This and That

Olivia and I have this game we play. It started a few months ago.

Every time she’d ask me to carry her, I’d ask her, “What am I, a taxicab?”

She’d giggle and say no and this would progress to me asking if I was a school bus, an airplane, a pack mule, etc. She loved this game and if I ever forgot, she’d remind me whenever I picked her up.

Recently, I’ve changed my question.

These days, when she asks to be carried, I reply with, “What are you, two years old?”

Usually, she laughs and says no, she’s five!

The other night, as I picked her up to carry her upstairs to get pajamas, I asked the question.

This time, she put her head on my shoulder and said wearily, “I’m five, but I’m very, very tired.”

I love this response so much. She wasn’t apologizing for wanting to be carried, just explaining that sometimes, even a five year old needs a little lift.

Now the summer break is here, we’re instituting Daddy Day again. This gives my mom a bit of a break from childcare and it gives Tom and the girls a chance to just hang every Monday.

Alyssa’s not amused by this decision but since we didn’t ask her opinion, no one is bothered by her dissention. The only reason she is annoyed by this is because it means that on Mondays she can’t spend the day in Gram’s pool. Poor, deprived child.

Speaking of Alyssa, she wants to dye her hair black. In case anyone has forgotten, she’s nine. NINE years old. And she wants to dye her hair black.

I’m all about self-expression and giving kids a bit of space to be themselves, but black?

I told her we’d think about it and see if we can find something very, very temporary. I won’t let her start school in the fall with black hair. That is not the impression we want to make on her fourth grade teacher.

But honestly? It’s just hair. And I think things like this are pretty harmless. Right now, she has red bangs and the ends of some of her hair are red. Not red as in auburn or strawberry blond. Not a red that would occur naturally. No, this is fire engine red. And it’s not a big deal.

I’m hoping that by being open to things like this, to keeping her talking to me and reminding her that she can come to me about anything, that in the years to come, she’ll continue to talk to me about things like black hair, friends, boys and all the things that come with those things. Even the scary things like drugs, alcohol, and yes…sex. I want her to know she can talk to me. I want her to know that she can’t freak me out. So black hair? We’ll see. We’ll keep talking about it.

Danielle

Alyssa told me a story last night. It was a story that her friend told her at school that day.

The friend said there are a bunch of pictures in the basement of her house. One day, the friend, let’s call her B, said she was down in basement looking at the pictures. One of those pictures as labeled “Danielle.”

B said she asked out loud, even though she was alone, “Who the heck is Danielle?”

B reports that a voice behind her said, “I’m Danielle.”

She looked around. There was no one there.

After Alyssa told me this story, I laughed and said in a spooky voice, “I’m…Danielle.”

Alyssa turned to me with huge eyes and snapped, “Stop it!”

She’d already freaked herself right out just by telling the story and my joke didn’t help.

Alyssa can be a daring kid. But she’s also got a delicate psyche. And I’m a mean mom so you probably know how that goes.

Later that evening we were watching the season finale of America’s Next Top Model (spoiler: the Brit won.) and I asked Alyssa, “Are you tired, Danielle? Should we go ahead and go to bed?”

Alyssa ignored me.

A little later, I said, “I’m going to the bathroom, Danielle. I’ll be right back.”

Alyssa grabbed my arm and said, “Stop doing that!”

I laughed and asked her, “You know B’s story wasn’t real, don’t you?”

She insisted that she did know it wasn’t real but she couldn’t help but be freaked out.

Earlier in the day, Alyssa had declared she was going to sleep in her own bed that night. As in, in her own bed, in her own room.

After the “Danielle” incident, I asked her, “So are you thinking you’d rather stay in my room tonight?”

She gave me such a look of relief and hugged me, murmuring, “I think I need to be near you tonight.”

Poor kid. She’d probably have been sleeping in her own room years ago if she mother weren’t so cruel.

Don’t worry, though. I didn’t make any more Danielle references for the rest of the night or the next morning. My good versus evil is balancing out again.

