I've Come For An Argument

For a kid who can barely muster the nerve to say "good morning" to her own teachers, Bug is weirdly confident about other stuff. Like the fact that I am totally and completely wrong about everything.

"Sweetie, don't crawl under the bed. It's very dusty under there."
"No, it's not."
Really? So that 2-inch thick layer of gray fuzz on the floor? What is that, exactly?

"We can't go outside, it's raining really hard right now."
"No, it's not."
Then why did our neighbor's trash cans just go floating down the street?

"I can't read any more, I'm too tired. I'm about to fall asleep."
"No, you're not."
Kid, did you miss the part when I said, "...down the hill, tumble bumble, pellzzzzzzzzz...."?

"Darlin', you can't wear those stripey purple pants with the starry orange shirt and pink Hello Kitty socks. It just doesn't go together."
"Yes, it does."
If you're headed to try outs at clown college, maybe. But not for lunch at Oma's house.

I actually used to argue with her about these things, which is ridiculous. It was like a Monty Python sketch.
"It's time to go home, bunny."
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No, 'tisn't!"
"Yes, 'tis!!"

Unlike Michael Palin and John Cleese, there is nothing side-splittingly funny about our arguments. The debates would get heated, I'd raise my voice and make ugly, angry faces, I'd realize that I'd let myself get into an argument with a four-year-old and get even madder. Now, I try to just keep going. Distract, redirect, dip into the bag of tricks and see what works this time.

"I made meatballs and pasta for dinner..."
"No, you didn't."
"...and delicious cookies for dessert."
"Oh, yay!"

"Yuck. The cat threw up on the floor."
"No, he didn't."
"I'll just clean this up and we can go to the park."
"Yay!"

Our pediatrician says the Bug doesn't really doubt everything I say, it's just her goofy four-year-old way of striking up the conversation. It gets to me, though. It does. I already doubt almost everything I do, particularly as a parent. So when she expresses doubt in me, too...well, it hurts.

I'm trying to look at this positively: she's not gullible. She doesn't take everything at face value. She's going to question everything until she gets to the bottom of things. That's all good, right?

Right?

Clarity

Hello again from the land of outspoken toddlers and runny nosed babies. Sounds like a fun place to visit, doesn't it? Tickets are free. Donations of wine and mild tranquilizers are welcomed and appreciated. Step right up and enjoy the freak show.

Actually, the freak show has gotten somewhat less freakish. I took several days off last week and I don't know if it was the extra sleep or what but, damn I swear I saw rainbows and heard birds singing just about everywhere I went. That's even weirder than it sounds considering that it's been raining for what seems like the last month.

Some things have been wonderful, like seeing the Bug enjoy school more and more, hearing her excitement about new discoveries in the classroom and seeing her test her strength on the playground. I pick her up from school everyday. On my days off, I take Dos with me and the three of us spend some time playing in the classroom together after the other kids leave for carpool. I love seeing what Bug finds so fascinating about her classroom. "Mommy, look! These are called Lincoln Logs." she says, revealing her new discovery. "This is the reading corner! And we have puzzles!"

On the days I work, I leave the office and go straight to Bug's school. Waiting in the carpool line, I sometimes see her with her classmates on the playground. There's something weird about seeing your child moving through the world without you. It's different than taking them to the park and watching them run and play with their friends. They're still conscious that you're there. They're depending on you. You know they're your responsibility and you're on alert, so to speak.

Watching her on the playground, away from me, running and playing without a care in the world...it's a partial out of body experience. She's part of me, but completely independent of me and growing more so every day. It's wonderful and frightening at the same time. I'm still on alert. What if she falls? What if someone is mean to her? What if she needs me and I'm not there? It's hard not to rush to be by her side just in case but that's not what she needs now. What she needs is to learn to be her own person away from Mom, Dad and little sister. So I sit in my car, watching my little girl grow up right before my eyes.

When it's our turn in the pick up line, I'm reminded again that she's still a little girl. My little girl. She climbs into the car, wide-eyed and smiling at me. She has a new painting or project she can't wait to show me. Her teacher buckles her in and we're off. We stop for smoothies and she begs me to hold her hands while we twirl around the room. The room spins and my eyes are focused on her. Her eyes are shining and she's smiling. We stop and she stumbles into my legs, hugging me. "Mommy" she says, giggling, "you're my best friend."

