So, as a vegetarian, and not much of a food lover in general, Thanksgiving’s never been my favorite holiday. I’m fine with the whole family getting together, and I can get behind taking a day to be thankful for all that you have, but the notion of spending a whole day cooking a mountain of food that will live on as leftovers in my fridge for a couple of weeks just never made sense to me.
My girls are very curious about Thanksgiving. As fellow food non-enthusiasts, I’m not surprised that they don’t remember Thanksgivings past. String Bean can describe each Easter egg gathering mission, each Christmas stocking, and every Halloween outing since she was two, but when I asked if she was looking forward to eating pumpkin pie, she thought I was joking, that you could make pie out of those funny decorations from Halloween. I guess she doesn’t remember eating it last year, or the year before. Mostly, like me, they’re just looking forward to having the whole family over: laughing with their silly uncle, playing with their favorite cousin, and fighting for grandma’s attention.
I’m looking forward to hearing the laughter of my happy, healthy girls, the main thing in this life that I am thankful for, and being surrounded by my loving and supportive family, another great thing to appreciate, and I’ll even take the mountain of leftovers, and be grateful that I can skip making dinner for a few nights.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Nap Time
Before nap time and bed time, there is story time. In String Bean’s case, this can mean coloring, practicing reading or writing, or listening to me read her a story. In Peanut’s case, it means I read her a story, and then she “reads” it back to me. She has an uncanny ability to memorize entire books almost line by line, and can recite the story as she flips through the book, giving the impression that she really is reading. If you listen closely, you can hear her edits on the original story, as she throws a line about a bird into The Cat in the Hat or an extra conversation with Sam into Green Eggs and Ham.
Her room used to be our guest room, and the guest bed is still in there, shoved into a corner, unused except during story time. We sit together as I read, and then I lay down and listen to the lilting rise and fall of Peanut’s voice as she takes her turn reading. On more than one occasion, I’ve felt myself drifting toward sleep as she reads to me, so I understand the reason this has been a part of bedtime rituals for generations.
The other day, I was listening to her read Peter Rabbit, and the next thing I knew she was elbowing me roughly, giggling, asking why I’d elbowed her. I think I must’ve nodded off, and then elbowed her as I twitched in my sleep. I’m thinking maybe I should record her soft, soothing reading voice and play it to help me sleep on nights when insomnia has the upper hand.
Her room used to be our guest room, and the guest bed is still in there, shoved into a corner, unused except during story time. We sit together as I read, and then I lay down and listen to the lilting rise and fall of Peanut’s voice as she takes her turn reading. On more than one occasion, I’ve felt myself drifting toward sleep as she reads to me, so I understand the reason this has been a part of bedtime rituals for generations.
The other day, I was listening to her read Peter Rabbit, and the next thing I knew she was elbowing me roughly, giggling, asking why I’d elbowed her. I think I must’ve nodded off, and then elbowed her as I twitched in my sleep. I’m thinking maybe I should record her soft, soothing reading voice and play it to help me sleep on nights when insomnia has the upper hand.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Home Again, Home Again
The week in Hawaii was great. We had torrential downpours for the first two days, which was less than ideal, but we made the best of it (hot tubbing in the rain is a nice way to pass the time—even the kids loved it), and we were repaid for our positive outlooks with nice weather for the rest of the trip.
The kids, of course, loved the pools and hot tubs at the condo complex where we were staying, and the beach, as always, was a big hit. My father is a long-time train aficionado, and he found a 40-minute train ride through an old plantation. Half-way through the ride, the train stops next to an enclosure of Hawaiian boars. Initially they captured four of the wild pigs, but now there are 50, just a few short years later. Who knew pigs bred like rabbits? They handed out cups of dog food for us to feed the pigs, and Peanut thought that was the most fun she’d ever had. String Bean wasn’t so sure. The pigs were noisy, squealing and butting each other aside to get to the food we threw in handfuls over the fence, and the ground was a muddy mess from the heavy rains, so the scrambling pigs splashed all of us with mud. Peanut found all of this to be hysterically funny and exciting, even as we wiped her down in the bathroom afterward, laughing and saying “Look, pig mud!” at the splatter we wiped from her legs.
It was great to spend a full week with my father, extending beyond the initial catch-up phase and into a comfortable zone of just hanging out and relaxing together. And it was terrific to spend a week with my sister and her 7-month-old daughter, two people I never quite get to see enough of anymore. The girls loved having their cousin around so much, and I can see String Bean’s future as a great babysitter, from her attentive care of her little cousin.
It was hard to leave, which is the way you want to end any vacation. I realized that in her 4 years, String Bean has been to Oahu, The Big Island, and now Kauai. So, Maui must be next.
