I always assumed I’d have kids, in the same way I always assumed I’d go to college, or get married, or buy a home. I wanted kids, but I didn’t spend vast amounts of time fantasizing about the kids I’d have. In fact, I don’t think I ever really tried to picture my future children at all. I know women who’ve desperately wanted a baby since childhood, and women (even young girls) who’ve wanted a baby so they’d have a lifelong friend. It’s taken me a few years to accept the insane amount of love I feel for these girls I never spent any of my youth dreaming of, to realize that even though I never felt that drive to have children, I’m chock full of mothering instinct just the same.
I’ve made many comments about women who seem to want a child for the unconditional love and lifelong companionship. I felt they were having kids for the wrong reason. After all, your job is to raise them and set them free, not insert them into the role of your best friend from birth on. I’d see some movie about a woman whose only friend was her five-year-old daughter and I’d pity the poor, burdened child and wonder why the mother didn’t want a friend her own age. So here I am, deeply rooted in my belief that my children are little people that I’m shepherding into adulthood, and not my pals, but I’ve noticed a couple of recent changes in my relationship with my four-year-old.
The first one came a couple of weeks ago, when hubby was out of town on business, and the toddler refused to sit down for dinner (as usual), so my older daughter and I sat down for a quiet dinner together. She looked at her sister’s empty seat and shook her head, “That girl isn’t eating dinner,” she told me. “I know,” I said, “I’ll chase her around with something later.” “Yeah,” she suggested, “maybe try yogurt. She likes the berry one.” It struck me that this could have been the exact conversation I’d be having with my husband, had he been present. When had my baby become a decent dinner companion, capable of chit chat, commiseration on the complexities of raising kids, even shooting me knowing glances and eye rolls each time I lured the toddler back into the kitchen, just to have her rush back out again?
The second thing she does now is finish my sentences. My sister and I do this to each other, always have, so it feels very familiar to pause mid-sentence, distracted by the sight of, say, a spreading pool of spilled juice or a toddler about to launch herself off the back of the sofa, and have someone else finish my sentence for me. The surprising part is how well and often she does it. How can this 4-year-old be in my head already?
Don’t get me wrong, I hoped we’d be chat-on-the-phone pals someday, but I figured first we’d get through the adolescent years, those rough teen years of scowling girls who thought I knew nothing, those distant college years of independence. So after college, we’d be a friendly mother-daughter pair, who could do Christmas shopping together while chatting about her love life or career ambitions.
But, now, I think maybe I was wrong in my bias against mothers who are buddies with their young children. Maybe it’s not so much that certain women have kids to breed themselves a new best friend. Maybe some kids just grow into the role without you doing anything to usher them along. Either way, as a woman who spends far too much time in the company of kids, and far too little with her real, adult girlfriends, I’m glad to see more of a give-and-take sort of friendship developing. And grateful that when I lose my focus mid-task or mid-sentence, there’s a little sidekick standing nearby to remind me what I was about to do or say.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
ABC
This morning my 2-year-old and I were reading together while her big sister was at preschool. She chose a book geared toward early readers, with a letter-matching page (matching the upper case letter to its lower case counterpart) and proceeded to name each letter on the page. I knew she had learned a few letters here and there, but I had no idea she knew almost the whole alphabet. Since I haven’t taught her all of these letters, it stands to reason that her sister has been her tutor when I wasn’t paying attention.
That’s two big differences with second children: you aren’t as keenly aware of each little baby step toward some new milestone, so they sort of sneak up on you, and they also have another role model in the house that they look up to even more than you, and learn from better than from you. I remember when I was pregnant with our second daughter, and the pediatrician pointed to my belly and said, “Be prepared. The second child does everything much younger than the first one did.” And he was right. She knew how to use the dog’s hand commands for sit, down and stay before she could walk. She knew how to go up and down the stairs safely without the weeks of training we had to put in with the first kid. She hated baby food on sight, and wanted to eat what big sister was having, despite her lack of teeth (neither of my girls had a single tooth until they were over a year old). And, apparently, she has learned her letters and numbers while I was busy doing the dishes.
I’m eager to see what new skills she’ll acquire next, and I’ll try to do a better job of eavesdropping on those private lessons she’s getting from her big sis. Maybe I’ll even throw in a few suggestions, like: “How about you work on potty training her for me?” or “Can you teach her about laundry sorting?” My four-year-old, clothes-hound that she is, is an expert laundry sorter. Surely that skill’s ready to be passed along.