Give Me a Home

Our favorite babysitter went back to college and I have a niece and two nephews who are college freshmen as of last week so there has been a lot of talk about college and college life around our house lately.

Grinch and I have been talking about our own journeys to college, being away from home, going wild, feeling lost and free at the same time. We've talked about how my sister, a single mom, must feel, sending her daughter 444 miles away to go to university. How hard it's going to be not to have her daughter around, to not be able to protect her, guide her, have fun with her.

Grinch is already twitchy about the idea of sending the bug away to college. You should have seen how we hovered over her pre-school when first started there. She was only gone for a few hours, two days a week, but we sat in the parking lot and waited just in case she needed us. I got weepy just thinking about next year, when she'll be in school *all* day! Five days a week! How are we supposed to just drop her off, drive away and not see her for....ohmygod months?!

It's a good thing we have 14 years to think about all this. Which, given how quickly the last four years have gone, doesn't seem like that much time at all. Ohmygod.

I don't worry about Dos too much because she's still so baby-like that I have a hard time imagining her ever growing up. She'll just be my baby forever and we'll leave it there. K? I'm trying to avoid a full-on emotional meltdown here, y'all.

Bug has overheard all this college chit-chat and has started asking questions. "What's a college? What's a professor? What's tuition?" With everything, we're straight forward and honest which is pretty easy to do with a subject like this. (Drowning and dying came up recently. That's a whole 'nother post.)

We've talked about studying hard, choosing a school, joining clubs and making new friends. I thought I was doing pretty good until "...and we'll take you to your dorm and help you get everything you need and...."

"What's a dorm?"

"That's where you live when you're away at school."

Her eyes filled with tears and her mouth turns down. "But I don't want to live away from you and Daaaaaaddeeeee...."

I made my sweet girl cry. I feel like a jerk. Oh! But she loves our home so much, she loves Grinch and me so much she never wants to leave! We're awesome!

"Aw, bunny... You don't have to go away to college. You can stay at home. You can stay at home for as long as you want." She's smiling again. Giggling.

Wait...did I just tell her she can live at home forever? I did. Which is OK with me.

Still Here

Well, there it is. Proof positive that I suck as a blogger AND a mommy. I haven't updated in weeks and I didn't wax poetic about my bug's 4th birthday to the internets. Since I've turned 40 I've learned that I suck at a lot of things. When I was 20, I thought I was awesome at EVERYTHING. 20 years makes a big difference.

So yes, the Bug turned four and I can hardly believe it. (I waxed poetic privately. Just because it didn't happen on line doesn't mean it didn't happen. ) We're probably giving the kid a massive complex because Grinch and I keep staring at her. We don't expect her to spontaneously burst into flames or give us the winning lottery numbers, though that would be cool. (The numbers, not the flames.) We just can't stop looking at her because....well...she's four.

"Are you sure?" Grinch asked me as the bug and dos giggled over one of her birthday presents.

"Sure of what?" I asked.

"That she's four."

"We must have miscounted."

"How'd she turn four?"

(counting on my fingers) "2006, 2007...yeah...that's four years."

"She's a little kid. She went from a baby to a little kid, like...." Bug's ears perked up at this.

"I'm not a little kid! I'm a big girl! I'm four! Four, four, four!" and off she hop, hop, hopped like a bunny, hugging her new dolly.

Our little girl. Our baby bug. She's four.

The Bare Facts (or "The Naked Truth)

Ok, OK! I'll post something. You people are slave drivers! I swear.

I haven't posted anything lately because I've been in a bit of a funk and looking back on my blog, it seems like one long whine with a few giggles in between. I've been waiting for something funny or happy or silly to happen so I could write about it. But funks, especially those that seem to permeate the family unit, are not especially conducive to episodes worthy of funny, happy or silly blog posts.

I could tell you about my run-in with an idiot in the grocery store parking lot who insisted on calling police because she was sure I had scratched her car with my shopping cart. That doesn't seem so much funny as infuriating.

Hmmmmm.....

Ah, here's a good one:

Nudity. It's gotten quite popular in our family. At least among the under-four set. Bathtime is particularly joyful because of all the pre- and post-bath nudity required. Did you know that if you're naked, you're supposed to run around the house, screaming that you are, in fact, naked? Try it. From my observations it really adds to the experience.

Here's a chance for me to explain to my non-southern friends the difference between the common English word "naked" and the southern "nekkid." "Naked" is used to describe someone who is not wearing any clothes. "Nekkid" is used to describe someone who is not wearing clothes and is doing something they ought not to be doing. Variations on "nekkid" include: butt-nekkid, stark-nekkid, nekkid-as-the-day-you-was-born and nekkid-as-a-jaybird.

