Horses

When I was a little girl, I wasn’t so much into dolls and playing house and other girlie activities as I was into horses. I had a collection of Breyer brand horses (http://www.breyerhorses.com), the hard plastic kind that were designed to look quite realistic. My mother recently found my collection under her house, and brought them down when she was visiting this past weekend. The girls divided them equally (there are 10 in all) and spent the entire day making up little horse adventures and having little horse conversations (think: lots of neighing and whinnying, mixed in with English translations of these sounds).

String Bean’s style of playing is pretty rough, with horses jumping around each other, crashing into each other, and yelling at each other before they run screaming away from some invisible monster or evil witch. But Peanut’s horses are quiet types that eat together, go for walks together, and give each other kisses before laying down to sleep. She takes her time to pet each horse, talking to them in soothing tones as she cares for them, and each horse already has a name. Peanut’s version of horse play is exactly the same as mine was as a child, and it takes me back to watch her. In those quiet moments, as I replay my own happy childhood memories while watching Peanut creating her own, I’m reminded of another great thing about motherhood.

There are so many insignificant little moments from my childhood that I’ve forgotten over the years, silly little games I used to play, joyful songs we used to sing in preschool, quiet moments where I felt completely content with the world around me. Seeing Peanut totally entertained in her own little world is a nice way to go back to those forgotten moments. So often since having kids I’ve felt like their existence somehow saps my brain, making me forgetful, distracted, much more absent-minded than I ever was pre-kids. It’s nice now to see that they also have the ability to rekindle my memory, and refill all of those empty spaces in my mind that they’ve created these past few years.

Grandma Crackers

The other day, String Bean was fussing for a snack. By fussing, I mean she wanted something, but everything I offered her was all wrong, for reasons that made no sense to me. After a frustrating round of “what about this, what about that?” she climbed up on the counter and dug through the cupboards herself. Somewhere way in the back, she found a box of graham crackers. When she was about 18 months old, she used to call them “grandma crackers,” because it was her grandma who introduced her to them, and the word “graham” held no meaning. Just a cute anecdote.

Anyway, I thought graham crackers sounded fine, especially if she had them with milk. I mean, that’s practically a healthy snack, right? She thought I was crazy when I poured her a cup of milk and told her to try dunking the crackers into it. She kept giving me her skeptical look (one eyebrow raised, the same look I give when I’m not buying into something) until I told her that used to be one of my favorite snacks at her age, and grandma’s, too. For whatever reason, ideas that come from grandma are infinitely superior to ideas that come from mom, so she gave it a try. She went through three glasses of milk, a big stack of graham crackers, and kept grinning and laughing every time at how silly it was to dunk her food into her drink, and have it be okay. Not just that it tasted good, but that mom condoned it. Sure, she ruined her dinner on it, but the cuteness of the whole activity was worth it.

Creative Solutions

One problem with flying solo for so long is that you get run down, start to relax the structure, and kids pick up on any weakness. The girls, who are by and large such good girls, have been getting a little stir crazy in the evenings. Little scuffles are breaking out, and no matter how many times I tell them it’s time for PJs and tooth brushing, they ignore me, sometimes even running away laughing, as I, too exhausted by the end of the day to give chase, yell at them to come back, which is even less effective than doing nothing.

The other night, at my wit’s end and anxious to get them to bed so I could finally have some much-needed quiet time after a hectic day, I had an idea. When I’m tired, I’m not as good at being creative, so I really should write all of these ideas down when I’m wide awake and newly caffeinated. Anyway, I went upstairs without a word, and put on my junior prom dress that we’d unearthed at my mom’s house last weekend. The frilly, lacy, awful powder blue 80s creation that String Bean is obsessed with. I came downstairs as if nothing had changed, holding PJs for two squealing, squawking girls who were embroiled in tug-of-war over something. They both took one look at me and let go of the toy they’d been ready to kill each other over moments before.

In my best Cinderella voice I asked them to gather around for a final potty run, PJs, tooth brushing, and hair brushing, and, to my amazement, they obeyed completely. Not only were they willing to be subjected to every step of the bedtime routine without complaint, but they showered me with compliments the entire time. “Mommy, you look so beautiful! Like a princess!” The dress doesn’t exactly fit. Two pregnancies and twenty years later, the zipper will only go halfway up, but String Bean beamed that this was wonderful, too. “You have some air going in there, to keep you cool!” she cooed.

I’ve already made a mental list of my other dresses for future rowdy, relentless nights. I have a black velvet number leftover from years ago, when I had season tickets to the opera. I have my flag squad uniform from high school. I have the bridesmaid dress from my best friend’s wedding. I have my wedding gown, which would push String Bean over the edge into some kind of unnatural bliss. I think I’ve got the next week covered.

Time to See the Dentist

Yesterday String Bean had her dentist appointment, and next week it’s Peanut’s turn. We’ve had moderate success with previous dentist trips. The girls are fine with the tooth cleaning part, since the spinning little tooth polisher feels just like the spinning toothbrushes we use at home. And both girls are so obsessed with floss that I actually use it as a reward for good behavior. But that doesn’t mean they don’t get nervous at the sight of that big reclining dentist chair with the spotlight above it. And neither one has ever had a decent set of X-rays taken. Something about the funny thing in the mouth, plus that heavy lead apron, plus having Mom and the tech scurry quickly out of the room while the big machine at their side beeps at them, is just too much to sit through.

