Rolling

One of the perks to Matt's fancy detail job is his ready proximity to the White House.

For years, like many American's, we've tried in vain to get tickets to the White House Easter Egg Roll. This year was no different. We tried. In vain. Several times. And was once again shut out.

But, the upside to being one of the few late-thirty-somethings in an office of work-a-holic Washingtonians is the is one of the 'few old guys with kids'.  And he was plied with sympathy. All of his co-workers entered their name into a lottery with the intent to pass on their tickets to us.

We hit the jackpot.

It was a beautiful day.

The girls were dressed in their White House appropriate finery, and I had a plan. We stopped to have lunch near our house to fill bellies before heading into DC. The problem was food never really make it into bellies. At the end of lunch, I saw Clare give me the look. A half second later, that look ended up all over herself and Grace as my carefully laid plan crumbled before my eyes.

In the rush to go home and change the girls, a key part of Clare's wardrobe was left behind.

Once we got past the chaos of actually getting on the grounds, the girls hunted and dyed eggs. They met their heroes: Dora, Diego and Curious George. And we procured a much sought after family photo on the south lawn of the White House.

All sans-shoes.

History Revised

Grace often can't tell me what she liked about her day beyond the fact that she bullies her way into eating Nutella sandwiches for lunch everyday and gets to play outside with her friends. She is only 4.5 years old and it is like pulling teeth to get her to talk to me about school. Sixteen isn't going to be a pleasant age in our house.

When she does grasp onto a subject she likes though, look out. Want to talk about Star Wars Episodes IV-VI with a pre-schooler? She is all yours- (but you can only discuss 4-6 because my husband has banned 1-3 until "she is old enough to make up her own mind about the new movies". Whatever that means.)

Oh, and President's Day. How the girl LOVED President's Day and the two weeks of discussions about great American presidents that proceeded it at her Montessori school. We've made trips to Gettysburg so she can stand where Lincoln stood. We've gotten her into the White House to stand steps away from her president's Oval Office. (Yes, she totally claims ownership of Obama and the first dog Bo.)

This past week we took her to Mount Vernon, not to walk to halls of the mansion (which, for the record we did do), but to placate her obsession of seeing where George Washington chopped down the cherry tree. Forget the fact that George Washington probably didn't really chop down a cherry tree. Or the fact that he didn't grow up at Mount Vernon. Or the fact that this ISN'T EVEN A CHERRY TREE.

She was staunch in the notion of the cherry tree, and was convinced this is the cherry tree George Washington cut down. You got a problem with that? Because I think the may be willing to fight you over the provenance of this tree, and she's a kicker.

π

The vast majority of folks I work with are wordsmiths and unapologetic Liberal Arts majors.

I solidly fall into this grouping and avoid math like the plague. In high school I bullied my way into a honors geometry class, thinking shapes were a close cousin to words, all visual and flowing lines. I was wrong. I lasted one month before I had to sweet talk my way back out of that class for fear of my GPA. Who knew a circle would have so much math behind it. The concept of Pi /π /3.14159 was one of the few concepts that left that classroom with me.

Yesterday my office bridged the gap between the left and right side of the brain celebrated 3/14, Pi Day, with a great equalizer- pie!

Wikipedia says: Throughout the history of mathematics, there has been much effort to determine π more accurately and to understand its nature; fascination with the number has even carried over into non-mathematical culture. Perhaps because of the simplicity of its definition, π has become more entrenched in popular culture than almost any other mathematical concept, and is firm common ground between mathematicians and non-mathematicians.

I'm not so sure that applies to us as a whole, but I'm sure we will all be willing to pretend we don't need calculators for simple mathematics one day a year if it involves the mass consumption of pie!

GPS (less)

I'm solidly suburban, born and raised. OK, technically I was born in Chicago, but the residence only lasted until my hospital release. SUV's with GPS devices are my friend.

Don't get me wrong, I love cities. The crazy fast pace of city walkers is right up my alley. Gloriously tall buildings pressing against the sky encourage me to stand taller in greeting. Restaurants with Michelin ratings sing to my heart. One of the best moments of my life? Being mistaken for a New Yorker by a city native.

BUT

I have absolutely NO internal sense of direction. (Hence my love of GPS.) I pour over street maps before exiting buildings, praying I turn the right direction. The District is my foe in this respect. Straight lines, I need straight lines please!

And, apparently, my confusion isn't limited to street level. Today, *sigh*, I went the wrong way on the Metro. For 3 stops. The only plus to that ride is that the parking lot attendant must have seen the defeated look on my face and comped my $4.25 lot fee. I was ecstatic to be back in the suburbs.

Milestones

I've been gone for awhile. I just feel.... burn out again. But a fun new tool at work has provided me an opporunity to blog there, so I though when they will work why not cross post? So here you go. It is the best of both worlds.

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I seem to live my life a little like a project plan.
In the early months of the year I map out my milestones. The things to write on my calendar in a Sharpie to emphasize their significance. The things that keep me going, fueling me to count down the days and save my leave to spend it in big, glorious chunks:  the beach,  with friends in NYC,  celebrating my brother's marriage.

I anticipate these with almost a child-like enthusiasm amidst countdown calendars and ticking clocks and drumming finger tips. The outside world, my world, that does often times make this place feel like just a job. A means to an extraordinary end.

