You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
I want to start over.
I do not have the time, money, patience, haircut, or correctly shaped face/head to start over.
That is all.
* Is it too late to be that person who wears berets to all occasions? I am 75% that person anyway.
Miss M got sent home from school yesterday because her eyes were provoking a lot of discussion. A trip to the doctor for antibiotic drops, a note to let her back into class tomorrow, a speech EI referral for AM, and two flu shots later, we were left with a “free”/”sick” day today.
Rather spontaneously, I decided to take the kids to the holiday train show at the New York Botanical Garden. We’re members, we have about six years’ worth of free parking passes, and even though it was too late to reserve timed tickets for today on-line, I doubted that the show would be fully booked, as I am sure it is on weekends and during Christmas week.
Predictably, both kids went nuts over the trains. (I personally would have liked to spend some more time looking at the replicas of famous NYC buildings, constructed out of plant matter. But trust me, neither of my companions had the slightest interest in my opinion.) AM, riding on my back in a BabyHawk, did a huge amount of excited yelping. Given the acoustics in the Haupt Conservatory, everyone in there must have, uh, perceived his joy. Miss M liked the trolleys in particular and kept demanding to know why not all of the trains were running.
But one part freaked her out. A single piece zipping around its own track, it looked like a small oval cookie tin and was painted to look like a ladybug. I kept expecting her to notice the ladybug features, but it moved past us, several times, rather quickly; I finally pointed it out, and she twisted away, burying her head in her shoulder. ”Ema,” she said darkly, “I don’t like the bug train.” Ok, fine; there was plenty else to see, and we did.
Instead of braving the wind to eat snack al fresco, I decided to pack it in and come home for AM’s nap. All the way back to the entrance, Miss M was reiterating her revilement of the ladybug train. As we passed through the gate, a NYBG employee said goodbye, adding “Leaving so soon?”
I explained that we were members and could come any time; we had just come for the train show. “Oh,” she replied. “Did you like it?” she asked Miss M.
“Yes!” exclaimed my pigtailed princess. “I did!” And then the kicker. “I liked the bug train!”
So all the way home, in between demands for more pretzels, I heard about how much she liked the bug train. She told our doorman about it. She left a voicemail for Taxman singing the praises of the bug train.
And what about me?
I am pretty damn confused.
Monday
The La Leche League meeting I hosted was really fun. Sometimes there are so many moms and babies in my not-so-big living room, or some really serious issues–newborn not latching, 3-week-old not gaining weight, etc.–but this one was comparatively loose and carefree. The youngest attendee was six weeks and already nursing like an old hand, so we wound up talking about strategies for nursing in public and comparing nursing bras and tanks (yes, by lifting our shirts). It was very Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, but for grownups. And way cooler.
Tuesday
My attempt to get a “younger siblings of 3 yr old classmates playgroup” off the ground was, yet again, partially stymied by people who I think don’t like me very much because they can’t be bothered to remember dates or write them down or act the slightest bit interested after the initial contact. But honestly? The three kids who were here (AM, a neighbor, and one other) had a good time and the adults were actually able to have a conversation because there were plenty of toys to go around.
Wednesday
Miss M’s favorite school day of the week was subverted by pre-Thanksgiving festivities. Turkey for lunch (boo!), but also sweet potatoes (yay!). Topped off with the arrival of Taxman at 5:15 pm–just an hour after dark! So we kicked up our heels and went out for mediocre pizza. Well, we had just had pizza days before so I had a greek salad. But it was the principle of the thing.
Thursday
Do I sound like I am about 80 years old if I say that one of the highlights of Thanksgiving was parking my behind in a chair at the kitchen table, talking with whomever happened to be in the kitchen at the time, and not getting up? For an entire hour, just sitting? (The kids were, naturally, not present.)
Friday
I did my shopping for Shabbat at 11:00, returning home at 12:00. Shabbat started at 4:14. I made mushroom barley soup, honey orange chicken, baked chicken for the fusspot Miss M, roasted potatoes, and grilled zucchini & eggplant for dinner. (Making up for subpar Thanksgiving eats? Why yes, I was.) And then baked ziti for lunch. I got it all done, plus left the kitchen in decent shape.
I never, ever want to do that again. The time pressure, it makes me unpleasant. Ask anyone.