The kids, of course, loved the pools and hot tubs at the condo complex where we were staying, and the beach, as always, was a big hit. My father is a long-time train aficionado, and he found a 40-minute train ride through an old plantation. Half-way through the ride, the train stops next to an enclosure of Hawaiian boars. Initially they captured four of the wild pigs, but now there are 50, just a few short years later. Who knew pigs bred like rabbits? They handed out cups of dog food for us to feed the pigs, and Peanut thought that was the most fun she’d ever had. String Bean wasn’t so sure. The pigs were noisy, squealing and butting each other aside to get to the food we threw in handfuls over the fence, and the ground was a muddy mess from the heavy rains, so the scrambling pigs splashed all of us with mud. Peanut found all of this to be hysterically funny and exciting, even as we wiped her down in the bathroom afterward, laughing and saying “Look, pig mud!” at the splatter we wiped from her legs.
It was great to spend a full week with my father, extending beyond the initial catch-up phase and into a comfortable zone of just hanging out and relaxing together. And it was terrific to spend a week with my sister and her 7-month-old daughter, two people I never quite get to see enough of anymore. The girls loved having their cousin around so much, and I can see String Bean’s future as a great babysitter, from her attentive care of her little cousin.
It was hard to leave, which is the way you want to end any vacation. I realized that in her 4 years, String Bean has been to Oahu, The Big Island, and now Kauai. So, Maui must be next.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Vacation
Tomorrow, we’re off to Hawaii, for a much-needed family vacation. I’ll be leaving my computer at home, and so the blog will be taking a week-long vacation right along with me. The girls are excited about hitting the beach, swimming in the pool, and hanging out with their seven-month-old cousin for a full week. My dad, step-mom, sister, and niece will be joining us and I’m not only looking forward to sun, sand, and just getting away from it all, but I’m excited to be making new memories with my dad. We haven’t done enough family vacations with him over the years.
Back in my pre-kids life, I had a good run of going to Hawaii each year for six or seven years. Since having kids we’ve been there twice, and the last time we went Peanut was three months old, so it’s been a while. I’m looking forward to introducing her to Hawaii, the home of one line of her ancestors, now that she can run around and appreciate it. String Bean had just turned two on that last trip, so there’s no way she should remember it, but somehow she remembers certain details, like the bulldozer on the beach that she was scared of. Maybe it’s just all of the pictures she’s seen from that trip and stories that she’s heard, rather than actual memories. Either way, I know that she’s old enough to remember this trip, so it’ll be great to build some fun new memories with her, too.
I’m looking forward to a full week with my perfect little niece, with her smiley disposition, who has just learned to clap and give sloppy baby kisses. And having grandparents along to babysit on occasion for some kid-free time in paradise? Well, I don’t even have to tell you awesome that sounds.
Back in my pre-kids life, I had a good run of going to Hawaii each year for six or seven years. Since having kids we’ve been there twice, and the last time we went Peanut was three months old, so it’s been a while. I’m looking forward to introducing her to Hawaii, the home of one line of her ancestors, now that she can run around and appreciate it. String Bean had just turned two on that last trip, so there’s no way she should remember it, but somehow she remembers certain details, like the bulldozer on the beach that she was scared of. Maybe it’s just all of the pictures she’s seen from that trip and stories that she’s heard, rather than actual memories. Either way, I know that she’s old enough to remember this trip, so it’ll be great to build some fun new memories with her, too.
I’m looking forward to a full week with my perfect little niece, with her smiley disposition, who has just learned to clap and give sloppy baby kisses. And having grandparents along to babysit on occasion for some kid-free time in paradise? Well, I don’t even have to tell you awesome that sounds.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Disasters, Part 2
This happened on Dad’s watch, so at least I don’t have to beat myself up that they got me again just four short days later, but the other day, while I was in the shower, and hubby was downstairs with the girls, they apparently felt the need to paint. With white-out. On chairs, the floor, and light switches, as well as their own hands. The thing about white-out, it doesn’t come off. Not with acetone, Mr. Clean magic sponges, 409, or Orange Clean. I know, because we tried. We tried everything. I was able to scrape most of it off the light switches, and eventually it started coming off of their hands, but the kitchen chairs are not being so cooperative, and neither is the floor. Luckily the kitchen floor is white linoleum, so, from a long enough distance, you can hardly tell.
String Bean painted her name on the back of one of her sister’s chair, and even though I’m annoyed that it’s there, I’m glad to see she spelled it right, and that all of the letters are facing the right direction (lately she’s been regressing on writing her name, something she could write at 2 years old perfectly, reversing the letters or writing it from right to left).
I won’t bother saying that I hope they learned a lesson here, because even as they were being scolded, they were all too proud to parade me around and show me everything they’d painted, from the kitchen to the family room. I also won’t bother saying that hubby and I learned a lesson here, because our lessons so far are to keep them away from kitty litter and white-out, and we know all too well that the next potential disaster to catch their attention won’t be on that list.
String Bean painted her name on the back of one of her sister’s chair, and even though I’m annoyed that it’s there, I’m glad to see she spelled it right, and that all of the letters are facing the right direction (lately she’s been regressing on writing her name, something she could write at 2 years old perfectly, reversing the letters or writing it from right to left).
I won’t bother saying that I hope they learned a lesson here, because even as they were being scolded, they were all too proud to parade me around and show me everything they’d painted, from the kitchen to the family room. I also won’t bother saying that hubby and I learned a lesson here, because our lessons so far are to keep them away from kitty litter and white-out, and we know all too well that the next potential disaster to catch their attention won’t be on that list.
