Oh, hello brain! Nice to see you again!

I taught 17 adult students this morning. Many of them were new faces, but a few were familiar. It’s a new class but not an entirely new topic, which is a nice place to be. Stuck smack dab in the gray area between comfort and chaos. No complaints from little old me.

Preschool doesn’t start until next week, so my husband took the day off (thanks honey). This enabled me to get into school early to get some prep work done, get a much needed review of some more recent technology from one of the tech people, and look through some of the resource library books for lesson plan ideas. I also stayed a little late, and then ran to target by myself for a shockingly relaxing shopping experience.

I DID NOT listen to whining or have to pull two toddlers off each other. My clothing did not get stained or wet and my hair did not get pulled, even in fun or jest. I did not have to sing a song or read a book when I went to the bathroom and I finished at least 10 different conversations. 10!!!! Can you believe it? I was in ecstatic shock.

My brain got soggy this summer. The contour lines of my thinking were getting fuzzier by the day and my motivation to be a human being (outside of being mom) has been decreasing significantly. Looking at myself this morning, with vaguely styled hair, jewelry and eye makeup, I almost didn’t recognize myself. I looked way too put together. Way too human. I liked this person. Maybe I should hang out with her more often.

Not to say that I had a bad summer. In reality, I had a very nice summer. Spring semester had been insane, with too much work outside of home. Having time to relax a little during naptime and not grade papers or lesson plan till bedtime had been a nice change. We went on a ton of play dates, enjoyed laid back/unhurried breakfasts and got well acquainted with local playgrounds. The kids spent more time naked (ok, diapers only) than ever before and they loved it. I did too. Their little bodies are so very cute running around undressed. My son’s little body got very lean over the past 2 months and my daughter looks beyond cute in a diaper, round belly and pigtails. I love toddler bodies, so darn delicious.

But once august hit, I began to lose momentum and the last few weeks have beenm uhm… interesting. My fuse has been getting progressively shorter and that’s not entirely fair to the kids or me. Not to mention my husband who came home to the chaos and occasional tension every day. Poor guy.

And this is why today has been so very pleasant. Do I need to say it? I LOVE going back to work. If this is any indication of the semester to come, bring it on! I’m ready. J

Using the side door...

If I were going to break into a building, and I didn’t want to be noticed, I wouldn’t use the front door. And I certainly wouldn’t sneak. I would use the side door and I would do it casually, as if I were maintenance. If someone approached, I would keep working as if it were the most natural thing in the world. How often do you think thieves “hide” in plain sight?

My husband is one of those “under the radar” mischief kind of people. You know… the ones who seem to be going quietly about their business and then something happens. And it happened right where they had been working. Right, one of those. The last one you would suspect and yet quite willing and able to be the culprit.

My son has caught that trait, while my daughter has not. Allow me to illustrate my point. We do not allow the kids to bring toys to the table. This is partly to avoid distraction, but it’s also a mess issue. Nobody wants a sacred stuffed animal covered in ketchup. Yuck.  The other day, my daughter was making a scene about bringing some toys to the table. Big fuss. In her mind, she was going to win this battle. Sigh.

A minute or so later, when we had convinced her to retreat, I looked more carefully at my son. There he was, sitting quietly in his seat with a lap full of toys. Why make a fuss and get caught when you can do it quietly and let it go unnoticed? Thanks Sis, for the distraction.

What will this trait look like when he’s a teenager? I shudder to think about it.

Having two children firmly implanted in the contrary phase, I am starting to take notes from my son and my husband. Despite having my daughter’s temperament, I am going to make my son’s choices. No more front door. The side door it is.

We were sitting in the booth, at dinner. My daughter thought it would be fun to stand up and bounce on the seat. Hmmm…. Maybe not the best idea. Beyond the safety issue (falling down, etc), she was shaking the table and it was most likely shaking the booth behind us. Not fair to the other guests. If they wanted a vibrating chair, they would have frequented a different establishment.

This was, in my humble opinion, a moment of good parenting. My patience wasn’t fried, I hadn’t been dealing with continuous crying and I had not solo parented all day. This helps, a lot. So, I looked at my lovely little girl and informed her quite directly and benignly that “big girls” sit down on their bottoms in restaurants. Then I smiled sweetly. Pause… Down she went. I guess she considers herself a big girl now.

When it came time to leave the restaurant, I informed both my kids that “big boys and big girls” walk nicely in restaurants and hold hands. I guess he feels the same way, because it worked.

Let’s just say I found great success using the side door. I’ll have to remind myself about that more often.

Shaken into gratitude/reality

There was an earthquake today. Where I live, this is not usual. I live on the East coast after all. Earthquakes? And this was, while not huge, was not exactly small either.