Saturday
Miss M woke with a raging case of pink eye.* Treated with multiple courses of breastmilk in the eyes. (PSA: breastmilk is antibacterial, gentle, free, and does not require a prescription. Handy for holiday weekends. Am I already worried about a time when it will not be in my house? Yes, since I had trouble expressing an ounce to use. Nursing two older kids doesn’t demand on the body quite like an infant.) Praying she can go to school Monday. Taxman and I scraped by with a minimum of childcare duties in favor of reading Harry Potter (6 for me, 7 for him).
Sunday
Skipped a bris in favor of a funeral. My grandmother’s. (The funeral, not the bris.) It was sufficiently non-traditional that Taxman, a kohain (descendant of Temple priests–not allowed to be in the presence of a dead body or human remains), could attend. So that was weird, for me but especially for him. My mom and my aunt gave amazing eulogies, considering that my grandma was a difficult spirit. In many ways. But holy moly could she cook.
All week long
Insomnia, why do you torture me so?
Just 26 days until the next four-day weekend…
* It should go without saying that she smeared it from one eye to the other, despite our almost literally tailing her with a squirt bottle of hand sanitizer all day Saturday. It should also go without saying that AM, also known as “the boy in my bed (sharing my pillow),” has it now as well.
It was fine.
Kids were pretty well behaved except for the last hour or so. Everyone flipped for them. Naturally.
No! Traffic! (A Thanksgiving Miracle!)
I got to sit in a chair and not move for an entire hour–kids at the playground with my dad and Taxman. (Another Thanksgiving Miracle!)
Miss M cried in her sleep for the last half hour of the drive, waking up AM who cried for the last 25 minutes of the drive. Is it telling that Taxman and I just shrugged at the caterwauling and realized that this was really for the best–because it answered the “are the kids ready to bunk in the same room” question. (Not quite.)
Twentysomething cousins playing football with AM? OMG! so cute and get these people babies very soon while they still have the energy!
Maybe someday everyone will come to us and we’ll all eat turkey together.
I was without “connectivity” (cable tv, internet, VOIP) for a day and a half. Can I just say–URG!
Moreover, I had a terrible sinus headache for about three days.
But I am still here, just now trying to get us ready to skeddadle slightly south for our day o’thanks with my relatives. I’m looking forward to seeing the family, but will be vaguely relieved when it’s all over.
Happy Turkey/Salmon/Tofurky/Pumpkin Pie Day! (And happy Thursday for the Canadians!)
Yesterday evening I had the incredible good fortune to not only go to the bathroom by myself, but also to close the door and, after a barging-in incident, lock it.
This is relevant to the story. (Really!)
While I was in the bathroom, Taxman was charged with the task of getting the kids into pajamas and brushing their teeth. Under normal circumstances, Miss M will, with appropriate levels of cajoling, put on her own pjs, but she was being oppositional in that “I am so tired, please put me out of my misery” kind of way.
There was a small scuffle between abba and daughter in the hallway right outside the bathroom door, probably due to the fact that Miss M has been known, when exhausted, to get frantic in a way resembling the dance of a honeybee. She slipped and fell, immediately proclaiming a boo-boo and demanding to know what had happened.
Taxman: “I didn’t see exactly how you hurt yourself. I’m sorry you did. Do you need a hug?”
Miss M: “Ema, I hurt myself!”
Me (through the door): “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Miss M: “Ema, can you tell me exactly what happened?”
Hmm. No?
How is it that there is a “popular” group of moms, who have the ear of the preschool director and run the rumor mill?
How is it that I am supposed to do their bidding when they uniformly cancelled the “younger siblings” playgroup that I arranged for today (on a Yahoo group, but still)–”Nobody was going to come,” the host mom explained, “except for you.” Umm…right. That was the point.
I’ve taken it upon myself to make sure that some of the moms who work full time get fuller access to the rumor mill (via me), but really, with all the money we’re laying out, shouldn’t everyone have the same news about preschool? From a reliable source?
Junior high was really not my favorite time of life; do I want to repeat it with my 3 year old?
The good news is that now I am WAY smarter. The whole thing to which I allude is complicated, but suffice it to say that when I am “kind enough” to pass the info to other moms, maybe I won’t be exactly objective. Clearly everyone can make their own decisions, but I am entitled to my opinion too.