This time, to better prepare them both, we had a mock dentist appointment at home. I set up a chair, and had them take turns leaning back for me to poke and prod in their mouth, brush and floss their teeth, then take pretend X-rays. At the end, I rewarded them each with a balloon—just like their pediatric dentist does—for being so well-behaved. Really, we couldn’t have been more prepared. Except that String Bean was up in the night, and was already cranky and tired before we even got to the dentist. When they tried to get X-rays, and instead got a very tearful, terrified four-year-old curled into a ball and pleading to go home, we gave up on those (again). She refused to sit through the polishing, which last time was the easy part, until we all agreed they could clean her teeth from my lap. I know they do this with small children, but String Bean is only 18 inches shorter than me, probably less by now, so it was a little ridiculous trying to hold her across my lap like a baby. But her teeth got cleaned, she got her balloon and a toy (actually she insisted on two, one for her sister as well, which just warmed my heart), and by the time we got home she was all smiles again. Maybe next time, when she’s five, we’ll finally get those X-rays.

Memory Lane

My mother is considering moving back to the Bay Area in the next few years, and part of that long-term plan is getting rid of the clutter around her house that she doesn’t want to move along with her. She’s been slowly cleaning out her basement, digging up boxes of Christmas ornaments she no longer uses and the doll house from her childhood, a metal one now completely rusted through the bottom.

All of those boxes of precious mementos from my youth that have been gathering dust for 15 or 20 years have also been unearthed, and last weekend while I was visiting, Mom presented me with box after box of stuff. Much of it brings back sweet memories of childhood best friends collecting matching trinkets, or of the grandmother I lost twenty years ago, or of the high school flag squad I was on. From the bottom of a deep box we pulled out my baby blue satin and lace dress from my junior prom. String Bean, of course, spent the better part of the day wearing it, tripping over the hem and holding the bodice in place with two hands, and loving every minute of it.

I never found the unicorn figurines that I can so clearly remember from my childhood bedroom, maybe they broke in the last move, or were sold at one of the family garage sales years ago. After perusing the contents of box after box, finding an equal number of favorite things as objects I literally have no memory of, I thought I’d narrowed down my pile of things to keep to one small stack. Then String Bean and Peanut got in on it, and now we have a vast assortment of dusty stuffed animals, ancient articles of clothing, and random curios destined for our house. Of course I’m amused at seeing these forgotten treasures getting a new audience to adore them all these years later. But I’m also secretly hoping not all of them survive the trip back to our house.

The Little Painter

Last week, when Peanut was running a fever of 102 and had to miss school, she seemed happy to be staying home with me. That is, until we dropped String Bean off at school, and Peanut saw all of her friends heading into her preschool class. Then she started complaining that she wanted to go to school, to see her friends, and because she needed to paint. I stopped by her class, to tell the teacher (who is also the school director) that she wouldn’t be attending that day, to warn her that some bug was clearly going around, and to relay the message that Peanut was sorry to miss class because she needed a painting fix. The teacher smiled, turned to Peanut and said, “You want to paint? How about doing it at home today?” She led us to the storage closet, handed me a watercolor painting kit, and wished us a good day. Peanut was thrilled, once the Tylenol kicked in, to spend the morning painting pictures without a big sister’s interruption, and without the time limit imposed by school schedules. And I was thrilled by the gesture this teacher/director made.

Flying Solo

I’m halfway through hubby’s 16-day business trip, a hectic tour of four European countries and I forget how many cities. It’s the longest we’ve been apart, the longest the girls have gone without him, and, so far, we’re surviving, despite Peanut being sick and keeping me up all night twice, and not getting my preschool-time morning breaks, since she was too sick to go to school. I’ve called in reinforcements to make sure I have a few hours to myself every few days, including having my mom visit for two days, and going to visit her for two days, and aside from that I’ve just got a “let it slide” attitude going.

The other day, when String Bean was supposed to be having her quiet time so her sick sister could nap, but she kept making too much noise, I just laid down on her bed with her for a half hour, sharing my favorite memories of her as a baby (her favorite story is the way the NICU nurses called her “princess” from day one. They meant she was a high-maintenance baby, but she thinks they were predicting that she’ll marry a prince, live in a castle, and get to attend magical balls). The laundry’s piling up, the dishes are only getting done once a day, the dog isn’t getting walked, and we’re out of all groceries except milk and Annie’s macaroni and cheese, but I’m not worrying about any of it right now. We’re having lots of cuddle time on the couch and making up silly games and playing dress up, trying to keep String Bean engaged while Peanut gets some much-needed rest, and I try to fend off whatever bug she has with taking Emergen-C and washing my hands every ten minutes.

Hubby returns a week from today, is home for a day, then leaves again on another business trip. By then, we should have this whole flying solo thing down to a science. At some point I will have to break down and hit the grocery store, and do at least one load of laundry. But not today. Today we have some coloring books that need our attention, and a make-believe ball to attend in our princess gowns.