That’s two big differences with second children: you aren’t as keenly aware of each little baby step toward some new milestone, so they sort of sneak up on you, and they also have another role model in the house that they look up to even more than you, and learn from better than from you. I remember when I was pregnant with our second daughter, and the pediatrician pointed to my belly and said, “Be prepared. The second child does everything much younger than the first one did.” And he was right. She knew how to use the dog’s hand commands for sit, down and stay before she could walk. She knew how to go up and down the stairs safely without the weeks of training we had to put in with the first kid. She hated baby food on sight, and wanted to eat what big sister was having, despite her lack of teeth (neither of my girls had a single tooth until they were over a year old). And, apparently, she has learned her letters and numbers while I was busy doing the dishes.
I’m eager to see what new skills she’ll acquire next, and I’ll try to do a better job of eavesdropping on those private lessons she’s getting from her big sis. Maybe I’ll even throw in a few suggestions, like: “How about you work on potty training her for me?” or “Can you teach her about laundry sorting?” My four-year-old, clothes-hound that she is, is an expert laundry sorter. Surely that skill’s ready to be passed along.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Car Wash
Today the girls and I went out front to wash the car, which was a lot more exciting than it should have been. First, there were bugs out there, which means the little one was practically hysterical, as she becomes at the sight of any flying insect. Literally trembling with fear, clutching her smoothie to her chest as if it were a protective shield. So, I set her up inside watching a movie (this week it is Brother Bear, which I enjoy overhearing because it has these two moose characters, voiced by the guys from Strange Brew—hilarious in their exaggerated Canadian accents).
I went back to washing the car only to hear a shriek followed by a wail inside. Turns out there was a fly in the house. So, after chasing it down and swatting it from the air in mid-flight with a leap from a chair (I’m sure it would have been funny to see, but I was quite proud of my fly-swatting skills), she calmed down enough to rejoin us outside.
I hosed down the car again (it had dried while I was inside), inadvertently hosing down the girls as well (I’d only told them three times to back up, and it takes a good 13 times to get through to them in the post-lunch wind-down). In the course of fleeing from the spray of water, they realized they were making footprints up and down the driveway, so this became the game: stomping out little trails and patterns, watching them dry in the warm afternoon sun, then jumping in puddles to make new footprints.
I finished rinsing the car just as I was losing control of the kids, their game of rock collecting taking them a little too far away from me and a little too close to traffic. I lured them back inside with promises of mango and edamame. After their snack, I put them down for naps, which, amazingly, they took without complaint. I tossed our soaking wet clothes into the washer and had a solid quiet hour to read a book. I’m thinking of washing the car again tomorrow.
I went back to washing the car only to hear a shriek followed by a wail inside. Turns out there was a fly in the house. So, after chasing it down and swatting it from the air in mid-flight with a leap from a chair (I’m sure it would have been funny to see, but I was quite proud of my fly-swatting skills), she calmed down enough to rejoin us outside.
I hosed down the car again (it had dried while I was inside), inadvertently hosing down the girls as well (I’d only told them three times to back up, and it takes a good 13 times to get through to them in the post-lunch wind-down). In the course of fleeing from the spray of water, they realized they were making footprints up and down the driveway, so this became the game: stomping out little trails and patterns, watching them dry in the warm afternoon sun, then jumping in puddles to make new footprints.
I finished rinsing the car just as I was losing control of the kids, their game of rock collecting taking them a little too far away from me and a little too close to traffic. I lured them back inside with promises of mango and edamame. After their snack, I put them down for naps, which, amazingly, they took without complaint. I tossed our soaking wet clothes into the washer and had a solid quiet hour to read a book. I’m thinking of washing the car again tomorrow.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Car Travel
We’ve done a lot of car travel with these two munchkins: some short trips (the 2 hours to my mother’s house), some longer (the 4-5 hours to our cabin), and some much longer (the 8-10 hour haul to San Diego and back). On these various outings, there are a few things I’ve learned about car travel with my girls. First, they don’t sleep in the car. Ever. I’ve chatted with several friends about their kids and have come to the conclusion that I have the only children who simply refuse to nap in a moving car. I don’t know why it is that I’ve been graced with this particular issue, but it has finely honed my abilities to entertain carseat-bound kids for extended periods of time.
