Biology fail

Anna is quite the budding scientist. Due in no small part to science shows on PBS, she makes hypotheses, observations and conclusions about things all the time. For a 4 1/2 year old, she is so thoughtful, insightful and clever. Which makes this morning's conversation all the more dumbfounding.

On this Monday after Thanksgiving, for the first time ever, Mike took the day off work and went hunting. He left very early in the morning, hours before sunrise. He had told the girls while putting them to bed last night that he would be hunting today, and he deliberately told me that they understood hunting as going out "looking for deer." He did not address what he would do if and when he "found" one. He wasn't sure how to talk about it, and I'm glad. I wouldn't know how to talk about it, either. So I knew to just play along, that Daddy was out looking for deer.

I think it is worth mentioning that Mike and I neglected to consider other evidence Anna has been gathering in that little brain of hers. She has seen plenty of mounted deer heads. And just yesterday, we stopped by Cabela's for hunting gloves, and of course she saw more heads and stuffed animals than one can imagine. I talked with her about the animals we were seeing, explaining that they are real animals, who used to be alive, but are now dead, but they are real and that's really how big they are, and so on. She (thankfully) did not ask how they died. Or maybe she did and I just shrugged it off. "I don't know!," I cheerfully chirp when I don't know how to answer something, or I just don't want her to know the answer. Also of note, in the parking lot of Cabela's, there was a huge table like you'd see at a Farmer's Market, except instead of having boxes of homegrown tomatoes and beets, they had boxes of antlers. Big antlers, little antlers, HUGE antlers. I commented to Mike as soon as I saw it, "That's lame! Who would buy antlers that someone else got?! Are they just trying to make themselves feel good?" And he explained that they're not for display or to make others think you got them--they are for attracting other male deer. You bang them together out in the woods, and when a buck hears other males fighting, he comes by to get in on the action. Ugh. The girls seemed interested in the boxes and boxes of antlers, but not disgusted by them, like I was. We just walked past, giving them little thought or attention.

It is also worth noting that Anna apparently understands that male deer, or Daddies, have antlers and female deer, or Mommies, don't.

So this morning, as both girls climbed into my bed and snuggled up against me, Emmy asked, "Where Daddy?!" So I simply answered, "Remember, Daddy went hunting. He left very early this morning." And the conversation quickly got uncomfortable.

Anna: Yeah, Emmy, hunting means that Daddy is out looking for deer.

Me: That's right.

Anna: I've been wondering how he's going to get the antlers off when he finds one.

Me: ...

Anna: Yeah, I've been wondering how he's going to get the antlers off the Daddies and make more Mommy deer.

Notice that she is not asking me directly, but hoping that I am going to offer an explanation. She wouldn't make eye contact, and I think she sensed that she didn't want to know the answer, but hoped I would volunteer something comforting.

Me: ...

Notice that I do not take the opportunity to explain that Daddy deer cannot just become Mommy deer by losing their antlers. Because I have no better explanation of why her father is out trying to score some antlers. This fundamentally flawed biological concept is good enough for me!

Anna: I've really been wondering about that...

Me: (chipper) I don't know! You'll have to ask Daddy when he comes home!

Redeemed

We did get Anna a birthday present when she turned 4! A leotard and ballet slippers. Whew!

Thank god for Amazon's seemingly endless tracking of my purchasing history.

Unmerry Christmas

Some blogs I've been reading lately have got me thinking about Christmas. And gifts. And gift lists. I have such conflicting feelings about gift lists. And that's probably because I have conflicting feelings about gifts.

Mike and I are not big gifters. We don't exchange gifts for Mother's/Father's Day, our anniversary, Valentine's Day, or any other made-up holiday. We didn't exchange gifts when we got married. It had never even really occurred to me--as if we weren't spending enough money on the event as it was! But we (gasp!) don't even buy our kids birthday presents. I mean, we have done something special for them since they were old enough to know... they each got a goldfish when they turned 3. Gosh, I cannot recall for the life of me what we got Anna (if?!) when she turned 4. For Emmy's birthday this year, her GGMa sent $30 to be spent specifically on a toy or gift for her, so we had the pleasure of buying ONE toy and giving it to her, though we made it clear that it was from her GGMa. But our kids just don't need any toys. They really don't. I really don't want to buy toys. And they get enough gifts from their grandparents and relatives that their birthdays are special. Receiving 4 or 5 presents is PLENTY for a 3- or 4-year old, if you ask me.