Giggling children who are running around the house without clothing would generally be referred to as naked. The bug prefers to pronounce it "NAY-ked!" Dos goes for the more modern "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEheeheeheehee!" Both pronunciations must, MUST come at a precise volume of about 120 decibels, or roughly the same volume as a fire truck siren.

Grinch and I haven't followed the girls in their naked example. Their running around naked and yelling about it is cute. Our running around naked and yelling about it might be seen as psychotic.

There's only so much nakedness we can support around here until everyone gets reliable control over their bladders. So the naked party usually only lasts about 10 minutes or until someone pees on the floor. Then diapers and pajamas go on, paper towels are dispensed and wet hair is combed out. The volume decreases considerably and giggling goes down to tittering or snickering at least.

There is always the promise of future nakedness, much to the bug's excitement. "Mommy," she whispers as she snuggles my shoulder, "I can't wait to take a bath again so I can get NAY-ked!"

Making Valentines

This is a Message from Mom Corleone!

No more half eaten snacks! No more fussing and cussing about naps and baths and playing with your sister! No more going boneless when I try to hold your hand to cross the street! Do as Mommy says!


....or you sleep with the goldfishessssssssssss........

!Buenos Tag!

In high school and college, I took a lot of Spanish classes. By the time I was done, I could carry on a half-decent conversation in Spanish without much effort. After graduation, though, I barely spoke Spanish at all so over the years I've forgotten most of my grammar. Now I worry too much about tense and pronouns and posessives to say much more than "Dos margaritas fresada sin sal, por favor." and then I do so rather self-consciously.

I got suckered into a couple of French classes here and there. It just wasn't my thing. The language itself sounds beautiful, but I felt pretentious just learning it. The best result of those classes was the laugh I got when a college French teacher implored a very tight jawed fellow to "open your mouth. Open. Your. Mouth!" He muttered to her though his clenched jaw, "That's as far as it goes."

I've tried half-heartedly to learn German to impress the in-laws. But, hello? Could it be any more difficult? Die, du, deine....I'm already starting to feel light-headed.

For many months after the bug was born, I faked my way through her German books, stuttering "Schneewitchen und der sieben Zwerge" and I thought I was doing a pretty good job. But a few months ago, as I blathered on about "...Julia's dreirad, und teddy ist immer dabei", Bug put her fingers to my lips and said, "You don't read German, Mommy. DADDY reads German." Kaput.

Still, old habits and old languages die hard. I give the bug instructions and finish with, "Entiende?" I pat mis bolsillos, muttering, "¿Dónde están mis llaves?" and ask the bug for "Eine moment, bitte." I take things from little hands and scold, "Das ist nicht für dich."

Sometimes the languages collide and I end up using Spanish and German in on sentence. "Necisito una Löffel." "Este juguete ist kaput, schatz." I don't know if I'm the best language model for young ears, but I'm trying.

I do know this: if my girls ever need to send back their meals at a German restaurant in Spain, they can fall back on their mother's example and implore the waiter to "Vaya rápidamente, mach schnell!"

Name that Critter

For the bug's 3rd birthday, my sister and neice gave her a very nice world map made out of felt.






To go along with the map, there are about 25 little felt critters with velcro on their backs. The idea is to put the animals on their home continents. Most of the critters are easily identifiable, like these:





Top to bottom, left to right, we figure these guys are a panda, giraffe, zerba, lion, eagle, butterfly, kangaroo, hedgehog, flamingo, rabbit, hawk and camel. Easy peasy, right? There are some that are not so easily identifiable, like these guys:




After months of deliberation, we've decided that they are a roadrunner, moose (with really dinky antlers, poor fellow. OH! Maybe it's a reindeer?), crow (bor-RING!), and turkey. Believe it or not, that turkey took a LONG time to identify. Three college educated adults and a very smart teenager turned that sucker a million different ways before it finally made sense.


If you're counting, there are still nine critters outstanding. What the hell are these?



Now, we're not complete knuckleheads. We figure the grey dude with the tusks is a warthog. His neighbor is squirrel of some sort (artic, perhaps?), and the black thing with the horns and the white U-shape on his face is a bull. Maybe? But what is the brown thing with feet and a tail? A Darwinian pile of poo? On what continent does that live, exactly? Is his grey cousin on the bottom row just a cold weather version of him?


