Cords and Fleece

Soccer, kung fu, or gymnastics? Art, piano, or dance? Fencing? I want to enroll Elizabeth in some sort of class, but it's just not going well. I'm not sure if the problem is me... OK, it is me . Take ME out of the equation and the "problem" magically disappears. Lizzy is just not interested in joining a team or taking a class, and Michael isn't keen to sign her up (and thus spend money) for a class she won't enjoy or may not participate in fully. He has a point. We enrolled her in soccer last year, and while most kids ran up and down the field kicking their balls, Lizzy stopped to examine a flower. When the kids stood in "ready position" (standing in line with one foot atop their soccer balls), she sat on her ball at the end of the line. While other kids weaved their balls around little orange traffic cones, Lizzy picked up a cone, turned it upside, placed her soccer ball on top of it, and pretended to lick it like an ice cream cone. That is Lizzy i...

"I've been looking forward to today since... a few days ago!" Lizzy said happily this morning. Today is the first day of Elizabeth's spring break and she's spending four days of it at the San Diego Zoo. Wow! It's all very exciting. Thanks to a last minute cancellation, Lizzy will spend her days going behind the scenes at the zoo, learning what animals eat, how they communicate, and what they sound like. There will be animal encounters and special guests, lessons and games, art crafts and cooking. And the theme of this year's Zoo Camp is, "Let's party!" It all sounds super neato fantastico, right? Well, it was... until last night. Don't get me wrong -- despite a little separation anxiety this morning when I dropped her off at camp, Elizabeth is definitely on board and looks forward to four, fun-filled days at the zoo. In fact, she's there right now, hopefully having a wonderful time. But last night as I prepared her last minute documen...

When I am confused or overwhelmed and have to make a sudden decision, the feeling is akin to being a hungry wolf trapped in a cage: I snarl, I snap, I thrash about, and all I want to do is escape so I can go somewhere else and have a nice meal. This is often how I feel when I'm confronted with a sudden parenting dilemma that I don't know how to handle -- and this happens more often than I would like. The problem is, there will be a nice stretch of time when the girls are fairly well behaved. They listen (pretty good), they share (pretty good), and they're pretty good to their mommy. During that time, I relax. I talk to them more like grownups. For example, when they don't want to stay in their beds at night, I'll be honest with them, "Seriously, could you go back to bed without a fuss -- Daddy and I have things to do." And for a time, they'll do it. I simply explain myself and that's all it takes to get them to respond. But gradually it takes more ...

Lizzy always seems to be moving faster than I am prepared. When she was fourteen months old, she learned to escape from her crib. She swung one lanky leg waaay up, hoisted it over the edge, and pulled herself out. At the time, I fully expected her to remain in her crib each night, nicely contained, until she was at least 2 years old. But fourteen months?! I wasn't ready. I hoped it was a fluke. But she repeated the maneuver again and again -- not to convince me otherwise, but because it was so much fun and so powerful. Well, she's caught me off guard, again. Here I was, fully anticipating 8 more years of non-teenage bliss. But I'll be damned if a teenager didn't walk out of her room one morning. It looked like Elizabeth, talked like Elizabeth, dressed the wacky way Elizabeth sometimes dresses. But it wasn't Elizabeth. Well, not the one I'm used to. Did you ever fantasize about what you would do if you had to go back to being a kid or teenager, knowing all you kn...

  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...

Hi! I miss you guys! It’s not that I haven’t been reading about your lives and commenting when I can. But I miss having a place to throw out my thoughts and get your reactions and support. It’s like journaling with a megaphone. So even though I'm over-the-top busy, I’m going to try writing again. Because I really, really have to. I have SO MUCH ON MY MIND right now. Last night I hit a physical and emotional wall. I went to bed at 9pm and didn’t wake up until 6am -- very unusual for me. My usual pattern over the last few weeks has been to toss and turn, mulling over the following: Does Elizabeth really need to go to kindergarten? Wouldn’t it be much nicer if we just put her back in preschool where we all felt safe and comfortable and knew what we were doing? Why do people think the way they do regarding the election, regarding each other, regarding themselves? Am I involved enough in Elizabeth's school? Shouldn't I be attending meetings of some kind, volunteering, and makin...

  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...

  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...