This is going to make me sound unappreciative, but I have a generally icky feeling about gifts. Getting them. Giving them. I feel that they are given out of obligation, not desire, and they are received out of obligation, not desire. I feel our culture's consumerism has made giving gifts an impersonal formality. I give you something, you give me something, there, we are even. Shew! Neither of us really needed what we received, and neither of us really needed to spend the money on what we gave. But, it is CHRISTMAS! We must purchase things! And receive things! And LOVE everything!

But, I realize that Christmas is really exciting for the kids. I want it to be exciting. I want it to be magical. I am struggling with finding a way to make it more magical than lucrative for them.

I don't know how to do the Santa Claus thing, exactly. I think Santa should only bring a few items for each child. Last year, we had Santa leave a few things, and then they each got a special gift from each of us. It was so.... lame. It wasn't even remotely magical. It was just the four of us, and the girls got their stuff, and the stuff was promptly tossed aside, and then, I don't know, they probably asked to watch Barney.

But I like that they aren't easily impressed by stuff! So the real gift to them would be the gift of time. Of doing something together. But Santa can't bring "time with Mommy" and leave it under the tree. But, I am leaning towards getting something for each of them that they can do with Mommy, like knitting! Or, in Anna's case, a potholder loop and loom set? Some kind of craft--aren't there hook rug kits? Or something! And I haven't figured it out for Emmy yet. But I will.

But. This brings me back to lists. My parents, my sisters, my in-laws, and my grandmother have all started asking what the kids want. And their grandparents get each of them 4 or 5 things alone! And then aunts and uncles and great-grandmothers, and what they end up with is a huge mountain of booty. More toys that will barely be played with. More videos that WILL be watched, much to my dismay. More stuff. That I have to lug home and put away. (See? I sound monstrously unappreciative!) But I have a really hard time coming up with ideas for things to get the girls. And I would like to get them gifts from myself and Mike, and from Santa. If I tell all of these people all of my ideas, what am I supposed to get for my kids?!

AND, I don't particularly WANT my kids getting all this stuff. It teaches them really bad habits, sends lousy messages of consumerism. I want them to appreciate non-stuff. But I don't know how to do that. I feel they are old enough to purchase toys for charity, and I really really really hope to do that this year (and yet for the past two years I have failed to get anything to any charity before the deadlines, which seem so early!) But they are not old enough to go work in a soup kitchen. I assume. I have never done it, and would really like to. But I don't think a 3- and 4-year old would be hugely appreciated there. And I'm not entirely ready to discuss the topics of poverty and homelessness, other than to tell them that there are children who will not get many Christmas gifts because their families don't have a lot of money to buy gifts. That is simple. To take them to see these families who do not have enough... it is too much for me them right now.

So, what to do?

Question 1: Do I give everyone a list of ideas for the kids?

Questions 1a-1f: Do I give everyone the same list? Do I make a special list just for the in-laws because they buy everything I suggest? Do I make it specific items (e.g. baby doll that pees in diaper, loops and loom)? Or do I make it general items (e.g. dolls, crafts)? Or do I simply tell people what they tend to like (e.g. dressing up, dancing, art)? Do I politely decline to suggest anything at all (e.g. "I'm sure they will love whatever you pick out. There is nothing in particular they need!")

Question 2: Do I dare suggest, or even request, that the grandparents give only one gift per child?

Questions 2a-2h: Would this be rude and/or unappreciative? Would they balk at it? Would it just create unhappiness? In the case of the grandparents with other grandchildren, will they freak out over feeling they are giving too much to the other kids? Would they feel they had to then get all grandchildren only one gift? If not, would my kids notice that their cousins got "more"? Would I be able to explain that I didn't want our family to get too many gifts because we don't need things? Would that make others in my family uncomfortable?

Question 3: Could I apply any of the above policies to myself and Mike?

Question 3a: See above. Repeat angst.

Question 4: Should I just shut up and keep the peace? Let the gift orgy go on, despite my discomfort with the whole thing?

Disjointed much?

1. Another minor epiphany today. Well, last night. And maybe it's not so minor. I think I have been going about this all wrong. Wrong from day one. I hope I can right the wrong.

2. Do you think coffee is as bad as people make it out to be? Like, so bad that only a monster would let their 2-year old drink it?