So, I'm turning to you, all-knowing internet, to help us identify these creatures and point us to their happy homes. Beacuse the bug has named the black-and-white critter at the top Boo-ba-dee and I don't know if that's its genus or phylum. Get to work. Name those critters.

Guest Post: Grinch

Grinch e-mailed this to me a couple of weeks ago. I thought it was sweet and he said it was ok to blog it, so here's his first official guest post:

"This morning, on the way to school, bug asked to hear some music. Without much hope of finding anything decent, I scanned the radio stations. Much to my surprise and delight, we came upon the first bars of "Hey Jude." As I always do during that song, I got goosebumps, and cranked up the stereo as I told bug that this was one of daddy's favorite songs by the Beatles.

"A few minutes later, during the song's rousing coda, I looked back and saw bug tapping her hand on her knee in time to the music. I still can't get the smile off my face."

These two have become quite the pair lately. Dos and Bug share a room. Dos isn't sleeping through the night yet, there's still a lot of crying going on. Bug has been sleeping on the sofa bed with Grinch so at least one person in this house can get some rest. When I leave for work in the morning, I use the light from my cellphone LCD display to check on them. Bug is usually sprawled out, taking up nearly every square inch of sleepable space and Grinch is scrunched up in a corner. They're both breathing deeply and sleeping peacefully. Charlie even curls up with them. I'm happy they're getting sleep, but jealous that I can't join them. It's all I can do to keep myself from curling up beside Bug and going right back to sleep.

Kids go through this "favorite parent" stage off and on throughout childhood, apparently. I had my days in the sun a couple of weeks ago. Now, I'm regarded more as the Evil Queen than dear, delightful, sunshiney Mommy. It hurts, but I can get over it. I'm glad to see Grinch getting the love and attention he deserves....and a lot of snuggling and hugging from his little girl before she thinks it's gross.

Gotta Laugh to Keep from Cryin'

Before we had kids, Grinch and I would take long walks, hikes in the woods or trips to the beach and enjoy the peace and quiet. More than once, the tranquility was broken by the sound of screeching kid or wailing infant. Grinch and I would shoot glances at the "offending" family and mutter that people should keep their screaming kids at home or teach them how to behave in public. Harumph. We knew so much about kids before we actually had some of our own.

A couple of weeks ago we took the kiddos to a nature preserve near our house. When we got to the path, the Bug took off running, so happy to be in the forest YAY! Five minutes into the walk: stumble, bumble, crash, blood, tears and an early trip home.

Saturday, we tried again. 65 acres of undisturbed forest, paved paths, twittering birds, peace and quiet. Ahhhhh....hahahah! Not so fast! We got to the forest entrance and the bug was already whining. "I'm hungry, Daddy. I'm hunnnnngry." We tried distracting her, encouraging her, promising a fantastic picnic lunch when the walk was done. No. "I'm hunnnnnnnnngry NOW." Fine. Back to the picnic tables where it seemed like a majillion snarky, cursing pre-teens were milling around, grumbling and flipping each other off. She happily ate her sandwich. Grinch and I ate ours in steely silence while Dos dribbled Cheerios all over the ground.

Ok. Lunch is done. NOW we can go walk in the forest, right? Walking, no running. No running, no falling, right? Right. At the start of the trail, the paths go in two directions. We wanted to go to the right, the bug wanted to go to the left. She wanted to go to the left so badly, that she started crying. (Why we didn't just go to the left, I do not know. Quite obviously, parenthood has eaten our brains. I think we were "standing our ground." Knuckleheads.) She cried THE ENTIRE WALK. The serenity of the forest was broken with a low-key moan of "I don't want to. I don't waaaaaaaant toooooooooo." You would have thought the 1/4 mile stroll through the woods was the Bataan Freaking Death March for Toddlers. I even tried bribing her with an offer to run. "Wanna run? You can run if you hold my hand! Come on, let's run!"
"Nooooooo! You can't RUN in the forest! You'll FAAAAAALL!"