Sunday, November 08, 2009
Disasters
So, I know better, and yet these kids still manage to catch me off guard. It’s like it’s their mission in life, to find your moments of weakness and then take advantage in a way you’d never expect. The other day I was chatting with my father, standing by the front door. I’d just come back from my weekly break, and he was headed home, but first we had some catching up to do. The girls were a little crazy, running around and flinging diapers at each other (clean diapers, fresh from the package), making a mess and shrieking up a storm. I asked them to pick up the diapers, and they started to, carrying armloads of them down to the family room to put them away. Maybe ten minutes went by as my dad and I chatted, possibly fifteen, before he left and I headed into the kitchen to make them lunch.
Peanut came up to me, hands held out to me and said, “Look Mommy. It’s dirty.” She’s never been one to like dirty hands, and will cause a fuss if she finds a speck of lint on her palm, so I escorted her toward the kitchen to wash her hands, but then I noticed what was on her hands. Sand, which made no sense, as we keep no sand in the house. I asked her what it was and she said, “We’re making footprints,” which also made no sense, so I followed the sound of String Bean’s cheerful chatter and found a complete disaster. Kitty litter, fresh from the litter box (as in, not the clean kind), was everywhere. It covered the bathroom floor, the laundry room floor, it filled the potty chair, it was in the sink, it was tracked onto the carpet in the family room, it was on the coffee table. There were sand buckets filled with it and toys strewed around on top of it. I was too horrified to react, but after I yanked the kids out of the mess and got to work sterilizing them from top to bottom, shaking my head and muttering to myself to avoid yelling at them, they got the idea that they were in trouble. Which is strange, since they’ve been told countless times never to touch the cat box, and until now, have had a perfect record. How could they suddenly forget that it was forbidden? Except, of course, if they knew it was, and that was the whole allure.
Regardless, I did eventually get around to yelling at them, when String Bean put on an attitude, smirking at me, making jokes with Peanut, and refusing to act contrite in any way. I put them both in time out with lunch while I vacuumed up the bulk of the mess, then swept, then mopped, and I still don’t feel like it’s clean enough. We’ve had countless conversations since then about germs and dust and general filth, to not just make it clear that the litter box is off limits, but to explain why. But I feel pretty sure the explanation isn’t necessary, because they’d never do anything as predictable as making the same type of disaster twice.
Peanut came up to me, hands held out to me and said, “Look Mommy. It’s dirty.” She’s never been one to like dirty hands, and will cause a fuss if she finds a speck of lint on her palm, so I escorted her toward the kitchen to wash her hands, but then I noticed what was on her hands. Sand, which made no sense, as we keep no sand in the house. I asked her what it was and she said, “We’re making footprints,” which also made no sense, so I followed the sound of String Bean’s cheerful chatter and found a complete disaster. Kitty litter, fresh from the litter box (as in, not the clean kind), was everywhere. It covered the bathroom floor, the laundry room floor, it filled the potty chair, it was in the sink, it was tracked onto the carpet in the family room, it was on the coffee table. There were sand buckets filled with it and toys strewed around on top of it. I was too horrified to react, but after I yanked the kids out of the mess and got to work sterilizing them from top to bottom, shaking my head and muttering to myself to avoid yelling at them, they got the idea that they were in trouble. Which is strange, since they’ve been told countless times never to touch the cat box, and until now, have had a perfect record. How could they suddenly forget that it was forbidden? Except, of course, if they knew it was, and that was the whole allure.
Regardless, I did eventually get around to yelling at them, when String Bean put on an attitude, smirking at me, making jokes with Peanut, and refusing to act contrite in any way. I put them both in time out with lunch while I vacuumed up the bulk of the mess, then swept, then mopped, and I still don’t feel like it’s clean enough. We’ve had countless conversations since then about germs and dust and general filth, to not just make it clear that the litter box is off limits, but to explain why. But I feel pretty sure the explanation isn’t necessary, because they’d never do anything as predictable as making the same type of disaster twice.
Saturday, November 07, 2009
Christmas Crunch
I stopped by the Halloween store in the early afternoon on Halloween to get a last-minute costume for hubby, only to find the whole store gutted already, with the few remaining costumes in a messy heap in the center of the warehouse-sized room. So I ran next door to Target, which had a huge section dedicated to Halloween merchandise, only to find the Halloween items had been moved to a messy pile on one shelf, and the rest of the section had been stocked with Christmas items. Strangest of all, there were several people in the new Christmas section, loading their carts as if they were quickly running out of time to get their decorations purchased. Halloween wasn’t even over, and the Christmas frenzy was already starting? As much as I enjoy Christmas, I’d prefer to just celebrate one holiday at a time. And even though Thanksgiving is one of my least favorite holidays, not just because I’m a vegetarian and it centers around consuming a dead bird, but the whole glut of food aspect of the day just never made sense to me, I’d still like to have Thanksgiving behind me before getting into the Christmas spirit.
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