3. Should I have professional photos of the girls done for Christmas this year? I have never done it. At all. Not after birth, not for any holiday, not for any family event. And every year, I say that I am just snapping a photo, having it printed, slapping it into a Christmas card, and mailing them. No fuss, no muss. And every year, I make a mountain out of a molehill, and end up crying at 2am, hovering over glue sticks and glitter and scissors and cardstock of various colors and...

...but don't you think that mail-order Christmas cards are so generic?! I am not particularly touched when i get a photo card in the mail that Costco printed, that says, "Merry Christmas from the Jones'!" They don't even sign them, for God's sake! There is no greeting, nothing even remotely personal about them. Isn't the point to make contact with people you don't normally, and to say a warm hello, and perhaps to update them on what's going on in your life? I am not into novelettes, itemizing what songs Little Timmy can sing and how many BMs the baby has per day. But I generally include a few sentences on a 3" x 4" insert, giving the basics. This year's insert, for example, might read something like:

Hi to all of our friends and family,

We moved this year to (new neighborhood) . Anna, age 4, and Emmy, age 3, love the new neighborhood and enjoy practicing the walk to their new (soon to be!) school. This summer, Sabrina started a PharmD program at (new University), and with luck, will graduate in three years. Our therapists feel we made a lot of progress in 2010, and we look forward to an even more exciting 2011!

With warm holiday wishes,

The clan

....or, you know, whatever.

4. Emmy's birthday is in a few days! I wonder how I can make it special for her? We got her a goldfish already, since Anna got one for her 3rd birthday. Anna's goldfish is "Pickles," and has been ticking for a year and a half now! Crazy. Emmy wanted to name her fish "Pickles," which it took a long time to explain why that wouldn't work well. She finally came up with "Alligator." We loved it.

5. Halloween is a few days away. The girls are still waffling on what to dress up as. They both are inclined to be princesses/ballerinas, but I am refusing because it will be too cold. We have everything we need for a witch costume, and we have everything for a Ben Roethlisberger costume, which would be pretty freaking cute. (And practical--I can put 3 sweatshirts on under the jersey for bulking up, and then the kid won't have to wear a coat.) We also have everything to be a doctor. I'm sure we have other things. We have a lot of dress-up stuff. I just need to steer them away from the lacy, glittery, floofy, shiny stuff.

Remember When

Isn't that a great song? I love that song. We played it at our wedding. It paints such a romantic picture of life. Making vows, it being hard, breaking each other's hearts, coming back together, and so on. But one of the lines always nagged at me.

Remember when old ones died and new were born.

See, we have had a lot of babies born. A lot. And we have not had a death in the family in a really, really long time. Not in my family, or in Mike's! Mike lost both of his grandfathers when he was in high school. Long before I knew him. And his near family has not had a death since. My grandmother died when I was in grade school, and my great grandmother when I was in high school. Nothing since. My grandparents have had eleven great-grandchildren born in the past eight years. Mike's Baba has had, gosh, fifteen? more? great-grandchildren born. They kept getting older, and kids just kept on coming. I knew the day would come when it would all fall apart. I dreaded it, but I also felt the circle of life had to continue. I felt we were, I don't know, obscuring nature somehow.

Not that long ago, my grandfather was diagnosed as having early signs of dementia. I don't know if anyone actually used the words Alzheimer's Disease. But his confusion progressed. He wasn't exactly confused though. He was just different. His personality changed. He was anxious. He was cantankerous. Became impossible. It took a year or more to develop. A month or two ago, my grandmother became overwhelmed, and truly could not care for him at home. It devastated her to "give up." But if anything, she did it too long. She eroded her own health trying to care for him. And he was thankless. Nasty. And she was nasty right back. It was really unpleasant to watch. When it was decided that enough was enough, they took my grandfather to the emergency room, where his doctor had him admitted. There was no medical reason. But he had to be an inpatient for some amount of time in order to be eligible for placement in a rehab. The doctor's goal was to strengthen him in rehab so that he could be placed in a long-term skilled nursing facility. But he was unmanageable at rehab. He yelled, banged on tables, hollered that everyone was trying to kill him. "I'm dying! I'm dying! Save me!" He would tell family that they shouldn't have come to see him. He would tell them that they were killing him. Then he'd beg them not to leave, because he was dying! Save him! They started restraining him. Not the legal way, with a prescription and wristbands. They screwed a bedside table over his wheelchair so that he couldn't stand up. They parked him in the hallway this way because he couldn't be left alone. He urinated on the rugs. His anxiety was not being pharmaceutically managed, because they try to avoid drugging up the patients. But he was not sleeping. He could not stay there. It was an awful situation. It was decided that he was not medically in need of rehabilitation, as he was stable, could ambulate, and so on. But his behavior was not manageable. So he was taken to a remote hospital, and placed on the psychiatric ward. He was medically assessed there, and was diagnosed with pneumonia. Within a few days, the pneumonia was in both lungs, and they called one morning saying that he was unable to be woken. The family should come right away. He did rouse when my grandmother got there, and a day or two was spent determining his fate. It was decided that he was eligible for inpatient hospice. He was moved again, and 11 days later, passed away. It was October 8, 2010. He was 91 years and 1 month old.

