Cords and Fleece

  Tonight, fresh from their baths, the girls pretended to be super heroes. Knowing how funny the word vagina is (see, funny right?), Samantha proudly announced that she would be... Vagina Man! "I'm Vagina Man!" she said. "Vagina Man?" Elizabeth asked. "Yes! Who needs a vagina?" Samantha asked. "I give vaginas to people who need them!" Elizabeth, who's game for anything, picked up her snake (yes, her snake) and said in a deep voice, "I need to pee. Can I have a vagina?" "OK!" Samantha said, reaching into her undies, pulling out an imaginary vagina, and putting it on the snake while making a strange zipping noise. "I have a lot of vaginas," she added. Meanwhile their grandpa, who's visiting from Chicago, sat in the next room pretending not to hear. Poor Papa. I wonder, did Michael and his brother ever play games like this? Did Michael ever declare that he was Penis Man? We'll never know, now will we?

  Kindergarten is kicking my ass. God, that would be funny if it wasn’t true. But kindergarten should have a giant flashing neon sign above it that shouts, “WARNING: Giant learning curve ahead! You might not make it! (Counseling available upon request.)” The Forms Every other day, something new comes home in Elizabeth’s folder that I need to attend to: Spanish classes, sports classes, Girl Scout groups, does she want to participate in this art project and if so sign here, school picture order forms to complete, pictures for her to color and contests for her to enter, permission slips to sign, book fairs to attend and books to purchase, catalogs of products that we’re supposed to sell if we love our child and her school. It’s endless. The Schedule Mondays and Thursdays are P.E. days. Tuesday is Sharing day. Wednesday is the “short day”. Monday afternoon is Spanish class. Wednesday afternoon is soccer. Perhaps that doesn’t sound like too much to remember, especially if you have more ...

  Dearest Elizabeth, I was wrong. Kindergarten sucks. I know. You probably find that surprising, seeing as how I promoted it so heavily for the last few years. But sometimes parents make mistakes. And I have made a big, big mistake. What’s so bad about kindergarten? Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure exactly. There are certain things I would change, that’s for sure. For instance, I don’t like that you are one small student in a group of twenty with only one teacher. At preschool, you had four teachers. I guess I’ve become spoiled. I also don’t like that your classroom is in a trailer (so common here in California) and not part of an actual building. In my day (...er, I mean in Virginia ), every classroom was in a building... with rooms... and bathrooms. Imagine that. Your building seems more like an afterthought. But again, that’s common here in CA. I don’t like that no one watches what you eat during lunch. Sometimes I open your Spider Man lunch box and see you’ve barely ea...

  Here’s the conversation I overheard this morning as I selected the girls’ clothes... Elizabeth : What do they have at Legoland? I don’t answer because I’m thinking the girls can figure this one out on their own. Samantha : I know! They have Legos that you can play with. Elizabeth : Yea! And you can buy Legos there, too. Samantha : No you can’t. People already have Legos. Elizabeth : But people can buy them at Legoland, too. Samantha : No, people already have Legos! Everybody has Legos, so they don’t have to buy them. Yes, that’s right. When the stork delivers the babies, they come with Huggies, burp cloths, and a box of Legos. Elizabeth : No! Not everyone has Legos. Samantha : Yes they DO! Elizabeth : Strangers don’t. They don’t have Legos so they have to buy them. Samantha : THERE ARE NO STRANGERS! EVERYBODY HAS LEGOS! Elizabeth : That’s because you don’t know China . And that settled it. See, I told you they could figure it out on their own. I hope you’ll join me in donating yo...

  “What about the goody bags?” That’s Michael. He’s disappointed because I didn’t mention my goody bag debacle in The Big 5.0 . All I can say it that we all know I don’t have a good history with goody bags, so what happened is probably just bad karma for dissing them in the past . On Monday, Elizabeth celebrated her birthday at school. They do a nice job for birthdays. Elizabeth made a list of 8 friends to sit with her at the festive birthday table. One by one Elizabeth called out the names of her friends and one by one they ran up to her, a la The Price is Right, hugged her, and ran to the table. Eventually, all the children were seated and the singing and cupcake-eating ensued. (I won’t go into how awful it must be for the kids who never get picked. Let’s just say I feel their pain...) After eating, Elizabeth called out each child’s name (every kid in the class -- not just the privileged eight) and handed them their goody bags. There was more hugging and the occasional peck on th...

“I’m so happy that today is my birthday!” As I slept, a wide-eyed Elizabeth marched into our bedroom, stood next to me, and announced those words loudly on Saturday morning. Elizabeth had three birthday parties this past week -- two at home and one at school. I realize this establishes an expectation of endless super-party-fantasticness that her future boyfriend will never hope to match, but that’s his problem. She also had a Preschool Graduation Party last Thursday and has been practicing this song all week for their graduation presentation: So long, it’s been good to know ya. So long, it's been good to know ya. So long, it's been good to know ya. Glad you could come! Adios and Goodbye! (sigh) Yes, it's a time of great change and celebration. Needless to say, we’re pretty partied out. However, birthday party No. 1 -- the BIG Party -- was on Saturday, and with her joyful morning proclamation, the horns officially sounded and the birthday festivities began. Well, not really...

