At times, the pains are so sharp they cause me to catch my breath. During a routine physical with my doctor, I spoke with her about these newfound aches and pains. Apparently, what I am experiencing is common for post partum women. We are more prone to injury in these areas for a variety of reasons. Additionally, the c-section I had this time around further compromised my core strength. The doctor recommended cardio and exercises to strengthen my core and back. As she spoke, the word "yoga" popped into my mind.

I was not surprised by my mind's solution for curing my aches and pains. I enjoy yoga. I find it profoundly relaxes me and makes me feel great about my body. I like its noncompetitive philosophy and its stress on body acceptance. When I was in my early twenties, I belonged to a yoga studio and learned how to properly do the postures. Eventually work responsibilities made me leave the studio, but I continued to enjoy yoga classes at my gym. Unfortunately, after Alice's birth, yoga fell out of my life. I still went to the gym, but my gym times were dictated by Alice's nap schedule which did not correspond with the yoga classes offered.

This week I started on my back/hip pain solution plan. As per my plan, I would go to the gym and do cardio three days a week and on my off days I would do yoga at home. I picked up some new yoga DVDs from my local library and proceeded to rejoin the world of yoga. My initiation has been pretty hilarious. I don't think the founders of yoga anticipated practicing with a three year old, an eight month old, and a pug underfoot. Here is the breakdown of the degeneration of my quest for inner peace and flexibility:

• The DVD started with breathing exercises to center self. To do these exercises I needed to be prone on my yoga mat. First, I had to fight for position on my yoga mat as Alice decided to "play yoga" with me.
  
• Once Alice and I established our territory, I tried to focus on the instructor's directions. This was difficult due to persistent snoring in my left ear. The pug, curious as to why I was laying down on the floor, came to investigate. Since ears are a fetish for her, I then had to spend a few minutes pushing off a pug who decided to lavish my ear with amorous attentions. Angela thought this was hysterical and proceeded to bounce in her bouncer with such intensity that I thought she would shoot out of the thing.
  

• During a forward bend on my left side, I forgot about Angela's grabby arms. She, however, was on the alert and seized my hair as my head sunk downward. I missed a few poses as I gently extricated myself from baby death grip.
  

• A brief glance downward while in tree pose revealed a pug planted at my feet begging for a belly rub.
  

• Downward dog for me meant upward dog for pug as she gave me kisses.
  

• The funniest moment, however, came as I moved out of a forward bend. I looked up to check the screen for the next posture only to find myself face to face with Alice's naked butt. Apparently, the light that salutes me comes from a full moon.
  

Namaste