It's okay with me that he passed away. We lost him a while ago, and he was no longer my happy, exuberant grandfather. He was a prisoner in his body.

Now I just have to worry about my grandmother. Her health is worsening. She was told by one of her physicians that she cannot live alone. She can't stay in her house. It isn't safe. All children concurred. She was told to look for an assisted living facility herself, or that one would be chosen for her. "I ain't goin' anywhere!!" she said. Fuck you all, was her real message. So, I have to wonder. How does it all end?

Sabotage

The last two days have been interesting. On Monday night, Mike cracked his head on the garage door track while exiting our new basement. The track is hung by sharp, steel brackets RIGHT in the doorway, RIGHT at Mike's head level. He identified this on the first day we arrived as a major safety concern. It was annoying to have to duck in and out of the garage, but it would be even more annoying to gash his head or face on the bracket. Which is exactly what he did, one week later. So, ER visit, concussion, no brain bleed, super. Moving on.

I feel really bad about him being hurt. I feel guilty that I didn't make covering the bracket a number one priority after moving. As soon as he showed it to me, on that first day, I was appalled by how dangerous it looked. I thought, "Oh my God, we need to cover that! Now!" But I didn't. And he didn't. We were more concerned with having a pink bedroom, I guess, which is ridiculous. But we had to start somewhere and the basement was low on the list. Unfortunately. I hate that he is in pain and I hate that the kids climb on him and shriek in his ear and I hated that there was JACK-HAMMERING, literally, outside his window in the ER while his head throbbed so badly he couldn't open his eyes.

But. I have this awful feeling of resentment. Every time he is injured or sick, which seems to happen more than should be typical, I have to work harder. More responsibility is dumped on me. I become a single parent. It feels like having a third child. And less help.

This is so unfair of me. I hate feeling this way. I know it's not his fault. I know that he's not happy being injured.

But I can't shake it. I guess I feel like he invites injury. He invites illness. Is this insane? Can someone actually do that? I feel like he takes no responsibility for leading a healthy lifestyle. He doesn't eat well unless I nag him. He is careless. Reckless. It's how he works. How he drives. He injures himself while working all.the.time. And he breaks shit. The other night, in an effort to get started on painting in the girls' room, he emptied the room of all furniture. By yanking, pulling, shoving, and basically behaving like a crazy person. He broke a bookshelf and part of the bunk bed. I don't understand why he can't wait for someone to help him, me, and do things calmly and rationally. To think and plan before acting.

But I have greater insight into the problem. There are two possible explanations, I think, for his consistently rash, careless behavior*.

1. He is sabotaging himself. He is subconsciously validating or confirming his schema. He (super duper) subconsciously feels he deserves to be hurt. He doesn't respect himself, so he doesn't respect his body.
2. He is sabotaging our relationship. I feel that our efforts at being closer, at having something resembling a date or time to connect, are invariably supplanted by his injuries and illnesses.

We are supposed to go out to dinner at some point this weekend, to celebrate selling the house, since his parents will be in town. To make up for the last plan we had to go out, just the two of us, that was cancelled. I have a date planned with a man with a concussion. Ha. I don't think we'll keep our date. Even if we did, if he insisted we still go out, he would feel like shit, and I would feel like shit, and it would have been wasted. Just once, once!, I'd like for us to go out and feel good about it. Have a good time. I cannot recall the last time Mike and I had a good time together.

Good lord this is depressing.