“Elizabeth, you have to take your medicine.” Elizabeth storms from the kitchen. I don’t blame her, really. Cough medicine is the worst. In her bedroom I find her furiously scribbling a note. She holds it up to me while making an angry face. HAT MOMY is written above a heart drawn on a heart-shaped card she cut out of printer paper. I read the card out loud. “You hat me?” I ask. “It’s not hat it’s HATE !” she corrects me. I have to admit, it was a low-blow on my part because I already knew it was “hate.” Now she feels bad for being angry, for being misunderstood, and for misspelling a word. Yea, definitely a low-blow -- caused by a momentary lapse of confidence precipitated by the word HAT . “Oh,” I say. “Well, at least you wrote it on a heart card. So you must not hat me too much,” I tease and smile hopefully. Elizabeth scowls, but doesn’t deny it. I resist the urge to taunt her by singing You love me, you love me! Instead, I promise all sorts of chocolate goodies to eradicate the...

  This video makes me want to run out and get pregnant. Not only are these kids adorable, but they kick serious heavy metal ass: Notice the location? Yes, that’s a bunk bed -- perfect. All I can say is, this video makes me happy. In fact, I may start a list of “videos that make me happy” and this will be number 1 on the list. It makes me want to procreate like crazy and fill our house with electric guitars and drums. Rock on, gauchos!  

  Grandma overheard the following conversation between the girls this weekend while they were busy playing at her house: Lizzy to Samantha : Did Grandma get her hair cut? Samantha: I dunno. Lizzy: Mommy cut her hair, too. I don't know why! Samantha: Grandma isn't wearing her fake hair, but she's wearing her fake teeth. Lizzy: I'm glad of that! Samantha : I just pooped. Mom said she could imagine the girls having nearly the same conversation in an Old Folk's Home someday -- two old ladies gossiping about their neighbor down the hall.  

I didn’t mind the wind. I thought I would. It’s very windy in Maui, especially on the Eastern side. Usually, the wind pushes me in directions I don’t want to go. It wants me to go that way when I want to go this way . I consider it a bully and most of the time a cold bully. But in Hawaii, I didn’t mind the wind. There, it was more like a playful child, warm and full of love that brought flowers to our feet and mischievously took them away again. So I didn’t mind. But Samantha didn’t like the wind at first. Because nobody -- not even the wind -- puts Baby Doll in a corner. No other object has soaked up more of Samantha’s essence than Baby Doll. She’s been dropped in the dirt, splattered with food, slobbered on, and torn. She’s been stuffed, re-stuffed, sewn and scrubbed. She sleeps with Samantha each night, plays with Samantha each day, and travels with us to and from school and work. There has been one and only one Baby Doll since Samantha was an infant -- she scornfully rejects any...

I didn’t know I could laugh underwater. We (Michael, the girls, and myself) returned from Maui last week, and it’s going to be hard not to sound overly poetic when I write of it. I keep thinking of discoveries like the one above, and how I often found myself running for no good reason except that it felt good. (I don’t like to run normally, so this is pretty miraculous.) But Maui is poetry, at least to a first-time visitor like me, and I’m sure I will use trite, clichéd words and phrases to describe it. In a way, visiting Maui is like falling in love for the first time -- every person feels it uniquely and I’m certain Maui never existed until I arrived. So I’m compelled to write love poems to it. I miss it already and each day I scheme to return. Yes, I’m in love. Maui is magical, too. So magical in fact, that now that I’ve left it, I almost completely forgot that there were rough times, too. Times when I thought I hate this grumpy, whiny family! Times when I thought, It’s too late ...

  “Can you drive this morning? I have a headache.” Michael sniffs and rubs his sinuses. Usually, he drives in the morning and I drive in the afternoon. But today his sinuses are bothering him and his head hurts too much to concentrate. “Sure, I’ll drive. Want some Excedrin?” And so our weekday morning begins. Samantha is wearing her new birthday dress -- crushed black velvet with red trim. She looks like an angel. Despite his throbbing head, Michael grabs the camera and conducts a photo session with Samantha in the front yard. Lizzy joins them. We’re going to be late, but hopefully we’ll remember the pictures and not the tension that follows as we all scramble to get into the car. 15 minutes later we drive along the 52 on the way to school and work. The girls are eating Froot Loops and bagels and Michael leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. Lizzy suddenly bursts out singing. Michael jolts awake. “Can you sing lower?” he asks, holding his head. As usual, Lizzy interprets him li...

  I’m inside making spaghetti sauce for dinner: sautéed garlic and olive oil with balsamic vinegar, ground beef and tomato sauce. Michael is playing outside in the driveway with the girls. I glance through the kitchen window to see him affixing Elizabeth’s 3-wheeled roller skates to her skinny frame. And then the helmet. And then the kneepads. She looks like an American Gladiator in pink shorts. Using a mop handle, Michael guides Elizabeth along while she holds onto it for balance. She shuffles forward, grinning widely, while Samantha stands aside and watches, clenching her fists in front of her chest in anticipation of Elizabeth failing or succeeding. I secretly spy ( with my little eye... ) my family. I love Michael for teaching Elizabeth how to skate. I love Elizabeth for trying to skate again after a not-so-successful attempt a few months earlier. And I love Samantha for caring. Lizzy falls to her knees and Sammy grimaces. However, instead of becoming angry or sad, Elizabeth i...

