Poor John

When I was pregnant with both girls, John and I decided against finding out the sex of the baby beforehand. Since the number of pleasant surprises significantly decreases with age, and either outcome would have made us happy, we decided to relish in our nine month mystery. Although I have an uncanny sense for determining what other women are carrying, I had no gut feeling about my own children. People would ask if I had "the dream." The only dream that I recall of that ilk was during my pregnancy with Alice. In my dream, I had just delivered the baby. The doctor presented me with a swaddled child and announced, "Congratulations. It's a …" However, I never knew what the doctor said because in my dream I was exhausted from labor and fell asleep. John, however, did not draw the blank that I did in reality or dreamland. Every time John was asked, he replied, "a girl." If someone pressed him for his rationale, he would explain it was God's way of paying him back for the sins of his youth. I logically pointed out that if that was indeed true the world's population would be composed entirely of women with a few isolated males here and there. Still, John persisted in his way of thinking.


This came back to me while I was at the park with the girls last week. Angela was on the swing and Alice was off playing with a newly made friend. Angela loves the swing. Her whole body was shaking with delight as she went back and forth giggling the entire time. Her happiness attracted two young boys who I pegged to be in sixth or seventh grade. As I pushed, they started asking me about my daughter- her age and things of that nature. They then started doing silly things to make her laugh. They loved her deep whole body laughs and she loved making silly faces and batting her eyes at them. The thing that really amazed me about the whole interaction was when a few of the boys' friends called to them from the basketball court and asked them to come and play. These young boys actually declined the invitation in order to spend more time with Angela. Holy crap! The kid is not even one and older boys are besotted. John must have really been a bad boy.

Tail of Woe

Alice is a great kid. More often than not, she amazes me with her thoughtfulness, intelligence and humor. And then she pulls a "typical toddler" move. Lately, she has been taking the toy(s) Angela is playing with right from her hands. Now, I totally understand that sharing is a really hard concept to learn. I think we all know adults who have not mastered the skill. Regardless, my home looks like a toy factory threw up in it. There is no end to playthings littering the floor, tables, bins, and dark shadowy corners protected by killer dust bunnies. I simply don't fully understand why she HAS to play with that particular toy at that exact moment. Typically, Alice and Angela play really well (actually surprisingly well) together. Alice enjoys being with her sister and making her laugh so I am totally at a loss as to why she continually does something to make Angela cry.


I have done the whole "gentle explanation in terms she can understand" deal. I might as well have tried teaching her algebra. She now loses her television privileges for a period of time. That has helped curtail it a great deal but still the behavior persists. The whole thing has been driving me nuts. I told Angela that when she is big enough to defend her turf Mommy will deliberately turn a blind eye a time or two so she can have some payback. I have warned Alice of this but right now she does not fear her little sister.


This last Sunday, the whole situation took a humorous turn. I was cleaning up from dinner and enjoying a moment of peaceful serenity. John was with the two little ones in the living room playing. I was basking in some solo time and actually starting and finishing a task (gasp). A cry from Angela, a scolding from John and a full blown tantrum from Alice threw all that serenity out the window. Alice ran to the kitchen to tell me her tale of woe. Needless to say, she got no compassion from me and instead got an additional reprimand. I returned to my cleaning fuming all the while. As I finished the last pot, I realized Alice was under the table but still carrying on a conversation. Curiously, I peered under the table to find Alice pouring out all her sorrow to a very patient pug who just sat there and listened. Alice hysterically related to the dog, "I'm so angry. I'm so tired. I'm so cranky and I'm so hungry again." I silently left the room to laugh and tell John what was going on in the kitchen. A few minutes later I called to Alice and once she quieted down we talked about why she was scolded. Puggie hopped between the two of us and proceeded to lick Alice's tears. Once all was settled, Alice returned to play in the living room and I called the pug into the kitchen. I went to the treat closet and took out two. After listening to Alice's tale of woe, she surely deserved a double.

Abs of Peanut

One of the many "joys" of pregnancy is learning just how much your body can stretch and expand. On one hand, I have to admit, it is kind of cool. John's chief disappointment during this "I looked like I swallowed a beach ball stage" was that my belly button never popped out. Personally, I was very happy that I missed that experience. Whenever I see a popped out belly button, I think of a Purdue oven stuffer. You know, the one that has the timer which pops out when the bird is ready. I didn't want that running through my mind throughout my pregnancy. Anyway, the reality of body expansion kicks in upon the baby's exit. Think of what a balloon looks like when air is let out and you have an excellent visual. Peanut's arrival via cesarean section killed what little core strength I had left. Needles to say, my core/abs have been a focus during this post partum "I need to look less like a deflated balloon" stage.

I distinctly recall doing my first Pilates routine post partum mainly because I think the only workout my core got was through my laughter. Actually, I did fine until I came to the Pilates roll up exercise. For those of you unfamiliar with this move it involves one being in a prone position on the floor with arms straight overhead. You are then supposed to roll up from the floor one vertebra at a time until you reach a seated position. The key is that you generate all the energy for this move from your core and you don't use any momentum from the swing of your arms. Angela was next to me on the floor at the time and the two of us struggled to get into that seated position. Our lack of abdominal strength became an unexpected bonding moment and at that moment it dawned on me that instead of abs of steel I have abs of Peanut.

Thankfully things have improved for both of us. Neither of us can do the Pilates roll up but we have become very good at Cobra and Plank position in yoga. I have even managed a side plank. Still, there is room for improvement. On days I cannot make it to the gym, I have been working out to exercise DVDs at home. It was while I was exercising at home the other day that Alice decided to join me. As expected, she was naked. I looked down at her mirroring my movements to the DVD program and realized how ripped she is. Yes, my three year old has a six pack. Damn. Oh, well. It is something to aspire to. Maybe one day instead of abs of Peanut I will have abs of Alice.

Oh, #@&$!

I was dreading this day. I knew it was going to happen. Alice dropped the F bomb.


After years of teaching high school, I am extremely conscious about the words that fall from my lips. Let's face it, people would most likely look down upon a teacher (an English teacher no less) who used profanity regularly in class. I often thanked the gods that people are not like cartoons because if my students knew the mental dialogue that ran through my mind 99.9% of the time they would have been shocked. Since, as the proverbial phrase goes, "old habits die hard", I regularly say "shoot" and "fudge" when I want to say something different. Since John mainly works with adults, who don't melt when a profanity slips, he has not had to ever worry about checking his language. And thus we see why I had the following conversation with my daughter:


I am driving home after picking up Alice from preschool. Both kiddies are strapped into their respective car seats and the Cars soundtrack in on the radio. A moronic (writer is being kind here) driver decides to just reverse out of her driveway without actually checking to see if (gasp) cars are driving along the main road. I blare on the horn and slightly swerve the car to avoid getting hit.


Me: Idiot!


Alice: Fuck!


Me: What did you say, Alice?


Alice: Fuck.


Me: Honey, that is a naughty word. We don't use words like that.


Alice: Daddy does.


Me: (internally) Oh, shit.

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.