*Gotta love an amateur psychologist, right?

There would be a 10 minute period where I'd be completely inconsolable

We moved. I don't particularly want to bore myself with the details, but since I will never remember what it was like, and therefore will have learned NO lessons for the next time, I will summarize the event.

We got keys to the house last Friday night. We took the girls with us. It was a little surreal. It was very sobering. The place looked like hell. It was cleaned, sort of. Like, swept, I guess. But there were food drippings and splatters on the walls. Slime in the tile grout. A leaky bathroom faucet with wet-rotting wall behind sink. Black (with mold) caulking in tub. Cracking paint in places. Some walls had a lot of spackling. Like, mounds of spackling. Not smoothed. None of the spackled walls were touched up with paint. Random lightbulbs were missing from random light fixtures. The banister was wobbly. The washer was so tiny!

On Saturday morning, I had to go to school. Mike took the girls to my parents', where they would spend the weekend. He spent the day moving stuff in my dad's pickup. Once I was done with school, I joined him. We took one more trip of stuff, ended up fighting (which had little to do with moving and a lot to do with alcohol), and returned to the old house for sleep. On Sunday morning, I went to school again, but thankfully only had a half day. Mike hauled a lot more stuff. He worked so hard. I know he did. On Sunday afternoon we tried to move the last of the loose stuff from the old house, in preparation for the movers the next day. We fought more. We had a lovely dinner with the kids, my parents, and Jessie and Carl that night. We returned to the old house for our last night to sleep there.

On Monday morning, I had to meet the cable person at the new house, and Mike took the girls to school. Mike oversaw the movers at the old house and the packing of all furniture. I waited at the new house and oversaw the unloading of all furniture. While trying to clean. And organize. And it was pretty dreadful. I didn't even know where to start. We picked the girls up from school at the end of the day and took them back to the old house, to say goodbye. We moved the goldfish, the frog potty, and the last couple of plants, and went to our new house. We haphazardly placed mattresses on the floors in the bedrooms and put on sheets. We put the girls to bed. Luckily, they were exhausted, so they fell asleep despite the shoddy arrangements. We found out on Monday, also, that our closing scheduled for Tuesday morning wouldn't happen. Since we couldn't close, Mike felt he needed to go to work. He has been extremely busy at work, and his time away was going to be unpaid, and they really needed him. I understood, but I was also devastated. We were going to do our final cleaning together in the morning before closing. We were going to have our celebratory lunch after the closing. We were going to spend the afternoon together, trying to put the house together. We had a counseling session scheduled together, which I really felt we needed. Instead, all was canceled.

So he went to work very early on Tuesday morning and took the girls to school. I went back to the old house and cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned some more. It was depressing. I managed to lock myself out of the old house, so took a carload of junk back to the new house, got keys, went back to the old house, and cleaned some more. I was both being thorough, and dawdling. I didn't want to be done. I didn't want to leave our house. Our home. Forever. And I didn't want to be alone in that moment. I cried when I left. I just felt so alone.

I went back to the new house and tried to unpack. And clean. And I didn't know where to put anything. And I felt alone.

The next day I went to work, and the following two days I was home with the girls. So little things were done, and it slowly got better. A little bit each day.

This weekend, things got much better. We were productive. We painted the girls' room pink and put the room together. It is adorable. I think we did a great job. We got the cable/internet/phone situation working. We got the televisions set up. It is getting there. I feel a little less alone.

Everything changes. I know this. The only permanent thing is change. (And my own addition to this: The only permanent things are change and resistance to change.) I am trying to adapt.

The girls are just amazing. They are either the most resilient little creatures ever, or we did an exactly perfect job preparing them for the move. Emmy has been having some accidents, but I definitely anticipated that, being only a month or so potty trained before this major life change. They have been dragged around and kept up way too late. They have their moods, and they cling. I guess this has become a consistent theme for me: I am struggling to meet their needs and minimize their trauma, and in doing so, I am neglecting my own needs and exacerbating my trauma. I suppose I do this a lot. I don't want them to suffer for my being in school, so I never do school work while they're awake. I never take a night off for myself because I should be giving them attention whenever I can. But I have to acknowledge that this is not maintainable.

But it really is getting better. I can see a good, happy future in this house.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!