Let Freedom Ring

As of 3pm this afternoon, Alyssa is officially a fourth grader. At 11am this morning, Olivia is officially a kinderkid.

Time flies, doesn’t it?

As I raced downstairs this morning before I’d even showered, Tom was in the kitchen washing dishes. I mumbled a good morning to him as I headed toward the basement stairs. He called out, “Good morning to you too. What are you doing?”

I stopped midway down the stairs and replied, “Olivia wants her bra.”

“Olivia?” he asked with a laugh.

“Yes, Olivia!” I grumbled, trotting the rest of the way down to the laundry room.

Olivia noticed that Alyssa has added a garment to her daily wardrobe and she’s (Olivia) decided that she doesn’t give a damn if she’s only five years old, she’s going to wear a bra too. And that’s that.

So yes, I let her wear her tiny little Barbie sports bra to school this morning under her t-shirt.

Let me state right there, even if it is embarrassing to future A and O…neither of them needs this new garment. Though I am glad this was A’s idea and I didn’t have to approach her in another year or two and bring up the delicate issue of her actually needing it and having her resist the idea.

This past school year has been good for both A and O. Alyssa started the year no longer the ‘new’ kid. She was an old pro at this school, having attended the year before. She was excited about the bus and while she was sad her best friend S didn’t have the same teacher, she was looking forward to lunches and recess with S.

I think not having S in the same class was a good thing for Alyssa. She made new best friends, now she has three. I think a girl can never have too many best friends. Seriously. She realized that while she still adores S, there are other girls she loves being around too. I am thrilled by this.

Olivia…well, she attended school most of the year, only having to stay home with fevers/sniffles/whatever a few times. She made ‘adequate progress’ on most of her IEP goals for the year.

Did she ever get comfortable enough to actually talk to her teachers? Well…no. But she will nod to them if they ask her a direct question. And she will point to pictures to communicate her needs. It’s a start, right? And if I’m in the classroom, she will speak to me, even if others can hear her. So there’s that.

Her speech therapist does report that Olivia got comfortable enough with her to actually talk to her, responding to questions and requests with a loud enough voice that she wasn’t asked to repeat herself.

I’m looking forward to a long, hot summer with lots of days spent at the pool or the lake. I know it’s going to fly, just like the school year did. But that’s life, isn’t it? It always seems like the minutes of each day crawl past while the years fly by.

The coming year will be challenging and fun and exciting, just like the last one was. We’ll face those challenges head on and embrace the excitement.

Cries in the Night

Let me preface this by admitting that there are three beds in the master bedroom. There is a queen sized bed, a twin next to that and a queen mattress on the floor across the room. The master bedroom is huge, so it doesn’t even feel crowded with all those beds/mattresses in there.

But here’s the thing. Alyssa and Olivia go to sleep every night in the queen bed, the one that is actually set up, not the mattress that was tossed there a few months ago when I took it off the queen frame and put a new mattress on it. Sadly, I hate the new mattress so I’m glad I left the other one on the floor. I ended up putting a fitted sheet on it and covering it with a comforter because…I bed hop.

Since the girls are in the queen bed, I start out in the twin. The twin was originally put up in there for Alyssa because when we first moved into the house, it was just me and the girls. Tom was still trying to sell our old house and he was living there, with frequent visits with us in the new house.

With just the three of us, I hated the idea of Alyssa down the hall. So did she, so the twin bed made sense.

And you know what? I’m sort of tired of apologizing for this. I’m tired of making excuses for how and where the girls sleep. Let me just confess right here to being an attached parent. That makes me sound better, doesn’t it? It makes it seem like this was a parenting decision, not a random accident of circumstances. I like that. I guess I can say I’m mom enough. Except I didn’t breast feed a four year old. Heck, I didn’t even breast feel an infant, either of them. But I’m still attached in so many ways.