Grinch and I just kept walking, making small talk about family gossip, and glancing behind us to make sure the bug was still there. We thought we had a chance at calming the storm near the end of the walk when we came across a huge spiderweb and its owner. "Look! What a pretty spiderweb! And such a big spider! Oooooh, it has pretty stripey legs, doesn't it?" She smiled and nodded, her eyes wide though red-rimmed from crying. She quieted for a minute....which was Dos' cue to start crying. I hiked up my shirt, walking and nursing and grinning at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

Dos finally quieted so Bug and her wails of complaint had center stage again. The end of the path was in sight and she was still crying, "I don't want tooooooooo." She finally stopped crying when we were completely out of the woods (ha!) and Grinch was able to distract her from her trauma with a look at some petrified wood. I wandered around, shaking off the tension and wondering if we'd scarred the bug for life. She'd never want to go for a walk in the woods ever again. I was sure of it.

The car ride home was blessedly short and quiet. In the driveway, Grinch and I were unbuckling the girls from their car seats, still shaking our heads at how badly everything had gone. That's when the bug smiled and said, "That was FUN!"

Hearts Were Made to be Broken

People say that having kids makes you young again. That's pretty much true. You giggle madly with them at the most ridiculous stuff. You lay down on the sidewalk to get a good view of ants soldiering back and forth with their bits of food. You sing "This Old Man" and ABCs with gusto. You eat hot dogs and mac 'n cheese for dinner. You have tea parties and bake Lego bread in shoebox ovens and count it up as rollicking good fun. When your kid is having fun you have fun, too.

The flip side is when your 3-year-old gets her heart broken, yours breaks twice as hard: once for her and once for the 3-year-old you who has had her heart broken multiple times in the very same way over the past 36 years.

Bug loves her friends. I don't know if all kids latch on to their playmates like she does. My theory is that she's so shy with everyone that once she feels comfortable with someone, especially a kid, she just can't hide her glee at being around them. She wraps them with hugs, guffaws long and loud at their jokes and glows like a sunbeam when they enter a room.

As shy and reserved as Bug is, her friend Ria is outgoing. She chats up people in the park, pets strange dogs on the playground and blows kisses to everyone in the restaurant. Bug LOVES her and together they have the energy of a dozen toddler-sized hurricanes. They play wonderfully together. They share and take turns and make each other laugh. All the stuff that good 3-year-old pals are supposed to do.

Last weekend, we met up with Ria and her family for a festival. The two girls hit it off as usual and had a grand time, marching in a parade together and sharing milkshakes from Starbucks. By the end of lunch, everyone was tired and ready for naps. Ria was pouty and ignoring everyone, including Bug who wanted to share a few more laughs. We chalked it up to the heat and general toddler temperament.

After naps, we went to Ria's house for a party. Bug was so excited to be at Ria's house! For a party! With cake! And Ria! She barreled in and started peppering Ria with questions and news and proposals about games to play. Ria flatly ignored her and went to work on a craft project. Bug figured that's just what they were doing now and got to work, too. She kept up with it long after Ria abandoned her project to join other kids in the playroom. Bug couldn't bring herself to go in there, choosing to stick close to Grinch, Dos and me. While the party crew hooted it up in front of the TV in the other room, we ate alone in a quiet corner of the living room.

Bug pushed aside her fears and walked into the crowd to have cake with her friend. Ria walked away after a few minutes, leaving her cake and Bug behind. Everything Bug did to engage her friend was ignored or refused. By the time we left, Ria was in the middle of a crowd of kids, tearing into a pile of her brother's birthday presents. Bug was in Ria's bedroom with Grinch, quietly giving a gentle checkup to a pink hobby horse. I don't even know if it really registered with Bug that her friend had ditched her. Grinch and I saw the whole thing though, and it hurt as much as if we had been ditched. It hurt worse, I think.

I know Ria wasn't being mean. She was just tired and overwhelmed with all that was going on. The protective mother in me wanted to pull her aside and say, "Be nice to her! She's your friend! She's just a little girl!" But Ria is a little girl, too and the next time we see her, she and Bug likely will be back to their old tricks, giggling and hugging the way they always do.

I want so much to give my girls a full life, to let them see the world and experience all it has to offer. I want to protect them too, to keep them safe from harm and heartache. I know they'll fall and scrape knees, maybe even break a bone one day. That's what comes with adventure. Their hearts will get bruised and broken, too. I just wish it didn't hurt worse than a broken arm.

Making Family Ties

Seems like everywhere I go with Bug and Dos, someone asks Bug, "Is that your baby?"

Bug is a very literal kid. When someone asks her this stupid question, I can see the look in her eyes. "Nooooo. It's obviously NOT my baby. It's my mom's. Duh." But she's too shy to say anything so she just gives them the silent treatment.