1. Remember that epiphany? It was the first day of quite possibly the hardest 3 months of my life. And it doesn't seem to be getting much better. Some days are better. Some days I fear that all is lost. Rinse, lather, repeat.

2. We move in less than 2 weeks! I am having a lot of anxiety about it--having second thoughts, wondering if we were rash to put the house up for sale, worrying about the traffic in the new neighborhood, the extended commute, the loss of our yard, the risk of having shitty landlords. But then I remind myself:

• School district. Best school district.
• Four bedrooms. Four!
• No plumbers. No electricians.
• My sister. My sister's BABY.
• Fresh start. New home, new environment, new dynamic.

Bwahahahahahahaha, yes, I know, that last part... funny. One can hope.

3. I am getting really positive feedback at work. One faculty member I have worked with pretty closely, and will be working with a lot more as he was newly named co-director of my grant, delighted in a small error I made the other day. "It is nice to know that you are mere mortal, after all," he said. (In the nicest way possible, really.)

I was given a lot of freedom in planning a large event over the last couple of months, and it has gone extremely well. And then my (former) supervisor decided to hand over the direction of the grant to another faculty member, as she was just over-extended. She told me that it had been very nice working with me, but I no longer needed to meet with her or anything. I asked if I should officially have my "supervisor" updated by administration, and she laughed. "Pish," she basically said. The other director said, laughingly, "Do you NEED to be supervised?!" My (former) supervisor said, "NO!" Bwahahaha!

Yes, it's hilarious! Why would I want anyone to be in charge of me? Sweet. Or to be aware of what I'm doing? Even better. Or give me direction? Huh, well... Or evaluate me annually so that I can be considered for a raise? Hey, WAIT.

Anyhow, it does feel good to be respected. And I feel certain that I could have a couple of very strong references/recommendations from respected people here. And even though I will have to leave here, eventually, because of school, I feel like I will have opportunities here in the future, should I want them.

4. Mike and the kids went to the beach this week. I couldn't go because of school, and because of my event at work. It really worked out well, though, as I can work extra now and take off when we need to move, and I can pack and clean and throw away stuff without the kids being any the wiser. IF I could do that. I have accomplished nothing so far. My grandparents are in a very difficult transition and my mother needs support. I am planning my sister's baby shower. I have trouble getting motivated. And I'm just bummed out. They are at the beach. And I am here. And he took my babies.

101

(An aside: today is my 101st post. Wow. I'm shocked.)

I remember a story I wanted to write about Emmy quite some time ago, my favorite memory of her in younger days...

When Emmy was 13 months old, she was moved from the infant room at her (old) "school" (we euphemize "daycare") to the young toddler room. Right around the same time, they were doing developmental assessments on all of the kids. Anna would have been, uh, 32 months. Her assessment must have been designed for kids ages 2-3, or 24-36 months. The assessments were divided into sections and included 8 or 10 activities/skills per section that should be achieved by the end of the assessment period, and the teacher was to check off those skills that the child has mastered. So Anna's assessment form was kind of like:

Cognitive

• Identifies all body parts
• Sorts objects by color
• Recognizes circle, square and triangle
• and so on...

Language

• Listens to stories for at least 15 minutes
• Says names of all family members
• Recites alphabet
• and so on...

Gross motor

• Stands on one foot for 10 seconds
• Jumps with two feet
• Climbs stairs with alternating legs
• and so on...

There was also a section measuring emotional and behavioral development, and fine motor skills, I think. I vividly recall Anna's little sheet having every.single.item checked off, and in every "comment" section, it was noted, "Anna is remarkably aware of others' feelings," "Anna has language skills beyond what is expected at her age, " and so on. As much as I try to be cool, I was of course delighted. Bursting with pride. She had mastered all that a 3-year old should, and more! Yay!

Emmy's assessment was for children ages 12-18 months. Now, there is a huge difference between a 12-month old and an 18-month old. She was only 13 months old, and I didn't expect many 18-month old skills to have been mastered, as she was a pretty lazy baby, like Anna, and was just barely walking at the time, hadn't uttered a single word, refused a bottle (!!), and was just, even then, marching to the beat of her own drummer. But when I saw her assessment, I burst out laughing. If possible, I was even more proud than I was of Anna's. There were only two skills checked off on the entire form:

Gross motor

• Climbs furniture without assistance

Emotional

• Displays defiant behavior

That's my Emmy! She is growing into a remarkable little person. She is very passionate, both when she's feeling loving, and when she's feeling angry. She is so strong and independent, and I admire her autonomy. Her chutzpah. I get the sense that she will be a fierce adolescent, and adult; she will not allow herself to be constrained by what anyone else thinks, ever. How liberating. I hope she keeps her fire burning.