Anyway! Six paragraphs later, I’ll try to come to the point. The point is, in the middle of most nights, Olivia wakes up and joins me in the twin bed. And then takes it over. And I migrate to the queen mattress on the floor across the room. Where I can be comfortable and not constantly nudged in the back by a kicky five year old.

This all happened last night, one of the hottest nights yet this year. We were all uncomfortable. I had made my way to the mattress and I was very comfy, my back to the rest of the room, sleeping away. I vaguely heard Olivia get out of the twin bed. I heard her call out and I kept expecting to feel her climbing onto the mattress with me.

Instead, a few minutes later, I heard her let out a wail of distress. She was as the bottom of the stairs, distraught because she couldn’t find me. I went to the top of the stairs and called to her. She raced up those stairs and into my arms.

Tom called from the living room (he tends to fall asleep on the couch and I’m just too tired to make him come upstairs and besides…where would he go if he did come upstairs? Did I mention that though I’m mom enough, I might not be quite wife enough?)

He asked if we were okay.

I told him we were. And we settled in for a five minute snuggle before the alarm went off.

Tom mentioned later that morning that it had been years since he’d been woken up by a cry like that.

I considered suggesting he make a place for himself upstairs in what is supposed to be OUR room and he’d hear those cries much more often. But I didn’t. I think that might have been mean and I’m trying so hard these days not to be mean.

Everything Old...

Sometimes, you havew to lose something find it. And then some other times, you have to put something away, forget about it for awhile and then find it again to realize how much you liked it the first time around.

Yeah, okay, enough with the silly sayings.

This weekend, I moved all the chairs away from the kitchen table so I could sweep and mop. And let me say here, this sweeping and mopping thing? It doesn't happen nearly as often as it should and when it does? I'm crazy proud of myself. So there.

I moved the chairs into the family room and lined them two by two. It made me think of the days when I was a kid and my mom would do the same thing with our kitchen chairs so she could mop the kitchen. We loved it. We called it 'playing train.'

Alyssa spend the night with my mom on Saturday night so Olivia was the only one here to enjoy my moving of the chairs. She walked in to find them lined up and clapped in delight. She declared, "You made a train!"

Some games don't have to be taught, they're automatic. She gathered her fellow passengers (a stuffed cat, and her Rapunzel baby) and assigned the job of train engineer to a stuffed do and they were off on a train adventure. I love that my kids play the same games I once played. It gives a sense of continuity, a sentimentality to the whole 'the world just keeps spinning.'

Later that same morning, Olivia asked me to go with her to find a 'pretty dress.'

We found our way to the toy room (a room in my house that overwhelmed me the minute I walk into it. I think I need to empty the room completely and then put it back together, throwing away or donating every single thing that isn't put back in there. But damn, that's going to be a HUGE project...)

In the toy room, Olivia found a long sleeved princess dress that fell in a wave of pink to her ankles. She insisted on wearing it. I pointed out that it was going to be a hot for her outside in the 90 degree weather. She didn't care, she wanted to wear that dress. I put it on her and then packed a pair of shorts and a tank top as well as swim suit to take to my mom's to pick up Alyssa later that day. I knew the minute Olivia saw what Alyssa was wearing, she want to change. But she enjoyed the heck out of that princess dress while she wore it.

As I watched her prance around, spinning and dancing, I realized that the dress had been a Halloween costume for Alyssa. She'd worn it to her kindergarten Halloween party. My mom had made that dress.

And it fit Olivia perfectly. Which makes sense since Olivia is almost five and a half and Alyssa had been a little over five and a half when she wore it. Back when Alyssa started kindergarten, she seemed so small, so fragile, so delicate. And yet...I can't fathom my now four foot nine inch nine year old being that tiny, that needy. Sure, she's still needy but it's a different, more emotional neediness.

It was neat to watch Olivia wear that dress and remember Alyssa wearing it, being that little, believing in the magic of princesses and witches.

Everything old is made new again when you have kids. I am so, so lucky to see life through the eyes of the amazing little girls.