I was downstairs; my kids had been in bed for about 30 minutes for their naps. He was sleeping and he wasn’t. (Basically, the usual)  I was on the phone. Then I felt it. The couch moved. Freaked me out. I jumped up and exclaimed “What the hell is that?” My friend felt it a moment later and we both quickly hung up to deal with our respective homes. I ran, no wait… ran isn’t the right word. I BOLTED upstairs.

When I got to my daughter’s room I opened the door and saw her standing in her crib, holding on to the bars. Her eyes were big, brown saucers and she stared at me as if to say “What the hell was that?”. All she could squeak out was “mommy”. I hugged her, looked around. No danger. Nothing was falling. Then I went to check on her brother, who was still snoring butt up in a physically safe room. Go figure.

By the time I got back to her, it had stopped completely. I kissed her, tucked her back in and told her it was time to sleep. When I checked the monitor 5 minutes later, she was fast asleep in the position I left her in. I guess she believed my façade of calm and went on with life.

But I wasn’t calm. In fact, it took me almost an hour to really feel calm again. My heart was beating fast and I was jittery. Our neighbor grew up in California, so she wasn’t fazed. Funny how perspectives can differ.

But it made me think. Hard. About what I appreciate and what I take for granted. Sure, this particular earthquake left little to no damage, considering both property and personal injury. We have no house repairs to make and our son didn’t even know he missed something. Clearly my daughter was not traumatized or she wouldn’t have gone right to sleep. Right?  Looking at the news, I didn’t see any big reports of death or dangerous injury. Overall, no harm done. No big deal. Move on. Right? Not really.

 I got to thinking about Japan, representing simply one location where the panicked parent running for their child’s room might not have been so lucky. How many parents have run to another room, only to find a child or family member injured or killed? Rubble to clear with no certainty of what was to be found underneath? I can’t even imagine. It makes me want to cry just thinking about it.

This morning, on the way back from our morning activity, my daughter had been driving me crazy and I had yelled at her a little.  This particular behavior she was displaying is not a new one and it’s getting old quickly. Not working out of the home this summer, I have had a LOT of time with my kids and I have missed the opportunity to be away long enough to miss them. As a result, sometimes my patience hasn’t always been stellar. Hmmm…. After the panic somewhat subsided, I watched the monitor. Gazed at the peaceful sleeping bodies of my children.  What blessings they are. How easy that is to forget sometimes.

I know that I have talked about my kids from many different perspectives. I have complained mildly about their crazy kid behaviors and my lack of time away from them. I have glowed about how nicely they are growing up and how proud I am of them. But I rarely comment on how fortunate I am to have them happy and healthy, plain and simple. And that’s not a good perspective to lose sight of.

My husband was working on the edge of local today and was somewhat hard to reach. He came home to me safely; we had dinner as a family, played and bathed the kids before putting them to bed. How beautifully ordinary.  No relocations to shelters. No picking up the pieces of a shaken home. No hospitals. Just a simple evening. We even had some chocolate cake.

I think we all lose sight of that. We complain about the ordinary, the ruts and patterns of our lives. We yearn for an eventful day where something unpredictable happens. And that’s not to say that I will never say that again… but I will think twice before I ask for it at all costs.

Maybe that little earthquake shook some gratitude back into me.

Don't judge a book by its cover...

We’ve all heard it said before, “Don’t judge a book by its cover”. And it’s true. First impressions are rarely sufficient to tell us what we need to know. These impressions are either incomplete or downright incorrect.

When I was in college, I had a wonderful friend. She was beautiful, and I mean really beautiful. When she walked into a room, everyone stopped and looked, men and women. Unfortunately, she also had the inconvenient affliction of being very shy and introspective. When she walked in public, she retreated to a place deep in her thoughts, quite unaware of the world around her. Because she was graceful, she wasn’t clumsy. Many people who saw her made the incorrect assumption that she was a snob. After all, she didn’t say hello, she didn’t smile back. She MUST feel as if was better than the crowd. Right? No…Wrong… not even close to the truth. It never occurred to them that she might not have heard or seen them.  

The behavior that resulted from an unrecognized insecurity was constantly misread and many felt as if they were disliked by her, despite the fact that I had actually heard her speak highly of them.  I don’t imagine that she enjoyed this aspect of her personality.

Looking in the life inhabited by another person is quite the same experience. Unless you know what is really going on and how that person’s perspective fits into that equation, you have no idea what is really going on. Simply because that person lives a life that seems nonsensical to you does not mean it lacks sense for that person. It may well be the life they chose, and would choose again.