  Yay Jesus Easter candy found its way into our house weeks before Easter (magically through cracks in the floorboards). I tried to be good to my health by passing it off to some of my coworkers and friends at work. Of course, they also brought in their confectionary excesses (Girl Scout cookies, etc.) which I indulged in while thinking it’s OK because it’s not mine , which is ridiculous. In the end, it’s all a wash. There really is no escaping springtime candy -- even if you’re Jewish. “I love Easter candy -- especially Peeps,” said my Jewish friend one day. “Oh yea? I have extra Peeps. Do you want them?” I asked. “Yes!” she replied. “Yay Jesus!” Easter Treasure Hunt For our almost-traditional Easter Day Treasure Hunt, I (I mean the Easter Bunny ) left clues around the house as to where the girls could find their “treasure”, i.e. Easter baskets. Their first clue was “Where is the coldest place in the house?” The girls went to the freezer to find their next clue. Only, the Easter B...

  You've got a way to keep me on your side You give me cause for love that I can't hide For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide Because you're mine, I walk the line - Walk the Line, by Johnny Cash It is morning. Like throwing holy water on vampires, the sun rises and we are not grateful. It is a work/school day and we do not face a morning of Froot Loops, Clifford, writing, and -- when God is kind -- sleeping in. Instead, we face a morning of alarm clocks, severe tot-itude , and traffic. We are not happy. It is my job to wrangle the girls into, well, anything but pajamas -- and preferably something weather-appropriate. This has never been easy. I remember a bad mommy moment I had with Elizabeth. At 3-years of age, Elizabeth suddenly decided she could pick out her own clothes, thank you very much. After pushing my hands away twice, I let her go for it. I mean, how bad could it be? But then she pulled out a bright, fluorescent green t-shirt and a pair of army green ...

  The sun is setting. Elizabeth notices the dwindling light and announces, "Mommy, I hate the night.” “You do? Why?” Are you having nightmares? Are you afraid of the dark? Do you hear strange noises? What? “I hate the night because I have to sleep .” Oh, yea. I noticed that was a problem... ------------ “Mommy, I have a bad feeling.” “Oh no, you do?” “Yes. I have a bad, bad feeling... that if I don’t get any cheese before bed, I’ll never go to sleep.” “If you don’t get any cheese ?” “Yes. It’s bad news. I’ve just got a bad feeling.” “Yea, me too.” ------------ “Mommy, what can I do? I have a gajillion thoughts in my head. I can’t sleep.” “Try to think nice, calm thoughts -- like drifting in a raft on a lake, or taking a nap in the sun.” Elizabeth closes her eyes and tries to think soothing thoughts. Then suddenly she opens her eyes and says in exasperation, “Mommy, I can only think fun thoughts!” ------------ “Mommy, I need to talk to you.” “Oh yea?” I tuck Elizabeth into bed and...

  They say Disney, we say The Jesus Lizard. They say Sesame Street, we say The Melvins. And on and on it goes -- the battle over music in the car. Like a couple of old women, the girls yell for us to “turn it down” and to “please play the Lonely Goat Herder song,” -- anything but the electric guitar-driven music we so, so enjoy. But every once in a while, they surprise us. For a while there, we convinced Elizabeth that the Cookie Monster was the lead singer of Mastadon. “Hey Lizzy -- who’s that?” we’d ask. “It’s the Cookie Monster!” she’d say. Her happiness only made us feel a teensy-bit guilty about our heavy metal lie. And now Samantha is demonstrating a fondness for AC/DC’s “The Girl’s Got Rhythm” from their album Highway to Hell ( yes! ). Specifically, the chorus that goes: The girl’s got rhythm (girl’s got rhythm) The girl’s got rhythm (girl’s got rhythm) She’s got the back seat rhythm (back seat rhythm) The girl’s got rhythm (click the play button, below, to listen -- or clic...

  It was a dark and stormy night... So we went to The Food Court at The UTC Mall after work to grab a cheap bite and avoid traffic. The Food Court is great for our family because one: it’s loud, so we blend right in, and two: it surrounds an ice skating rink so we can people-watch and fantasize that we’re all great skaters. (Elizabeth, who’s never touched a pair of ice skates, is the best skater of all.) The Ice Skating Rink The rink sat below The Food Court so we looked down into it from our table. Immediately below us, a perky blond instructor taught two small children (about Lizzy’s age) how to skate backwards. Apparently, learning to skate backwards as a 4-year old involves bending one’s knees and shaking one’s butt vigorously from side to side like a Hawaiian dancer. Who knew? Hell, even I could do that! So we put down our plastic forks and tried it. I remained seated, but Lizzy and Samantha not only stood up, they stood on their chairs. “I’m going backwards!” said Elizabeth ...