Silver lining

My daughters are amazing. Perfect.

Nothing particularly special has happened lately, but it's the little things that strike me. Anna enjoys completing pre-K "workbooks," which isn't so amazing, as she's 4, but it's how much she likes them that gets me. How, even though she doesn't always get the right answer or know how to write something, she wants to learn. She actively asks for help, then repeats it to herself, then asks me to demonstrate, then she reproduces it on her worksheet. She gets that she is being actively taught, like in real school, and she is eager. What I love most about this is how much she reminds me of me.

Emmy's talking has blossomed so much lately, so that most words come out as sentences. Reasonable sentences. She can carry on a reasonable conversation. A silly example, but one that warmed my heart, was the other night, when I was putting her to bed. I gave her a stuffed dog. "No, I need baby." "A baby doll? Okay." "Here's a baby. Snuggle her in." "No, Mommy, tall baby." I'm not sure which charmed me more: that she has a genuine preference for her large, clunky dolls, or that she could use her words to take advantage of me and delay going to sleep.

She is the most empathic child I think I have ever met. Her teachers have mentioned this quality before, that she is the first to run to a hurt child and offer an icepack, a hug, or a kiss to make it all better. But I now see her extending this care to me. She senses sadness, and she tenderly hugs me, nuzzles my neck, and croons, "It's okay, Mommy." If I'm standing, she nuzzles my leg. Her hugs are whole body hugs. She often gently pats or rubs my back while we hug.

Her joy is equally emphatic. Her smiles light up a room, and her squeals of delight to see a new toy, or when approaching a playground, could cheer Tony Hayward.

And her anger is equally emphatic. She has trouble regulating her emotions, which is reasonable for a 2-year old, especially a passionate 2-year old like herself. But when she is angry, she hits, kicks, pulls hair, throws things. When she is frustrated, she gets red-faced, shakes, jumps up and down, and screams. And not just frustrated with a person--she gets frustrated anytime she gets held up. She likes to do things on her own, hard things. She likes to pull dining room chairs into the kitchen. If a chair leg is caught on something, and she cannot pull it, she has this little tantrum, just to herself, yanking and pulling, shrieking and shaking, and and is near tears with frustration until someone comes to help her free the object of desire. These tantrums are adorable to me right now, but I suspect they will become less charming with time. (I am reminded of my father when she does it.)

I have just been really taken with my kids lately. I adore them. And every day is a reminder of a bittersweet fact: they are growing up. It is a classic conundrum. I want them to grow up! quickly! so we can do some cool things already! And yet I mourn the loss of my babies.

A new dawn

Last night I had a bit of an epiphany. It is private, but I had it. It was liberating.

And today, I think, marks a very important day in our life together. This is the day I become a real wife. And the day I do what I have to do for my family. And I will not waver.

I could use prayers for strength.

Separation anxiety

Yesterday was hard.

We both take the girls into "school" every morning at 7:20 or so. We head off to their respective rooms, switching off every day who goes with each girl. We have to leave by 7:35. It is dreadfully early for them. It causes me much sadness. I try very hard not to show them that.

They are very used to this routine. I guess they just assume it's normal life, spending 9.5 hours a day, five days a week, in the care of other people. In institutionalized care. They probably don't realize that some kids don't go to "school." They have accepted it as part of life. And UCDC is amazing, and they are generally very happy there, and drop-off is a peaceful, even sometimes cheerful, time. Pick-up is always a cheerful time. When we arrive, they run to us, squealing with delight, and are all smiles. Never are they crying when we arrive, or disengaged, sick of being there, sitting alone sadly. Never.

But yesterday, Anna didn't want to be dropped off in the worst sort of way. I was the one to take her upstairs, and my departures, with both girls, are slightly more rough than Mike's departures. They are both more emotional about me leaving. Do they love me more? Are they more attached to me? Or is it the separation anxiety?

Not theirs. Mine.

I wonder if they can sense that I hate leaving them there? I wonder if they feel my sadness and anxiety over it?

But it's such a double-edged sword. I wouldn't want to be a stay-at-home-mom either. I know that I wouldn't handle that well. I guess I wish that I could just work for, say, 5 hours a day, so not have to drop them off until 10:00 and then be able to pick them up at 3:00. Which is silly, of course. Not only is it not economically feasible, it would be absurd to send them to school to play for one hour, then eat lunch and take a nap. I just feel guilty all.the.time that they are there for such a long day. It's a long day for me. So what must it feel like to them?

And their sleep is suffering from the length of our days! Add a half hour commute to each end of our school/work days, and we are out of the house for 10.5 hours. 7:00 AM to 5:30 PM. We have to wake them up at 6:00 to be ready to go by 7:00. If we were to give Emmy the 12 hours of sleep a 2-year old needs, we would have to put her in bed 30 minutes after we get home. Which would mean a hasty, non-nutritious dinner, and then no playing, no bath, no unwinding. Not possible.

So what am I to do? I suppose I have to get over it. I have to look at the facts and accept what we are doing:

• UCDC is among the very best centers in Pittsburgh
• they are happy there
• they are healthy and well-adjusted
• they are used to our routine
• they don't know that it could or should be any different
• we are doing what we have to do to provide a secure future for our family

So it is my anxiety, not theirs.