One of my closest friends is a prime example of this. To say that her life is chaos would be an understatement of gargantuan proportions. Her life is insane. Personally, you couldn’t pay me enough to live it. But she loves it, at least most of the time. She has brought it on herself by the choices that she has made and she would do it again, because the alternatives would suit her even less.

I recently took a friend’s twins for the morning. They are the same age as mine, more or less, and the 4 kids get along great. They play well, share well, and find many of the same things funny. While I don’t normally invite this level of chaos into my life, she desperately needed a morning to accomplish some vital life tasks and I had plenty of Tylenol. I also had plenty of Juice, PB & J, string cheese and goldfish. I went to bed early the night before, so I could begin the day rested as possible. I was set!

At the end of the morning, the playroom was chaos. Every toy, from miniature to enormous, was taken out and finding a path to walk was near impossible.  Looking at the end result, most adults would assume that the morning had been a catastrophe. In reality, the opposite was true. (See photo at bottom of page for evidence)

The morning was a joy. The kids were fantastic. We played; we sang with the Wiggles, we had a dance party. We constructed with Lego and built huge towers that were gleefully knocked down to the music of hilarious “uh-oh…”. We played “night nights” and dog piled/kid piled in the hallway giggling hysterically.(Ok, I didn’t physically join in that one…) We zoomed trucks and read books.  We drew pictures on the etch-a-sketch. The kids took turns having “uppies” and settled quickly for crowding my lap when more than one kid was in the mood for cuddles.  I took about 25 pictures. Yes, my hands were free for 25 pictures. Incredible.

No tantrums. Not a single one. When we ate snack and lunch, no food was thrown and everyone said “please” when they asked for more drink. (Ok, they said “please” when prompted, but that’s a technicality. They only had to be asked once. At age two, that’s no small accomplishment.) Really? Wow…

I took a picture of the room before I cleaned up, when the adorable visitors had gone home and my kids were in bed for nap.(And wow… did they sleep!) Despite the disastrous mess, I found myself smiling. I was tired but very content. I was not stressed out. And I didn’t take a single Tylenol.

Go figure.

Getting braver!

Ok, you are going to laugh at me for this one. Or maybe you won’t. Let’s find out.

My son has been showing signs of being shy recently. This came as a surprise to me, as he was always much more socially aware when the twins were little. When they were really small, he was the one who knew how to alter his cries for varying meanings. I always just KNEW what he needed. She was much of an enigma. Was it her diaper? Did she want to be held? Did she want to be put down? Help!!!

When we went to play areas, mostly indoors, she (who could walk) would cling to my leg and scream. He (who could not walk) would crawl into the biggest group of boys he could find with an expression of glee. I was constantly amazed.

Then, all of a sudden, there was a switch. She finally “got it”. The social bug. She loved to flirt and meeting new friends became exciting. And just about the same time, he got more withdrawn. Ironic.

This didn’t alarm me. My husband was quite shy as a kid and he still maintains elements of being a reserved person. Not to the same level as previously, but the signs are still there.

Which is why it didn’t alarm me. No, I didn’t think it was the start of some deteriorating social disorder. And no, I didn’t think it was the onset of autism. I did, however, hope for him to get past it. I don’t have any judgment of shy people, but some of my friends are shy and I know it feels like a burden to them at times. Given a choice, I would send my son into his future years without that burden.

Which is also why this day was such a pleasure.

We went to a playground/park and go there somewhat early. It was a beautiful day and I didn’t want to waste a minute of it. When we arrived, it was mostly empty, just a few kids. I like arriving to quiet playgrounds, it’s relaxing. The kids can explore and I can still hear the birds and crickets. Very nice.

Over the period of an hour, there were many arrivals, some of whom were significantly older than my munchkins. They didn’t care. Actually, to be more accurate, they did care. They loved it. Big kids… woo hoo!!!! When a batch of kids left and were replaced by another group, they were equally thrilled. More new friends, right? Awesome.

But here was the moment that gave me true joy. Keeping a visual of two kids on a big playground is not easy and at one point I temporarily lost track of my son. (Like, oh, for 10 seconds). When I located him, he was standing with two other little boys. They were looking at each other and giggling. My son was making friends on the other side of the playground, far from the security of mommy. YES!!!!!!

He looked confident, radiant, and so very proud. I almost cried. Really.

My daughter had been doing much of the same. She loves to run up to “new friends”, grin, and giggle and stick out her tongue as a gesture of friendship. It’s pretty cute. And it works. She almost always gets a smile in return. But she has been doing this for months. While it’s wonderful, it’s not novel or new.  And I have gotten used to it.

For my son, this was a new and grand accomplishment. I could not have been prouder.

They are SO ready for pre-school.

Identity... what's in a name?