As I blocked off those days in my Groupwise calendar this morning, those blackened spaces have helped to motivate me. A few more sips of coffee and onto the next challenge. I have so much to get done, and only 38 days to the first milestone.

Tales and Old as Time

So despite our efforts to introduce sports and dinosaurs and the color blue into our house, we live in a land of ballet and pink and princesses. It really is a tale as old as time, and one of the reasons why I am so glad that Disney makes princesses that don't just swirl in pink dresses waiting for their prince to arrive anymore. The princesses of today are brave and smart and bold.

Enter Belle, one of the favorites in our house. So when we were given the opportunity to see Beauty and the Beast 3D this weekend, I jumped at the chance. And you know what, it was fantastic. Most 3D movies give me a headache, but the cartoon had a different perspective to to. The big dance scenes were wonderfully animated and 3D-a-fied.

Most tellingly though, is the fact that both girls sat through the movie. This is a first for our family. Sure, it might have been the novelty of seeing one of their favorites on a big screen, with popcorn and sporting funny glasses - but that doesn't explain the whispers of "Ooooo, fancy."

If your on the fence about wether is you should pay money to go see a movie that has already been watched 1000 times from DVD, go see it. It is worth it!

* The tickets to the screening were complementay (we still shelled out $25.00 for popcorn though), and the complements are all my own. Good job Disney!

On the Other Side

So this weekend was SO. MUCH. BETTER. than last weekend.

Writing the last post made me feel lighter. At Blogher, one of the sessions I actually attended railed against the idea of just manically typing and hitting publish. I think that is bullshit, because it works. It did what I intended it to do, make me feel better.

I think Gracie could see the crazy in my eye. On the way home Friday afternoon, we had a long conversation about how she would loose a lot of privileges this weekend if she didn't act appropriately. Toys would be confiscated, televisions would be unplugged, timeouts would be administered. There were a lot of  "Yes, Mama's" uttered, but I was not a believer.

That night at dinner was the first time in weeks that Clare didn't throw her food on the ground in protest and try to stand on my plate. When Clare started to give us the "How dare you feed me!" stink eye, Gracie broke out in song and they were both laughing within seconds. The rest of the dinner was spent singing The Wheels on the Bus, with occasional Olivia interludes. It was bliss.

New Years Eve was filled with a trip to the zoo for the girls, much needed alone time for me and one of the best 9pm sans-children at home dinners we've ever experienced. It is amazing what a bottle and a half of champagne and two hours of uninterrupted conversation can do for the psyche.

Most of all, thank you for the comments and support. Knowing that I am not alone (or crazy) is the perfect catharsis to heal the wounds of last weekend.

Blue Christmas

Christmas was rough this year.

I take that back. It was horrible. There, I've said it. It only took me a week to say. It was horrible.

We seem to be in a .... complaining phase .... around our house. Grace whines every time she doesn't get precisely what she wants within 30 seconds of asking for it (or within 30 seconds of her thinking about it but forgetting to ask), and Clare says NO! to everything.

A friend and I once had a conversation about how much harder it is to be a calm parent than one that yells and hits. These last few weeks have been a challenge. I have never (and will never) hit either of the girls, but I find myself yelling so much more that I want to, in a primitive attempt to raise my volume over theirs in an emotional (nonsensical) attempt to have my desires heard too.

It is soul crushing, this new feeling of parenting failure. I keep oscillating between thinking it is just two and four year old growing pains, and wondering if we are to blame for the constant poor behavior and we are doing our jobs wrong.

Maybe it is both.

And in admitting that, comes new stomach churning worries that the behaviorisms of our parents that haunt us and are constantly fought against are seeping into our girls lives too. Are we expecting too much of them? Are we too quick to take out our frustrations with frowns and sharply spoken orders? Are we too quick to drown those frustrations in an extra large glass of wine?

The answer is probably yes to all three, but how do we change that? How do you teach a two year old that it is not OK to climb on the kitchen table during dinner without frowns and sharp words? How do you teach a four year old about patience after the same request has been made 10 times in a row without frowns and sharp words?

Matt and I have spent a lot of time taking about the future lately. Four months from now, 12 months from now, three years from now. How our future will be brighter, relaxed and secure. For now though, I am worried about the now.

Tomorrow starts another three day weekend.

White (House) Christmas

Matt is always one for new adventures.

His latest started at the end of October. It was an ego boost of an adventure, for he was recruited. Was explicitly told that his name was one on a very short list of people that have their sought after skill set. It would be a commute heavy detail of six months, but would yield experience (and prestige) that would be unattainable any other way in his current position.

Plus, there seems to be other seasonal perks they forgot to mention.

You know, like making the list to receive a White House Christmas card.

Tree

I love our annual Christmas tree hunt.

I will buy a fake tree before visiting a pre-cut a lot. There is something about the smell of the pine in the air and the rush that indicates the start of the season that makes the whole ordeal worth while.

And it really is an ordeal. Figuring out proper shoes and clothing is a pain and I never seem to get it right. We always forget to bring our own saw. And the cookies sold in the barn were sub-par this year. (You know there is a problem with your sugar cookies when a sugar crazed toddler throws it on the ground.)

But, we hunted and we found. Clare was a helper and Grace once again absconded with my phone and took pictures the whole time.

And Gracie took what I think is one of my all time favorite photos of Clare.