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.

The official recording of great memories

We were at the mall today for the first time in a really, really long time. We pretty much never go to malls, except for in January to make a few gift exchanges or returns. The girls really like the mall, though. And it's a reasonably fun place to be in the wintertime; there are interesting stores and things to see, and there is a playspace.

Today, as the girls tumbled joyously over the lame climbers, I had the most delightful memory of something Emmy did as a baby, or maybe as a toddler, or maybe it was something Anna did, but I really think it was something Emmy did. I have already forgotten what it was. That breaks my heart. I'm sure I'll remember it again someday, but if I don't write it down, I will think of it less and less frequently, and then it will disappear forever. I never really notice when the kids grow out of doing certain little things they do regularly, little idiosyncrasies, until they have vanished completely, and I can hardly remember what it was like... like how Anna used to hum while she ate. Or maybe you'd call it moaning. She always hummed, "Mmmmmmmm.... mmmmmmmm.....mmmmmmmmmm" while she ate. Some people were amused by this, some thought it was weird. I adored it. Cherished it. And then she stopped.

But here's a pleasant memory of Emmy, since I have written next to nothing about her childhood. Over Christmas this past year, she was just starting to sing the alphabet. She was really good at the first 5 letters, decent at the remaining first half, and then she just basically "bleh-bluh-bla-bla-bla" through the end. But, every single time she got to the L-M-N-O-P string, she would rapidly thrust out her little tongue for each letter. So cute. It's hard to describe in writing, but now when I read this, whether five years from now or twenty, I will remember. And I will be able to demonstrate. To her first boyfriend.

Emmy is a totally amazing person. Amazing to me, anyhow, because she's so foreign. Anna is such an open book to me that nothing she says or does really surprises me. I know how she's feeling at any given moment and I know when she needs more love, or more space, or more yelling, because she is pretty much me, reincarnated. But with Emmy, I do not know what makes her tick. She marches to the beat of her own drummer for sure, and she is so passionate and strong and, well, amazing, for it. She is so loving and adoring, snuggly and intimate. And then she is so independent and stubborn, angry and spiteful. She is in a phase of acting out, whether hitting, biting, spitting, or screaming 6 inches from my head, but when she sees my reaction, she stops instantaneously, sometimes hand still in the air, before she could bring it down, and she cocks her head to the side, her curls softly falling off her shoulders, and says, "Sorry, Mama," and spreads her arms open for a hug. (Actually, it sounds like, "Sawwy, Mummah.") Sometimes I think she is acting out for the attention. It's one way to be guaranteed a hug. Sigh. Classic second child. She doesn't get enough of our attention, and that makes me feel sad. And guilty. But she doesn't seem to want as much attention as Anna always has. She often wants to play alone. When she goes into her playroom, if I poke my head in to see what she's doing, she's usually furiously stirring a toy spoon in a toy bowl, or she's gently rocking and shushing her baby to sleep, and she whisks me out of the room. "Go! Go, mama, alone!"

It is a welcome development that the girls can, and want to, play alone. But it is bittersweet. Someday they won't want me to play with them at all. And then someday they just won't play anymore at all. And they will roll their eyes at me and how stupid I can be. (Well, Anna already does that.)

Happy New Year!

My favorite holiday photo from this year.

Some other fun ones:

"Strike a pose!"

"Make a funny face!"

"Say cheese!"

Hanging in there!

For the longest time, I couldn't even figure out how to log on to Blogger so I could post. But now, I have returned.

So, let's see, what's going on in our lives?

Emmy is 2 now. She's a "monkey," loves trains, dressing up, playing with Disney dolls and Little People, dancing, and books. Oh, the books. This is a new thing. She can sit through some pretty advanced books, like The Little Engine That Could, Is Your Mama a Llama?, and even a Sweet Pickles book! She dances to any music she hears like it's her job. She recently danced on a ladder by bopping her head (think of those obnoxious club-hopping guys from mid-90's SNL.) To Who Let the Dogs Out. Wearing nothing but a bra (sigh, long story). (At Grandma and Grandpa's house. Who is surprised?? Not I.)