Ok, so this blog is going to reveal the emerging/thriving sci-fi geek in me, but that’s ok. I embrace it. Really.

We cancelled our cable a while back as we never really watched any of our 4 million channels anyway. We figured we could save some money each month, get Netflix on demand for the series that we liked and wanted to get updated on. Great decision, on all counts.  

One of the series that we are currently addicted to is “Stargate Atlantis”. Basically, for those of you that are not up to my geek status, here’s what you need to know.  A whole bunch of humans go through a stargate (a big circle that opens wormholes in space, so they can travel really far) and while in another galaxy they meet up with a terrible nemesis. These evil (and ugly) creatures don’t appear to have names. Oh, and on a side note, why are evil creatures always ugly? Really… can’t something be beautiful and evil? Wouldn’t it attract its prey/enemy more effectively if it weren’t’ totally nasty looking?

But I digress…

So, I was talking to my husband one night and asked him how they talk about each other if they don’t have names. (Yes, this is what we talk about sometimes when we have free time. Sad and pathetic. I know. Don’t tell anyone, ok?) He reminds me that their race has telepathic abilities and that is how they communicate. Yes, I said. That’s how they talk directly. What if they want to talk ABOUT another one? And he says… (Yeah… wait for it…) What if they all just think the same thing and distinguishing them from each other isn’t relevant? Hmmm….

Is that even possible? Think about it. A race that extensive with no intellectual or personal diversity. And this race is HUGE. Actually, their size is important because it plays a significant role in how hard they are to kill off. No matter how many of them the humans kill, there’s always more on the attack.

So, I return to my question. Is it possible to have a group of anything with no significant diversity within? Doesn’t everything living have an identity?

When I got married, actually before I even met my husband, the idea of changing my name sort of itched at me. Even before I thought about marriage for myself, I looked a people saying “I DO” and all of a sudden being a new name, a new person. Sort of freaked me out, to be totally honest. I had an ex-boyfriend who made the mistake of loosely assuming I would change my name. I didn’t appreciate it much. This assumption was one of many in a large package that raised a red flag on our compatibility.

When my husband I got engaged, we talked about it. Ultimately, I did change my name because, after a good discussion and much thought on my part, I didn’t object and it mattered to him. He really felt, in his heart of hearts, that a family has one name. I can respect that. In my experience, the one who is mild in their opinion should yield to the one who is passionate, assuming the yielding averages out in the long run. My professional status and reputation wasn’t hugely tied to my name, so that wasn’t a concern. He would have loved and married me, regardless of my decision on that matter.

Interestingly, I like having his last name as mine. Not only is it easier to spell, but it connects me to him in a way that I can’t really justify. We are a pair. Don’t mess with us; you’ll get twice the trouble back! And when it comes to keeping our differences to us, we’re pretty good. We don’t disagree in front of the kids or the grandparents. If we want to question, we do it in private. For the rest of the world, we are a solid pair. It works much better that way. And I have the same name as my kids, which I like. I think he was right. For us, it’s nice that one family has one name.

Our kids are now learning their names, which I find adorable. If you ask them what their names are, my son answers his real name. My daughter, however, answers in the nickname that has been given to her by my son. He can’t say her real name and has come up with an adorable nickname. She loves it, probably equally because we have started calling her that nickname as well, and we say it with love and affection.

What I really love, though, is the pride in their voices when they say their names. It’s like saying their name is really saying so much more. It’s saying “I’m valuable”, “I’m smart” and “I’m worth your time”. It’s announcing to the world that they are on their way and it better watch out, because they are going to rock it. When they say their names, they look the person right in the eyes and smile. It’s confidence.  For them, there’s no distinction between their name and who they are in the core of their souls. Their true identity. They KNOW that it’s one big package, and that it’s a damn good package at that.

I’m not a religious person, but I pray that this confidence will fuel them as the go into the world that (while not cruel) is not always kind. I pray that this confidence will hold them solid when life knocks them down and that it will pick them up again to keep trying.

I’m not a softie on discipline, at least not by the standards of some that I know. I feel it is my responsibility to teach my kids to be ready for success, to be ready to work, to be ready to accept help when they need it and to be ready to not accept less than their best from themselves. To be strong enough to face their world with strength, wisdom, and optimism.

If I can do one thing as their mom, PLEASE let it be that. PLEASE.

Fantasy or reality? What is actually real?

I had the pleasure of going out to dinner and the movies with my husband while we were on vacation with my parents. A rare opportunity and we had a wonderful time. We went to see the new Harry Potter movie.