The questions keep coming. "Are you a good sister? Do you love your baby? Are you sweet to the baby? Do you help your mommy with the baby?" Bug never answers any of these questions so I do the talking for her. The answer is, yes, she is a wonderful big sister and a wonderful helper.

Bug met her little sister for the first time on the day we checked out of the hospital. The moment they laid eyes on each other, Bug went silent and stayed that way for about four hours. She stared at Dos, watched me with her, held her in her lap, touched her hands and stroked her head. When she finally decided it was safe to speak again, she said, "I love my little baby sister." Did your heart just go ::squish:: or was that just me?

As Dos comes out of the CrySuckSleep Blob phase and more into the Real Live Little Person phase, she takes more and more notice of her big sister. When Bug cries, Dos looks concerned and muh-muh-muhs a pout. When Bug laughs, Dos is wide-eyed and chuckles cautiously. "Is this funny? 'Cause she thinks it's funny. I think it's funny, right? Huh. huhuhuhuhuhhhh...." Dos is just happy to be in Bug's orbit right now. It's lovely and I wish it could stay that way forver. But being a baby sister myself, I know that it won't.

One day, they'll be fighting over toys, the next it'll be clothes. Please, God, let them never fight over a boy because that just isn't worth it and how do you moderate an argument like that? I can't use the "share" command with that one.

Sometimes I feel sorry for the Bug because having Dos in the picture has rocked her world like nothing else. She went from being star of "The Bug Show" with no co-stars and two adoring fans to being a bit player in "The Family Von Nutters." I feel sorry for Dos, too because she'll never get the crazy amount of attention that the Bug got the first two years of her life.

Grinch was always sure he wanted two kids. His two older brothers had each other as playmates and seemed happy as clams to him. He got left out a lot and figures if he'd had a sibling, he would have had a lifelong playmate, too. I took a lot more convincing. I had six older siblings and they regarded me familial bacteria until I was well into my 20s. I didn't think having siblings guaranteed anything other than two decades of misery.

So here we are with two kids and the optimist in me says, "Look! They love each other! Yay!" the pessimist that still feels the sting of a million brotherly wedgies says, "Give it time. They'll be killing each other before you know it."

The Freedom of Being 2

I worry a lot about what people think of me. It's the reason it takes me so long to get dressed in the morning. It's why I fret over decisions so much. Sometimes, I throw up my hands and say, "Who really cares if I'm wearing white socks and a fleece jacket. Really?! " But most of the time I try too hard not to be the object of any one's negative attention. Which, when you think about it, is pretty fucking ridiculous.

Apparently, we don't have these problems as children. I certainly don't remember worrying so much as a kid. And I was the loudmouth in the red polka dot hat, riding my bike up and down the street on the 4th of July, throwing confetti, screaming, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA!" Does it help my case to say that it was the Bicentennial? No? I didn't think so.

It makes me so happy to see the Bug getting on with her life without worrying about what people think of her. She picks out heart-print pants, purple shirts and turquoise socks to wear to school. She laughs like a maniac when she sees her friends. She sings out loud, not stopping to think that someone might hear or she might be off key. And when she runs, she runs with abandon. I pick her up from school and she runs down the hall, giggling and talking loudly the whole way. "I had a great day at school! I am RUNNING! I'm going to drink from the fountain! YAYYYYYY!" Her enthusiasm for life brightens my sleep-deprived eyes, it makes me forget all the things we have to worry about lately.

If you could see her run, you'd smile too. If the Ministry of Silly Walks needs a special Ambassador of Silly Runs, Bug is the person to call. It looks a little something like this:

Trying....Really, Really Trying

I now know why my mom was always so crabby and tired looking. She had SEVEN kids to look after. I have two and daily I have to stop myself from driving to the airport, going to the Delta counter and saying, "I don't care where it goes. I don't care how much it costs. The next flight out? Put me on it."

I don't know why it's so hard. The girls are healthy and relatively happy. I say relatively because I don't really know how happy the bug is after a day of being snapped at by me. Sometimes she deserves it. Usually she doesn't. I try so hard not to snap, but it happens anyway. "NO! Do NOT do that! Er! Argh! Bah!"

Trying to keep the bug entertained one cold, rainy morning last week, I got out the paints and paintbrushes. She was in heaven and occupied for 20 whole minutes! Awesome! She moved on to fingerpainting! Fantastic! Until....she found out how cool it sounds when paint covered hands are squished together. Cool to a two-year-old. To Mommy's sleep deprived, over stressed, likely depressed, anxious ears it sounded REALLY FUCKING ANNOYING.