DVD players work for a short stretch, maybe 45 minutes top, but beyond that and my kids just start taking turns trying to kick the DVD player or start yelling at Wall-E or Woody and Buzz or whoever they’re watching at the time. I love those Color Wonder coloring books and pens, the ones that only color on their own paper. I still have red crayon (washable my ass) on the car’s side panel from a birthday party favor bag I didn’t thoroughly screen before driving home. So, no crayons in the car. One of my favorite solutions is the laundry basket (a small one, from the dollar store) wedged between their car seats. I keep a variety of small toys in there, and swap them out before car trips. Not only does it keep a lot of toys at hand, but when they drop the toys, about half the time it lands back in the basket, reducing the number of times I have to reach behind me to fetch something. This trip the basket was full of dinosaurs, little bendable aliens, a travel magnadoodle, a couple of Christmas books—yes, I know it’s May—toy horses, a Barbie doll, and two hand puppets. Notice the lack of noise-making toys, also key.
I also hit the dollar bin at Target and gather a few new toys for the ride, then stow them up front in a bag. Every hour or so I hand one back to them. They can be anything: silly sunglasses, a cheap kaleidoscope, a fuzzy felt flower. There’s nothing like the arrival of a new, unexpected toy to buy you some happy kid time three hours into a long drive.
Snacks are also important. While my picky eaters won’t sit still for more than thirty seconds for a meal in the house, they seem content to munch away while in the car. I use this time to catch them up on their calories (then use the dog to clear out the mess after we arrive at our destination). Those little snack cups, with handles and a top with an opening just small enough for little kid fingers are good. I like to mix up Cheerios, raisins, and throw in something for protein, either pine nuts, sunflower seeds, or peanut-butter filled pretzels. String cheese is always popular, too. This last trip the mini carrots and sugar snap peas were the biggest hits, but I realize my kids are weird about loving fruits and veggies above all else, so that tip might not help anyone else. Then again, your kids would probably be napping by this point.
DVD players work for a short stretch, maybe 45 minutes top, but beyond that and my kids just start taking turns trying to kick the DVD player or start yelling at Wall-E or Woody and Buzz or whoever they’re watching at the time. I love those Color Wonder coloring books and pens, the ones that only color on their own paper. I still have red crayon (washable my ass) on the car’s side panel from a birthday party favor bag I didn’t thoroughly screen before driving home. So, no crayons in the car. One of my favorite solutions is the laundry basket (a small one, from the dollar store) wedged between their car seats. I keep a variety of small toys in there, and swap them out before car trips. Not only does it keep a lot of toys at hand, but when they drop the toys, about half the time it lands back in the basket, reducing the number of times I have to reach behind me to fetch something. This trip the basket was full of dinosaurs, little bendable aliens, a travel magnadoodle, a couple of Christmas books—yes, I know it’s May—toy horses, a Barbie doll, and two hand puppets. Notice the lack of noise-making toys, also key.
I also hit the dollar bin at Target and gather a few new toys for the ride, then stow them up front in a bag. Every hour or so I hand one back to them. They can be anything: silly sunglasses, a cheap kaleidoscope, a fuzzy felt flower. There’s nothing like the arrival of a new, unexpected toy to buy you some happy kid time three hours into a long drive.
Snacks are also important. While my picky eaters won’t sit still for more than thirty seconds for a meal in the house, they seem content to munch away while in the car. I use this time to catch them up on their calories (then use the dog to clear out the mess after we arrive at our destination). Those little snack cups, with handles and a top with an opening just small enough for little kid fingers are good. I like to mix up Cheerios, raisins, and throw in something for protein, either pine nuts, sunflower seeds, or peanut-butter filled pretzels. String cheese is always popular, too. This last trip the mini carrots and sugar snap peas were the biggest hits, but I realize my kids are weird about loving fruits and veggies above all else, so that tip might not help anyone else. Then again, your kids would probably be napping by this point.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Night Owl
The other night, as I was headed to bed, I heard a loud thump in my daughter’s room. The noise was too loud to be made by a sleeping child, so I went in to investigate. What I found, at midnight, was my 4-year-old, with all of the lights on in her room, lying in the middle of her bedroom floor flipping through a book.
“What are you doing?” I asked?
“Reading,” she answered, as if that were the most natural thing to be doing at midnight, with school the next day.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
She looked around her room, as if realizing for the first time that there was a bed in there, then down at her strawberry pajamas, and shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep.”
We negotiated for a few minutes on that one, but she just kept insisting that she didn’t need to sleep, so I had to get stern and order her back to bed. I lingered near the monitor until I heard the tell-tale deep breathing of a sleeping child, then went to bed myself. The next morning, predictably, she was sound asleep when it was time to get up for school. I hate rousing a sleeping child, especially one as cranky as mine is in the morning. But I got her up, convinced her to drink some milk, managed to get her dressed and out the door only a few minutes late for school. When I picked her up a few hours later, she was so tired that she insisted we head straight home, rather than spending her usual twenty minutes playing on the school front lawn with the other preschoolers.