In the movie, Harry has a conversation with Dumbledore. Yes, for those of you that follow the story, Dumbledore is dead. Since when has that stopped anyone from returning in a magical movie like Harry Potter, though? Right? Being dead only allows them to become a ghost, a mystical phantom. This new form makes them even more powerful and influential. Pretty convenient.

Anyway, in said conversation, Harry asks Dumbledore if the conversation they are having is in his head (I.e. is his body laying in a magical battlefield wounded) or is the conversation real? Dumbledore, in his true fashion and infinite wisdom, turns to Harry and responds. (With a fantastically sarcastic tone, be assured). He tells Harry that it’s in his head, of course, but what does that have to do with it not being real?

His answer resounded in me, with an enormous poetic thud.

How often have we struggled with that very same question? We ponder the central issues of our lives, positive, negative and undefined. We conduct imaginary conversations with friends and enemies, in the hopes that we will gain so level of enlightenment. Sometimes we even create a mental image of what this conversation would look like. As they are imaginary conversations, we tend to devalue what we learn, how we react. The fact that our brain created both sides of the conversation leads us to believe that our conclusions must be lacking. And there’s truth to that. In our attempts to recreate a two sided interaction, we lack the perspective of the second party. Our conclusions can lack that wisdom.

But the opposite is also true. Those imaginary conversations can be the key to understanding ourselves on the deepest of levels. It’s like journaling or blogging. There’s nobody to answer to, so we tell ourselves the truth. We admit those deep, dark realities that we might not confess out loud, or even realize we feel.

What’s more real than that?

As I was watching the movie, I found myself wondering something else as well. I was a psychology major in college and it suited me well. I love figuring out how people think and why. I love becoming acquainted with the quirks of those I enjoy, traits that are all too frequently confused with flaws. Flaws? I think not. That’s what makes them authentic, real, interesting. Those are the best parts!

Anyway…  I found myself watching Harry, Ron and Hermione. Yes, I know, they’re movie characters. Thanks for reminding me.  That doesn’t change the fact that they are really interesting to watch and feel quite authentic. With the premiere of the last movie, I was reminded to be interested in the first movie, where the kids met for the first time. They were adorable. So young, so innocent. As the movies progressed, the kids got closer and more intimate, more devoted to each other as they got more mature and endured more of life together.

The last movie, with all the sadness and darkness, provided some extremely interesting scenes. Many of these scenes included little to no dialogue, but many opportunities for communication via body language and facial expressions.  The way the characters look at each other at moments of danger… well… they are either very good actors or they really do love each other on some level.  Or maybe a little of both.

And can you imagine that this wouldn’t be the case? Those actors worked together for years. How could they not be close? Making a series of movies like the Harry Potter Series must have been quite exciting and stressful at times.  Whether they would have chosen each other as friends before being forced together, they must be more like family now. You know… like your cousin or sibling. You may or may not have chosen that person as a friend but you survived your family together so you’re bonded. For better or worse.

So the way they look at each other, that look of love and devotion. Is it fantasy? Good acting? Or is it reality?

I wonder if even THEY know.

Who's the better parent?

I came across an article the other day, written by a man, a father. I think that it was written around the time of father’s day, but I’m not certain. The title of the article stated that dads are better parents. I was annoyed by the title, but also intrigued. So I continued reading.

The article rubbed me the wrong way in the tone. It was competitive, for starters. Better parent? Really? I didn’t know it was a competition and that someone won? Beyond the kids winning, that is.  Or maybe he was just being ironic and the irony was lost on me? It was also very one sided, giving very little credit to the “mom” contribution to parenting. That definitely did not sit well with me, for obvious reasons.

That said, he raised some very interesting points. And many of them had significant validity.

He said that dads were more laid back, and he’s probably right. I know that it’s true in our house. My husband is much more likely to let something go, for better or for worse. Sometimes this irritates me and other times it makes me admire him. I wish I could do that as easily as he can.

The author also claimed that dads are better at roughhousing and simply making kids laugh. I’m going to guess that there’s truth to that statement as well. I roll around on the floor with the kids sometimes, but they are more likely to take a running jump onto daddy while laughing hysterically. Luckily, daddy is used to this and usually knows they’re coming, so he can catch them. J

He claimed that dads are more likely to represent an “unaltered” adult to the child. That is, he is more likely to model an adult that has time for himself and his own needs instead of being a child serving adult. That is most definitely true. My husband has significantly more energy to tend to his own human needs than I do. Most women I know would say this about their husband. Whether this is a good or bad thing is up for grabs, though. I suppose it depends on the moment and perspective.

The article hinted that dads have more patience than moms, but I didn’t necessarily agree with that one. If you take the perspective that a stay at home parent is more likely to be a woman, then men might be more patient, statistically. I know that I have a lot more patience for my kids when I have the opportunity to be away from them long enough to miss them. When I’m home all the time, my patience can be pretty short by the time daddy gets home. I need a break, and I need it quickly.