Struggling

Someone told me recently that she didn't realize how much we'd struggled over the past few years. This person is lovely, beautiful, empathetic. She cares for so many people, both professionally and personally.

It made me wonder...do I exaggerate our struggles? Do I emphasize them and downplay how lucky we are?

Because I don't think we struggle any more than your typical family.

I really don't. I mean, sure, I'm tired but isn't every mother who works outside the home and works to keep the house livable and feed her family tired?

I probably bitch about it a little more than your average mom, though. I am a self-confessed over-sharer. It's what I do.

But struggle? I don't think of our life as a struggle these days.

Ever since that Zantac took effect five years ago and soothed O's sad, sad tummy, life has been exponentially better. Those first six months of her life? They were a struggle. The crying, the pacing, the driving, the doctors appointment where we were told she was fine, we were over reacting to her constant crying.

Those things were a struggle.

But once we got that medicine and it helped with her reflux and her pain...things have been better.

Sure, we could all sleep more but that's my own personal problem. I'm not sure I'll ever feel like I get enough sleep. But I think every single mother out there feels that way.

Our struggles feel so minor compared to so many out there. We have our health. Olivia isn't affected by 5p-'s health concerns the way so many other kids are. She's got a healthy heart (we have the scan to prove it.) Her kidneys are perfect (we have the ultrasound to prove that.) Her brain is lovely, we have the MRI to prove that.

She's potty trained, which, if you know anything about 5p-, is nothing short of a miracle.

She talks all the time, which again, for a child with 5p-, is such an amazing accomplishment. She's worked so hard and we've always been so lucky to have amazing therapists who work with her.

Struggle? Not any more than any other family out there.

I feel like we're blessed to be able to embrace our struggles, to make them our own and to own them rather than let them own us.

End of Year Festivities

The girls have two more days of school left. Their school year was extended by one day due to fog days (I know!) so their last day is next Wednesday.

But the last week or so has been busy, busy, busy as they cram in as much fun as possible into these last few days.

Last Friday was Alyssa's school field trip. Monday was their pen pal party. Today was the kindergarten through fourth grade field day.

I try to go as many of these events as possible. I know the days that Alyssa is actually going to want me there are numbered and so I'm soaking it all in.

But I'm tired.

It's a good tired, though. The kind of tired that comes from too many hours in the sun, too much laughter, too much fresh air.

This morning I worked a half day at work because there was just enough stuff that needed to be done that I couldn't justify taking the entire day knowing A's field day didn't even start until 12:30.

So after four hours at work, I raced the 20 miles to Alyssa's school, arriving only ten minutes late.

I followed her group of 17 kids from activity to activity, doling out sunscreen, corralling unruly boys (can I say right here that it's a good thing I didn't pursue the teaching degree because I don't really enjoy being around a bunch of kids all day long. My own kids wear me out enough, thank you very much.)

Anyway, after field day was over, Alyssa and I drove home, she ate a pickle and we packed up snacks and drinks for a bike ride to my mom's to pick up Olivia.

Today was a HOT day. There was a nice wind, though, so the heat was bearable. But once we got to my mom's house, the effects of the day hit Alyssa like a ton of bricks. She was exhausted.

We called Tom and asked him to come get us.

Once he got there, I suggested he put A's bike in the trunk of the car, take the girls home and I'd follow on my bike. It didn't make sense to me to leave it at Mom's house.

When I finally got home, Tom had fed both girls and was heating up leftovers for us. Nice, huh?

After dinner, I went out with the girls again, this time, they raced around in the shaded front yard while I pulled the dead blossoms of the petunias in an effort to encourage new growth.

Then A and I played two games of croquet, my dad stopped for a visit, we all enjoyed the first watermelon of the season on the back deck and the girls played n the swings.

And now...I'm tired. Like I said, it's a good tired, an honest tired. The kind of tired I feel guilty complaining about because it just shows how spoiled we are by this amazing life.