I tried to ride it out. "She's exploring her world. She's exploring her world." I told myself over and over again. Gritted my teeth. Clamped my eyes shut. Hummed "Shoot that Poison Arrow" over and over again. I couldn't take it. "BUG! STOPIT! Argh!" She was surprised, but nodded with a knowing look. ("Yes....mommy is dangerously close to an act of violence. I shall reluctantly, but wisely, end this task post-haste.")

I feel like a horrible person because I can't seem to get the hang of this. A baby needs my attention. So does a toddler. I help one and the other cries or accidentally destroys something. It seems so easy for other moms. And I feel like I'm doing it all so wrong that I shouldn't be doing it at all.

Doing What Needs to be Done

Today was supposed to be the Bug's first day back at preschool and my last day of vacation. I had a long list of things I wanted to do and needed to do.

I wanted to:

get my hair cut for the first time since March. Donate 10" to Locks of Love and find a new style before the baby came and I won't be able to get haircut for a whole 'nother year. It would be nice to look pretty for the post-delivery picture this time. I look like a ship-wreck victim in my first picture with the bug.

get a pedicure. Due to the increasing bulbous nature of my belly, I haven't been able to see, much less reach my toes for months now. Frankly, I just wanted someone to rub my feet. Pretty toes would be nice, too.

see a movie. I haven't seen one in 2 1/2 years. I did rent "Garden State" so I guess that counts. I'm only, what....three years behind.

I needed to:

go shopping for all the new baby stuff we'll need and have forgotten up until now: diapers, wipes, car seat pads. I managed to get this done today. Target should have no problems meeting their quarterly goal, thanks to me.

I was looking forward to today, really. Because I've been on vacation for the past week, every minute of it spent with the Bug or family or rushing to this event or that. I wanted this morning for myself.

But Sunday night, the Bug came down with a stomach virus. It left her coughing and heaving and clinging to the Grinch and I all night. Monday, she slept on me for most of the day. Today, she was a trooper and went to Target with me, though I could tell she wanted to be home, reading books or just snuggling again. She's so out of it. She's so tired. There's no way she could go to school. No way I could leave her with even the most patient, loving friend or family member.

This may not have been what I wanted or needed to do these past two days. But it's what she needs from me. I'm doing what's important for her. That feels just right.

Translating Bug

My parents have happily been spending my inheritance by visiting every corner of the world since their retirement. I'm cool with it, really, except for the fact that they insist on bringing me t-shirts from all these places. I have Hard Rock cafe t-shirts from Helsinki, Cairo and Costa Rica. Have I ever set foot in these places? Not even close. Do I even LIKE Hard Rock Cafe? Not really, no. But my pleas of "No more t-shirts!" fall on deaf ears each and every time.

In between their world jaunts, they have taken to hosting international visitors. They started doing this when I still lived at home and, because my parents absolutely SUCK at hosting guests, I often spent a lot of time carting people around town, taking them to do touristy things and helping them find the right geegaws to take back home to their family and friends in Whereverslavia.

Sometimes, we were lucky and the guests were fairly good English speakers. One Russian guy spoke no English at all. Somehow, we managed to surmise that he liked basketball and I was able to arrange for him to go to an NBA game and meet a Russian player. The player translated stuff the poor guy had been holding in for days: "My room is hot as hell and the sheets smell. I hate cold tea, please don't make me drink it. I want Coca-cola. I want to buy camera and Nike sneakers, size 12. I have two kids and they want Mickey Mouse dolls." What was never explained was why this guy disappeared for hours on end every night. He SAID he was just taking walks. We suspected he was hustling men in bars. It made for a good story, anyway. "This is Alexi. He doesn't speak English. In Russia, he works construction. In America, he is prostitute."

Even the best English speakers still had little problems here and there. Asking questions and putting the words in the right order were the hardest. It's something that, strangely enough, I hear the Bug do a lot. In her best Russian syntax, she'll ask, "What this is called, please?" or when talking about herself, saying, "You would like cookie, yes."

Despite my best translation skills, her oddly translated statements and questions still confuse me sometimes. For instance, pulling her chair out for her, I hear, "You will not pull out the chair."
Right, Mommy will pull it out for you.
"Noooo. You will not pull out the chair!"
Right, gotcha. Mommy did it.
Tears welling in her eyes, "NOOOOO! You will NOT..."
Oh! Yes, I understand! Mommy, don't pull out the chair. I see now! Don't cry!