Anna is nearing 4. One drama du jour is deciding what kind of a birthday party to give her. Her classmates have had some big parties where everyone is invited. She wants this. And at her school, if you invite anyone in the classroom (that is, if invites are given out AT school), you have to invite all. You are allowed to send invites privatly to only some children, if you are friends outside of school, but I don't know any of these children or parents, really. And I wouldn't want Anna to choose who she liked best to invite. And Anna doesn't have any friends outside of school. Which breaks my heart. We are just too busy to have playdates, or to have our own social lives with other parents, which would mean she'd have little friends in their children. Alas, we have no friends. So she has no friends. Have we addressed this? No. No time.

This is such a bigger issue than a silly birthday party.... the poor girls spend nearly 50 hours per week at daycare. That is their lives! We (or Mike... will get to this later) pick them up by 5:00, hopefully leave school by 5:10, and hopefully get home by 5:45. Then cook, cook, cook!, eat, eat, eat!, hurry up, hurry up, hurry up!, "it's getting late!", maybe a bath, read some stories, get to sleep! Quick! It's late! We rarely play on weeknights. They might play a little while we cook, or maybe watch a video, but we don't play with them. We are lucky if they are in bed by 7:45 and that's only because we can't move any faster. Then we wake them up at 6:00AM to do it all again. Really, they should be in bed closer to 7:00, so we should be upstairs at 6:45 at the latest, but it's just not possible. They probably need more sleep than we can allow them to have. Anna always looks so weak, so tired, sort of sallow. We have wondered whether she has some breathing problems at night, or any sleep apnea, and she should probably see the ENT doctor again. (Girls both got bilateral ear tubes in March 2009!) Anna's PCP thinks her tonsils are pretty damned big for her little throat, and the PCP herself had hers removed as a teen and often wondered why her parents hadn't done it sooner; she now looks back on her childhood and thinks that she never slept well and was a very docile child because of it. So, clearly, we should look into this for Anna. Have we? No. No time. (See above. And below.)

And for me. I am in school. I am completing prerequisites for a post-baccalaureate Pharmacy program at Duquesne. I am taking Organic Chemistry 2 plus lab and a Biology 2 lab this spring, and applying for the PharmD program within the next few days. I am in school two evenings per week and one full weekday. I work four regular days per week. This semester is an immense relief from last semester, in which I worked full time and took Organic 1 and Physics. I survived. That is about all I can say about last semester. So, I am busy. I often feel resentful that I have so much to do, and I wonder what other adults do with their time. They must watch a lot of television. Or have hobbies or something. But it is my fault that I am doing this at this point in my life. I could have (should have!) done it when I was 22, like everyone else in the world. But I was lazy. I was not motivated. I had no concept of what life would cost and just how shitty a $30,000/year pay is. And so now I am fighting with everything in me to do more. For my kids. For Mike. For my own fucking bathroom, because I just can't share with these girls much longer. They are already in my shit. What will I do when they start aquiring their own shit? And still getting in mine?!

And so there's Mike. Poor Mike. Everyone is suffering for my choice to do this schooling now. I am suffering, the girls are suffering, but Mike is suffering. He's part single parent, part co-parent, and no part grown man with a life of his own. I sometimes try to remind myself that I don't have a life of my own either, but in reality, I do have school. I have something that I'm doing. I'm moving forward. I'm learning things and exploring the world. I'm not stuck at home halving grapes, wiping asses, reading to both girls at the same time, trying to figure out how to get them to sleep all on my own. But he does it with such skill. He is an amazingly talented father. But it has taken its toll on him. He hasn't been himself, and I would give anything to find a way to put him back to the way he was. I need to give him a break, but I don't know how. No time.

And now we are panicking. We have decided that we must move before Anna starts Kindergarten. We don't want to be in our school district. We actually have until fall of 2011, so if we have to wait and see if I get into my Pharmacy program and if my job will get additional funding and how life unfolds, we will. If I don't get into my program, and/or if my job loses all funding, maybe we'll move sooner. Or maybe later. I guess we'll see how life unfolds, no matter what.

We do have each other, and we are a powerful little group. There is an overwhelming love spilling out when we are all together, almost palpable. When we scoop up the girls and dance, or when we enjoy a four-way kiss, I know that we'll be just fine no matter what happens.