She lounged on the couch, eyes at half-mast, while I got a few bites of lunch into her. I put her down for a nap, hoping for a cheerful evening with a well-rested child, only to hear her climb out of bed a few minutes later. I went back in, put her back to bed, amazed that a child with such dark circles under her eyes, who could barely keep her eyes open, was refusing to sleep. A few minutes later I heard her get up again. We went several rounds of this, with me putting her clearly exhausted body back into bed, and her hauling it back out again.
Now, I know (and am reminded daily) that 4-year-olds are all about exerting their ever-growing will on the world around them. But isn’t this a little ridiculous? Shouldn’t she be getting that out of her system with bossing her sister around, and be willing to sleep?
“What are you doing?” I asked?
“Reading,” she answered, as if that were the most natural thing to be doing at midnight, with school the next day.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
She looked around her room, as if realizing for the first time that there was a bed in there, then down at her strawberry pajamas, and shook her head. “I don’t want to sleep.”
We negotiated for a few minutes on that one, but she just kept insisting that she didn’t need to sleep, so I had to get stern and order her back to bed. I lingered near the monitor until I heard the tell-tale deep breathing of a sleeping child, then went to bed myself. The next morning, predictably, she was sound asleep when it was time to get up for school. I hate rousing a sleeping child, especially one as cranky as mine is in the morning. But I got her up, convinced her to drink some milk, managed to get her dressed and out the door only a few minutes late for school. When I picked her up a few hours later, she was so tired that she insisted we head straight home, rather than spending her usual twenty minutes playing on the school front lawn with the other preschoolers.
She lounged on the couch, eyes at half-mast, while I got a few bites of lunch into her. I put her down for a nap, hoping for a cheerful evening with a well-rested child, only to hear her climb out of bed a few minutes later. I went back in, put her back to bed, amazed that a child with such dark circles under her eyes, who could barely keep her eyes open, was refusing to sleep. A few minutes later I heard her get up again. We went several rounds of this, with me putting her clearly exhausted body back into bed, and her hauling it back out again.
Now, I know (and am reminded daily) that 4-year-olds are all about exerting their ever-growing will on the world around them. But isn’t this a little ridiculous? Shouldn’t she be getting that out of her system with bossing her sister around, and be willing to sleep?
Monday, May 25, 2009
Two Is Enough
Last week, my sister and I both found ourselves home alone with kids while our husbands were out of town. She came over to visit one afternoon, for a much-needed afternoon nap and dinner. I had it all perfectly planned: I’d get the kids lunch, and the excitement of seeing their beloved auntie and cousin would wear them out enough to take a good nap, freeing up a good hour of my time to babysit my niece while my sister napped in my bed.
As predicted, the girls were ecstatic to see their 7-week-old cousin again, thrilled by her open-mouth full gum smiles. I had to rein them in a few times, reminding them not to scream, grab the baby’s hands, or shove each other around as they leaned over the baby. They had lunch and, assured that their cousin would still be there when they woke up, consented to head up to nap. My sister nursed the baby, handed her off, and went up to nap herself.
We had a few quiet minutes before I heard one of my girls crying in her room, quickly growing louder. The baby was almost asleep in my arms, but I knew if I put her down, she’d start to cry, which would wake her mother, so I took her with me to see what was going on.
I opened my 4-year-old’s door to find her holding a dirty diaper in her hand, with a huge ball of poop on the floor between her feet. I kicked into crisis mode. I hushed my daughter, swaddled the baby tighter and put her in my daughter’s bed, with the Ariel pillow propped up for visual stimulation while I sent the pooper to sit on the toilet. I cleaned up the mess on the floor, then my daughter, all while keeping both kids quiet enough not to wake the 2-year-old napping next door, or my sister asleep down the hall. I got the baby up, the 4-year-old back into bed, and managed to make it all the way downstairs before the baby cried. And, miraculously, neither napper woke up, and the 4-year-old soon drifted off to sleep. All in all, a successful afternoon, but those few stressful minutes exhausted me.
If anything has ever solidified my decision not to have any more kids, it was that moment. I remember those games with my two girls, where you’d get one to sleep only to have the other one act up, exhausting yourself trying to keep her from waking up the first one. It was an exhausting time of scrambling to entertain a toddler while run-down on a baby’s ceaseless needs. How do mothers of three possibly do it? You ladies have my utmost respect. You’re stronger women than I am.