You ok?
"Yes. She is YOUR chair. NOT Mommy's."
Whuh...nevermind. Eat your dinner.
(Pointing to couscous that is shifting on her plate) "This is doing what, please?"
What?
"This is doing what?"
What.
"Yes."
Huh?
"This?"
Yes.
"It is doing what?"
I....uh....darlin', you got me. I don't know what you're saying.
"THIS!"
YES!
"IS DOING WHAT?"
MOVING!
"YES!"
YES!

And that's when, I'm quite sure the Bug and I are thinking the same thing: "God! Where are the Russians when you need them?"

Beware of Sudden Shifts

I have stood on top of a Wyoming mountain, marveled at the crisp blue sky and noted not a cloud in sight, ducked into a chalet for a 10-minute pit stop and gone back outside to find the sky dark gray, wind howling and snow blowing sideways.

I have stood in a Georgia hayfield in a gentle rain, only to find myself cowering in a church basement, 20-minutes later, as a tornado rumbled overhead.

So yes, I know how quickly things can change. But nothing can compare to the quick change of a toddler's temperment.

One minute, you can be watching your rosy-cheeked, sparkle-eyed love bug giggling her head off on the playground. Seconds later, you're getting a good look at her tonsils as she screams at the top of her lungs, "NO. BOY. ON. SLIDE! NOOOOOOO! OFF! OFF! OFF!"

To say these mood swings happen in the blink of an eye doesn't capture exactly how quickly they happen. Trust me: I'm pregnant. I know mood swings.

One minute everything is funny. In a heartbeat, no, less than a heartbeat, nothing is funny. Nothing is worth leaving the park, or returning a toy to the shelf, or putting on pajamas. Not even ice cream.

I used to see these parent/child standoffs in stores and think, "That's horrible. What a brat/terrible parent." Now, I'm on the receiving end and fully aware of what childless people must think when they see me: lips pursed, brow furrowed, carting a screaming toddler to the car. I know people with children see me too and I pray they understand. I pray they are sympathetic. I pray that the non-pregnant, non-nursing mothers go home and raise a cocktail and toast my patience. 'Cause that's what I want to do when I get home: have a stiff drink and congratulate myself for not dropping the kid at her grandparent's house and hopping a one-way flight to Maui.

The screaming in the backseat has subsided to an occasional snuffle. Seconds later, a perky voice comes from the car seat, "Oh! Look! A doggie! Hi, doggie! Doggie has loooooong ears. Hahahaha!"

The weather shifts again.

It's Not You...It's Not Her, Either

Dear Family, Friends and Strangers,

You won't be the one to make my little girl smile. She won't shake your hand or give you a high five. She won't giggle at your silly faces or take a lollipop from you. She won't tell you her name or wave bye-bye. Please don't take it personally, that's just the way she is right now.

Yes, she smiles and talks. She sings, plays, laughs uproariously and even cracks jokes. She does all of this when she's with her daddy and me. She does all these things when she knows she's safe and she doesn't feel like she's on display. She's not a performer. She's a little kid. Just let her be the little kid she is. She's quite happy that way and so are we.

Back in the dark ages of child rearing (10-15 years ago), you probably would have called her "shy." You still can, but we don't. We say she's cautious. (The pediatrician suggested that term and we like it.) Our little girl isn't rejecting you, she's just getting to know you before she lets you get too close. Pretty smart, actually. Oh, and the getting to know you part? It can take a long time.

I know it's frustating for you, the grandparents who want to bond with their granddaughter, the strangers who protest, "But kids LOVE me!" It's been frustrating for us, too. I shed a lot of tears over this but I finally figured out that my frustration wasn't helping her, and that's what I really need to do. You can think my child is weird, you can think all you want about my parenting skills, that her "shyness" is all my fault. I don't really care. I know my daughter. I know what makes her feel safe, what makes her feel accepted, and what makes her feel comfortable. I'll take care of all that. Let my little girl be herself.

Here's a novel idea: you be yourself, too. Stop trying so hard to be an instant best friend or favorite grandparent to our little Bug. Relax. Let her figure out where she stands with you. Be yourself. If you're an ok person, she'll let you in and we'll all be happy.

Thanks,
The Mother of the Quiet Kid