If you think about the capacity to calmly and patiently handle children that are unable to function productively and maturely, I vote for moms. Most dads I know run out of patience much more quickly.

As one half of a successful parenting partnership, I like to think of us as Yin and Yang when it comes to creating a complete life for our kids. To be totally honest, it makes me appreciate not being a single parent. No judgment, you understand, of single parenting. It’s just that I don’t envy any parent who must fill the roles of two adults, who must create a sense of balance from one perspective. That can’t be easy. 

I don’t really care that I provide everything my children need. I simply care that they are given access to what they need for a complete as possible upbringing. And I LOVE that I only bear half the responsibility of providing it.

My point? I have no interest in winning a “best parent” competition. I don’t want to be the better parent. I want US to be the best parents we can be. TOGETHER.

Mommy and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day…

Today was not ideal. It felt long, very long indeed and the kids did not exactly represent themselves well. Oh, let’s be honest. They were terrible. In public. I hate that!

I should have known when my daughter walked into the car door while I opening it, getting ready to leave.  But I’m optimistic, ok stubborn. I was determined to check a few items off the “to do” list. I proceeded with caution, but not enough. Clearly.

We went to target. Yes, that was me. The one with the two little kids. Yeah, that’ right. The one whose son was hitting and kicking his sister. Yeahhhhh, and I was that mom. Yup, the one telling my son that he would watch his sister eat a yummy treat and not have any if he didn’t stop. Uh huh, yes!!… That was MY son with the “oh shit” look.

I should have grasped the reality of my situation at that moment. But NOOOO … I was delusional, uh, I mean optimistic.

So went to one last store, in the same shopping center.

I should tell you, as a basis for understanding, that this last errand has been on my list for over a week now and it was the simple purchase of one item from one store. Simple, right? Not when you always have two kids in tow. For the past week I have been finding myself 100 yards from this store, yet unable to go in. I find this frustrating. Sort of like admiring a savory meal on the other side of clear glass window. Like missing a train by 1 minute. Totally annoying. Worse than being miles away.

So, I pushed on forward. Let’s ignore the fact that I had to steal a single cart from the supermarket next door because the store doesn’t have reasonable carts. Oh vey. Don’t I learn? Then my son wouldn’t sit in the basket of the cart, as my daughter was in the top part/seat. Not to be deterred, I figured I could calm him down.

He WAILED through the store and I must have told him to “sit down” about 100 times. Getting him to stay in the cart took some effort. I would have let him get out, but that wasn't a valid option. He never would have listened to me and I don't want to imagine how much I would have had to pay for what he broke. Besides, then she would have wanted the same freedom and I would have been officially screwed.

I noticed one of the employees looking at me with panicked eyes and found it mildly interesting, but didn’t have time to ponder it. I wanted to get out as quickly as possible. Then, suddenly, she was there. In my face. In what seemed to resemble a panic attack, she informed me that she could no longer allow me to treat my son that way. (Huh?) She was going to her manager. I just stared at her, and told her to “go do whatever she felt like doing” and glared at her down with annoyed dismissal.

Then she approached with the manager. “Are you all right, Ma’am?” the manager asks me, eying me carefully. Seriously? Like I have time for this…

Yes, I was fine. I would be better if my son would quit his monster tantrum, but I was fine. The manager nodded and led the employee away. I checked out, a helpful employee held the door for me and I left as quickly as possible.

My son calmed down in the car, just in time for my daughter to chuck her water and remove one shoe the first 2 minutes of our return home. (For those of you that don’t know my daughter, not being able to reach a toy and having one shoe on drives her INSANE). So she screamed the 20 minutes it took to arrive home.

Later this evening, as my daughter refused to eat dinner anywhere but in my lap, I sighed. That deep profound sigh that only a mother of young kids can understand. I kissed my daughter, smiled at my son (he was beyond my physical reach and I couldn’t stand up) and informed them that they were lucky to be so cute.

They will rely on that cuteness again. I have no doubt.

What do you want? What do you need?

This afternoon was sort of cranky, and dinner didn’t go as smoothly as normal. My son ate well, but my daughter barely touched her plate. This is not standard, I assure you. When we let her leave the table, she fussed with her toys, generally being difficult. It had rained earlier, the air was heavy outside and the humidity was through the roof. I had thought about going outside to play (the usual cure for the crankies) but I’m not a humidity person. Oh well. A little while later, we were doing the dishes and my daughter was in the front hallway, whining like a toddler. Oh right, she is a toddler. Oops.