As predicted, the girls were ecstatic to see their 7-week-old cousin again, thrilled by her open-mouth full gum smiles. I had to rein them in a few times, reminding them not to scream, grab the baby’s hands, or shove each other around as they leaned over the baby. They had lunch and, assured that their cousin would still be there when they woke up, consented to head up to nap. My sister nursed the baby, handed her off, and went up to nap herself.
We had a few quiet minutes before I heard one of my girls crying in her room, quickly growing louder. The baby was almost asleep in my arms, but I knew if I put her down, she’d start to cry, which would wake her mother, so I took her with me to see what was going on.
I opened my 4-year-old’s door to find her holding a dirty diaper in her hand, with a huge ball of poop on the floor between her feet. I kicked into crisis mode. I hushed my daughter, swaddled the baby tighter and put her in my daughter’s bed, with the Ariel pillow propped up for visual stimulation while I sent the pooper to sit on the toilet. I cleaned up the mess on the floor, then my daughter, all while keeping both kids quiet enough not to wake the 2-year-old napping next door, or my sister asleep down the hall. I got the baby up, the 4-year-old back into bed, and managed to make it all the way downstairs before the baby cried. And, miraculously, neither napper woke up, and the 4-year-old soon drifted off to sleep. All in all, a successful afternoon, but those few stressful minutes exhausted me.
If anything has ever solidified my decision not to have any more kids, it was that moment. I remember those games with my two girls, where you’d get one to sleep only to have the other one act up, exhausting yourself trying to keep her from waking up the first one. It was an exhausting time of scrambling to entertain a toddler while run-down on a baby’s ceaseless needs. How do mothers of three possibly do it? You ladies have my utmost respect. You’re stronger women than I am.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Vacation
Today we’re headed up to our family cabin in the Sierras. It’s an annual tradition, when we all brave the residual effects of winter in the mountains: snow, mud, rivers of icy snow runoff coursing through the lot the cabin is built on. Sometimes we get lucky and have a warm spell for Memorial Day weekend, and enjoy hikes, fishing, read-a-thons in the back yard, bonfires out back at night. Other trips have been punctuated by freak snow storms, torrential hailstorms, or neverending rain. While the poor weather trips aren’t the best for outdoorsy activities, they are some of my happiest memories, with the whole family sipping hot cocoa or tea before a roaring fire, doing puzzles and listening to music together, catching up in a way we never seem to under any other circumstances. There is no TV to entertain us, no telephone service (not even cell phones work in that pocket of the wilderness), no internet, just each others’ company and whatever books are at hand.
Whatever this weekend holds in store for us, I look forward to the family time and the break from our dependence on technology. There is nothing more relaxing than being totally removed from phone, email, and even US mail contact. There are about fifty cabins in the area, and neighborly visits are standard fare. We have several family members with cabins there, who we haven’t seen since our last trip up there in September, and I look forward to catching up with them, watching them fawn over how much my girls have grown, and the perfect beauty that is my seven-week-old niece.
We’ll return on Monday, slogging through holiday traffic with a dusty car loaded with dirty laundry, an exhausted (well-hiked) dog, and two sleepy girls who will, inevitably, refuse to nap in the car during the 4.5 hour drive home. We’ll collect the ignored mail, scan the un-checked emails, listen to voicemail, and watch the news to see what happened in the world while we were tuned out. And we’ll be toting a few new memories, too, of fireside family chats, maybe a long hike or two with friends, and big meals eaten at the long farm table my grandfather built. This has been a family tradition for generations, one I look forward to passing along to my children, and theirs.
Whatever this weekend holds in store for us, I look forward to the family time and the break from our dependence on technology. There is nothing more relaxing than being totally removed from phone, email, and even US mail contact. There are about fifty cabins in the area, and neighborly visits are standard fare. We have several family members with cabins there, who we haven’t seen since our last trip up there in September, and I look forward to catching up with them, watching them fawn over how much my girls have grown, and the perfect beauty that is my seven-week-old niece.
We’ll return on Monday, slogging through holiday traffic with a dusty car loaded with dirty laundry, an exhausted (well-hiked) dog, and two sleepy girls who will, inevitably, refuse to nap in the car during the 4.5 hour drive home. We’ll collect the ignored mail, scan the un-checked emails, listen to voicemail, and watch the news to see what happened in the world while we were tuned out. And we’ll be toting a few new memories, too, of fireside family chats, maybe a long hike or two with friends, and big meals eaten at the long farm table my grandfather built. This has been a family tradition for generations, one I look forward to passing along to my children, and theirs.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)