It seems like age 3, so far, has been All About the Big Concepts.
Potty? Check.
Following directions? Check…if you are her teacher.
Love-destroy-love your sibling? Check.
But we’re still working on some.
Like the days of the week. Honestly, for a kid that knew the alphabet before she could talk all that well, she is having a really hard time with this. Almost every day she asks if it is Wednesday. Wednesdays at school they have music, which she loves, and pizza for lunch, ditto. So Wednesday, understandably, is popular.
This morning, she woke up crying. This is not unusual. I went in to encourage her to get out of bed and use the bathroom, and she was sobbing, “It’s not Wednesday, it’s not Wednesday!” I told her that it was, in fact, Wednesday and that she was going to have music and pizza today. Instead of turning her mood around, she continued to cry. “Tomorrow’s not Wednesday!” (Aha! Maybe she is getting it!)
“No,” I said, “Tomorrow is Thursday.”
“On Thursday I’m going to cry at school because I’m going to miss you,” she hiccuped.
“Ok,” I said. “Now can we please get on the potty?”
And then there’s marriage.
After the days-of-the-week hullabaloo was taken care of, we were lounging in bed, watching AM and Taxman starting to stir.
“Ema,” she said, “when I’m four I’m going to get married.”*
“Really?” I said. “Who are you going to marry?”
“Myself!” she exclaimed.
“Honey, two people get married to each other. You can’t marry yourself.”
“When I get big I’m going to marry myself,” she insisted. “When I’m 10.”**
“Isn’t there someone else you’d like to marry?”
“I want to be a wife! I’ll marry AM!” AM, by now awake, sitting up and blinking, showed her a toothy grin. Oh dear.
“Uh, sweetie, people don’t usually marry their brothers. There must be someone you know you’d like to marry. A friend?”
“I know! I’ll marry Y!” Y is her first cousin. Her only first cousin, at least for the next 3-5 weeks.***
What will we tell the grandparents?
* Not random, I promise! In school they have been discussing the weekly Torah portion. We are smack in the middle of Genesis now, so lots of husband-wife things; Isaac & Rebecca; Jacob & his merry wives.
** Miss M thinks that being 10 years old is the pinnacle of grownupness because I once told her she had to be 10 to use a sharp knife in the kitchen.
*** My family has gone two straight generations without first cousins marrying. This doesn’t seem like the time to decrease the gene pool again, now that it’s getting so large.
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Additional funnies!
I set her up with playdough after school in an attempt to get a jump on my Shabbat cooking (book club tomorrow!). As I’m mixing sweet potato pie filling I hear, “Ema, can you be excused from your work and come see what I made for you?”
And then as I’m nursing AM I hear, “Ema, you will clean up my playdough and then I can watch something. Is that true? Is that the truth?”
Yes he loved his mother like no other.
His daughter was his sister and his son was his brother.[ed.for my purposes, ew!]
One thing on which you can depend is,
He sure knew who a boy’s best friend is! –Tom Lehrer, “Oedipus Rex”
Now, Miss M was, and is, rather attached to me. When I step out for the evening to go to book club, she gives Taxman an earful and is.NOT.happy about the turn of events. About one day in every four she announces on the way to preschool, “I’m going to cry because I’m going to miss you, Ema.” Ok, point taken.
But, oh, my baby son. The attachment is so in extremis you just have to laugh.
We spent Shabbat with my in-laws. Friday evening before dinner, my father-in-law was reading to the kids–Curious George Makes Pancakes, I believe, a favorite of both. Taxman was lounging on the couch reading Harry Potter Book 7. I flopped down next to him for a chaste cuddle. When lo and behold, our boy-child looked up, spotted an encampment on his territory, and hustled down from the armchair.
He vaulted up on the couch, staking out a piece of Taxman’s chest where his head was directly between us, eye-level with me. The body language was, uh, rather clear.
As I said, you just had to laugh.
Or, as I also said, I kept waiting for him to rip off his diaper, expose his little boy bits, and pee all over me to mark his place.
Hmm. Maybe next year.
Miss M: “Ema, I’m a leper!”
Me: “Uhhh….” [pause] “Do you mean a leopard?”
Miss M: “I’m a leopard!”
Me: “Actually, that looks like a cheetah.”
* It’s on the inside of a brown jumper. I have no idea why. Ask Carter’s.