But yesterday, when Anna was inconsolable at drop-off, I left her screaming hysterically, and it felt like my heart had been ripped out. I went to Mike's work with him, we parked the car, and I was really upset. I felt like something was truly wrong. Mike suggested that I could walk back and just peek in on her from the observation room. Of course! Perfect! So I did. And from the observation room, I couldn't see her, but I could hear her. Still crying hysterically. 20 minutes after I'd left.

I ran into the room. She ran to me. She was nearly inconsolable. Her face was red and splotchy, she was gasping for air, her little body was shaking. I tried to assess for signs of physical illness (wheezing? fever? rash?), but she seemed perfectly fine. Except for the hysteria. I decided that she was just having a terrible, horrible, no-good very bad day. And I have those sometimes. And sometimes you just need a little extra love. So I stayed. I promised her I would stay until she felt better. I dug in my heels, she lay in my lap, and she stayed there, refusing to talk, for a long time. Eventually, she was calm. We talked. She relaxed. She made a card for her great-grandmother's birthday. I told her what time I absolutely had to leave (when the long hand of the clock points at the 8--8:40 AM.) She watched the clock. She was still a little teary when I left, but she was okay. I knew she would make it.

I wasn't so sure about myself.

But life goes on. Today was another day, and all went fine at drop-off. I deifintely worry that I have set a precedent, that I will just go to work an hour late and coddle her, but I think we will be okay. It is critically important to me that she know that I will be there for her in her time of need. It's the very least I can do.

Role playing

Anna had a classmate's birthday party to attend at the mall yesterday.

(Aside: on Saturday we went shopping for her gift, which I planned to be Berenstain Bears books, since it seems to be a shared love of Anna and the birthday girl. However, after an inpromptu stop at KMart for some cheap hanging flower baskets [I have gotten so lazy practical!], Anna absolutely insisted that we buy Lauren pink flowers for her birthday. "Ohmygosh, Lauren loooooves pink flowers!!!" So for her 4th birthday, a lucky little girl got a 10" pot of sopping dirt and wily petunias.)

The party was at a playspace in the mall I never knew existed. It had climbers, a giant blowup trampoline room, and even a ball pit. I planned to take Anna myself, and Mike and Emmy were going to shop and go out to lunch together. But when I got there, I learned that parents didn't have to stay. They were free to go shopping or whatever. [Blank stare.] "Really?"

Best.Birthday.Party.Ever. I felt a teensy bit guilty to leave--Should I be sociable with the other mothers*? Am I abandoning my child? Does it seem like I'm using them for free babysitting? But, space was pretty tight, and I saw other mothers leaving, so I pried Anna from the climber to feel her out on whether she'd be okay with me leaving.

"Anna, sweetie, I'm thinking about going out for a little bit, but I'll be back very soon, and you can stay and play with your friends. Is that okay with y-"

[Anna literally pushes off me like an olymic swimmer turning on a wall] "BYE!"

I caught up with Mike and Emmy, and we went on an incredibly frustrating shopping trip. (Never shopping at Macy's ever again. Ever. For anything.)

And then it was time for lunch. We scanned the options in the food court, and well, blegh. We decided to sit down in Houlihan's for a real lunch. It was the most pleasant meal I've had in a restaurant since I can remember.

1. The server was awesome. She spoke to Emmy and "took her order", she brought her a little plate of baby carrots to munch on immediately after we placed our order, and at the end she gave Emmy a sticker. This server actually kept several sheets of stickers in her billfold. Genius.

2. The food was fun. It wasn't amazing foodie food or anything, but slightly more interesting than typical restaurant fare. But they have a special menu like I've never seen, called small plates. Everything was $4-7, and the menu was billed as being for people who can't make up their mind, or want a sampler. That's me! Always! I hate committing to one meal! They suggested 2-4 small plates per person. I got a cup of soup for $3 and a little bowl of thai noodle salad for $4. I have been aching for a restaurant to serve food in appropriate serving sizes for all my life. I got about a cup of the noodle salad, which was plenty to fill me up. I was so pleased.

3. Emmy. I truly didn't realize until yesterday how fabulous Emmy is. I mean, I love her with the fire of a thousand burning suns, blah blah blah, but, I don't know. It's like you can never feel about your second the way you felt about your first. And not because the second isn't just as wonderful, or that you are less easily impressed. I think the second just gets drowned out by the loudness, the boisterousness, the in-your-faceness of an older sibling. When your first child babbles something that could have been a word, you obsess over whether it was a word. When you're sure, you squeal with delight. You tell all your friends about it. You blog about it. When your first child waves bye-bye, or flirts with a stranger, or rides the mechanical pony in the mall for the first time, your heart melts. You take photos, you swell with pride, you are sometimes moved to tears. When the second one does it, you barely notice. Because it's old hat? Yesterday's news? I am now pretty sure that's not the case. Because yesterday, with just me, Mike and Emmy in the restaurant, I felt those old first-child feelings. She had my full attention, and couldn't possibly have been any more adorable. She enthusiastically ordered "mac and cheese" for her lunch, and was just a riot to watch. I forgot how fabulous two-and-a-half can be. She was sweet, charming, and funny. And my heart nearly burst with love and affection. That is something I rarely feel anymore. It was really nice to discover it was still there.



But it did feel funny, overall. I had this guilty feeling, like we were posers. We were playing the part of first-time parents. We looked like parents with an only child. A doted-upon, apple-of-our-eyes only child. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But it felt so fake. And fun. It was refreshing. Pretending to be something you're not, and feeling like you got one over on everybody, is fun. I'd like to do that more. I think my little Emelia and I could use some more personal time together.