We always ask our kids, both our kids, to cease their whining and to use their words instead. And trust me, they give us many opportunities. Do they always listen? Not so much… but they do listen sometimes and that frequency is increasing exponentially as their language skills increase.

But I digress…

So I asked my daughter (not nearly as patiently as I should have, potentially) to stop whining and to use her words. And she did. She looked at me with her huge, moist, brown eyes and a big, quivering, pouty bottom lip and exclaimed “Shoes on, go outside!” Oh, hmmm… Really? Darn.

But then I saw it. Crystal clear. She didn’t WANT to go outside. She NEEDED to go outside. She was DONE.  She felt TRAPPED and she was getting to know herself well enough to know that the only solution was an exit from the current situation. This is what I get for asking her to tell me. She told me. Now it was time to listen.

So we went outside. I told her to get her shoes and she BOLTED for them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her obey so quickly. We put on shoes and all four of us went for a walk in the neighborhood. It was fun, despite the humidity. The kids found a wonderful puddle and looked at me while they poked their feet at it tentatively. “What are you waiting for?” I asked them. “Jump! Splash!” Oh, and they did. The giggling was tremendous. Awesome! We had to strip them at the door before they came in, they were so wet. Did they care? Not one bit. No more whining… that’s for sure.

So, as I so frequently ask… what’s my point?

My point, my friends, is that we don’t ask this question nearly often enough. You know… that essential question. “What do you need?”. We ask people, all the time, what they want. We even ask them what they NEED sometimes, but we really mean WANT.  And it’s not the same thing. We ask this question presuming the recipient will be fine if they don’t get it, and maybe they will be. But maybe they won’t. And even if we can’t give them exactly what they ask for, we might be able to ascertain the end result they desire and offer them an alternate solution.

How often do we see a loved one in need, someone we don’t know how to help? We offer advice, we take them out for a meal, we give them a hug, tell them we love them, we send frequent emails to check in… we try to help. But do we ask them what they need? I’d like to think that I do that, but do I? Maybe, in my attempts to survive this wonderful yet insane life with young twins, I lose touch. Wait, who am I kidding? Of course I lose touch. How could I not?

I’m going to have to pay more attention to that in the future. That’s a pretty important detail to keep track of.

Thank you, my lovely tempestuous little girl, for reminding how to be a good friend. Now I have one more reason to appreciate you.

Growing up

There are many benefits to having boy/girl twins, but one that I put at the top of the list is that it makes it extremely easy for me to NOT raise a girly girl. I, myself, am not a girly girl, despite being acceptably feminine. I like pink, but I also like blue, green and red. I like dresses, but not exclusively. Shorts and pants suit me just fine.  I like painting my toe nails, but I would rather be doing something else active if given the choice and opportunity.

My daughter has shown signs of being a lot like me in this way. She likes her pink clothing (most of which we inherited, not bought) but is quite happy when her t-shirt is blue. She likes her dolls, but she also loves trucks and cars. She can “vroom” with the best of them. You go girl!

Whenever we are out in the car, the hunt is on, for both kids. They search for cars, trucks, busses, you name it… they are constantly on the lookout and damn they’re good. I used to question when they claimed to see a truck that I didn’t see. Now, if I don’t see it, I assume I missed it and it was actually there. The best part is HOW they say it. They don’t state it, question it… they SQUEAL it. Pure joy. It’s like they have no idea that ANYTHING in the world could be cooler than finding that particular truck. Oh right, until the next one. Every time… “More busses”, “more trucks”, “more cars”. Since I rarely drive on quiet roads, and our neighborhood is just off an industrial road, I provide my kids with a veritable array of such moving vehicles every time we go out. Yeah, I’m cool like that!

When we saw school busses in the past, I would tell the kids that one day they were going to go on a school bus, and mommy was going to cry. (If you haven’t already figured this out, I’m a total sap. I WILL be that mom who can’t wear makeup the day I put my kids on the bus for the first time. They don’t make waterproof to that level without going stage makeup. J) I stopped saying that when one day I spotted a bus and my daughter’s instant reply was “mommy cry”. Oh crap. Can’t have her saying that…

What’s my point? I don’t want my kids to grow up.

Despite their inane toddler habits that drive me up the wall, I love them like this. I love the earnest looks that cross their faces when they concentrate really hard. I love the way they laugh at nothing, just because laughing is fun. I love that their Pooh bears are considered a life essential. And I will cry when that passes, because I will miss it terribly, despite the joys of the next stage of development.

I have been working part time for quite a while now, bringing in a part time nanny to watch the kids when I am at work. She was wonderful, a fantastic match for me and my family. But she lacks one specific detail that cannot be ignored. She’s not a preschool and she cannot provide us the social interaction that a pre-school can. And that’s not her fault.

This coming fall, my children will be in part time preschool. I was already excited about it, but I am even more so now. Why? Because their teachers came to our house for a home visit recently and they are wonderful. Fun, organized, relaxed, easygoing… clearly these women are made to teach young toddlers. A dear friend of mine, who has twins the same age, will have her kids in the same class as mine. I love this.

But I can’t get around one little detail. My kids are going to school. I know… it’s not school. It’s preschool. Pre… as in before. Preparatory. Preparation. But it still gets me. They’ll have a backpack. A backpack. Really? Ok, so the backpacks have Dora and Elmo, but that’s not the point. The point is that they are moving on to the next stage. And one day, they will get on that school bus, wave good bye and not look back. And that’s great, but it’s also sad. When they say the best favor you can do for your kids is grow them strong wings, they don’t account for hard it is to watch the flying process.

Parenthood is not for the weak.

Vacation, all ever wanted...

Ahhh… Vacation. That blessed time when you get away from your life.  I love vacation. Out of sheer intellectual curiosity, I looked up the origin of the word “vacation. According to a website I found, it comes from the Latin word “vacare” which means “free” or “empty”.  I had always thought of the “vacate”, as in emptying your mind from the daily grind. I guess I was pretty close.

Free and empty. Hmm…  When I read those words, I was hit by a series of emotions.

1-      Serenity. A period of time, however short, that is void of the responsibilities and stresses of everyday life. Sort of a nice feeling, when you get right down to it. Work to do? No way! You’re on vacation. This reaction must have come from my pre-child days because vacations, as lovely as they may be, are not serene anymore. Fulfilling, quite possibly. Exciting, most likely. Serene? No, not really.  But that’s ok.  I knew that going into this parenthood thing.

2-      Irony. Free and empty? Not of stress. I certainly don’t feel that way while packing. You should see my 2 page, categorized packing list. And that’s the updated version. When the kids were younger, it was 3 pages. It’s nuts. Packing before kids, while not simple, was certainly not what it has become now. Really? How can two people, so small, require so much stuff and so much precision?

3-      Excitement. Even though technology has us much less disconnected while not home (for better and for worse), we do still get to be away from home. All those home projects that we have been working on or stressing out about avoiding… not possible when you’re not home. No need to be concerned. More dinners out, so less cooking and less dishes. The kids get to see a new place, or at least a place they see less frequently and are stunned into good behavior.

4-      Relief. For that period of time, I am not a sole care taker of my kids, I am a co-parent. I love that, love it more than I know how to explain.

I read a quote somewhere that claimed a family vacation was not really a vacation, it was a business trip. That’s partly true. Pre kids, a vacation to the beach was really relaxing. You brought your book and some music, a smallish towel and some sunscreen. You plunked your butt on the beach and tanned. When you got warm, you went into the water to cool off or took a walk. You went for lunch when you got hungry, took an afternoon nap and went out for dinner. Ahhhh, paradise. If it rained, you went to the movies. No problem.

Now, forget it. Your arrival at the beach looks like the landing at Normandy, except YOU have more stuff. The kids don’t want to walk on hot sand so you end up carrying them, along with all the paraphernalia, which is quite a sight to behold. Snack time with sand covered hands is, uhm, eventful and getting them changed and back into the car is a spectacle of gargantuan proportions.

Fortunately for all concerned, between the stressful moments are the squeals of glee, the exuberant rolling in the sand and the fantastic sand castles… so it’s worth it.

Don’t even get me started on sleeping arrangements and trying to get two kids to nap in one room when they sleep in separate rooms at home. Woo hoo, slumber party!!!!!

This week, we are visiting my parents. I have no doubts about how my parents raised my brother and me, but I also have no doubts that they have forgotten what it means to toddler proof a house. And it’s hard to blame them; it’s been a long time. I spend the first day picking up fragile items and large metal contraptions that are doomed to cause issue. I feel like an interior decorator, but with different intentions.

Overall, though, the visits go quite well. They get better as the kids get older and more flexible. I appreciate this more than I can express, as the earlier years were interesting. Simply trying to function with two very little kids is hard enough. Off your home turf, it can become almost impossible. It sort of takes the joy out of vacation to have your stress multiplied instead of divided.

So, this week, I intend to be on vacation. What does that mean? I will read my book. Yes, damn it, I will. And maybe I’ll even finish it and start another one. Wow. I will get my coffee before 10am. Yes! With so many adult hands around, I may even finish it before it gets cold.  I will let someone else make the kids’ breakfast and I will drink wine with dinner.

Sounds luxurious, huh? Don’t’ laugh.  It does to me…