Daddy-Daughter

Everyone has things from their childhood that they can’t or won’t let go of. (Right?)

One of mine was the Daddy-Daughter Dance. I was in 4th or 5th grade and I desperately wanted to go. I remember begging my dad nonstop to take me.  He wouldn’t even consider it. He didn’t dance and had no interest in going. He had no interest in going with me.

For weeks it was all anyone talked about at school. I withdrew (even further) from the conversations and into myself those weeks to avoid being asked why I wasn’t going. What would I tell them? The day of the dance I cried in my room. He sat in his favorite chair and watched TV.

My mom loves to tell me how much Matt reminds her of my father sometimes. I vehemently disagree with that statement and it drives a wedge even further between us every time she says it.

This past Saturday, Matt took Grace to our local carnival on one of their frequent ‘dates’.

They rode rides, ate snacks and played games. Gracie almost won a ham and a goldfish. (Neither one would have lasted long in our house.) Matt’s superior college dart skills paid off and he won her princess posters. They rode and snuggled and had the kind of love filled experience Grace has come to expect from him.

And I know Matt will always be the first one in line to dance with his little girl.

Mama Knows Best

On Thursday grace found her umbrella that had been missing in action for awhile.

She was thrilled, but was harbored by my warning: Close that umbrella. We do not open umbrellas in the house. Umbrellas are for rain and are not toys. I know, I'm a buzz kill.

Today, I got the best shopping cart at the grocery store. No, not the annoying, impossible to steer ones with the car. There are a bazillion of those. I grabbed one with a full size cart and a little added double bench stuck to the back. (Thus eliminating the undisclosed grabbing of fruit snacks and candy bars that I then feel obligated to purchase since those already have child sized bite marks in them.) ((Whoever realized that putting goods that every child wants, but most moms say no to at the cart-car level is a brilliant bastard.))

Anyway.....

The downside of that cart is there is only one seatbelt. Which I had to use strap in Clare. Which left Grace to her own devices. And her devices preferred to stand and face me.

I warned and bribed her. Standing was not safe. I bought 3 red licorice swirls in the bulk section at 8:30 am to occupy her. It was not enough. I was not focused. Damn. I forgot to grab broccoli slaw in the produce section. I make a sharp about face with the cart. And out went my first born.

People gasped. Gave me the evil eye.

I picked her up, and soothed her. I gave her more candy. She stopped crying and I (loudly) told her that's why I had asked her to stay on her butt.

Tonight Mama knows best once again.

There were ear shattering shrieks from above.

Matt rushed to find out what happened. 'I was playing with the umbrella and pinched my fingers Daddy!'
She came to me shortly after for soothing.

Grace, do you remember when you fell out of the cart this mooring? (nodding) I wasn’t trying to be mean. I just wanted you to be safe. So then do you remember when I told you umbrellas weren't toys? That is because they aren't toys and things like this can happen. Do you understand? I am just trying to protect you Love......

And..........

I told you so.
(I just couldn't resist.)

Pulse Points

I stood there, eyes fixed and willing myself not to let them mist.

She let go of my hand within 5 minutes of stepping into the room, welcomed into the classroom and enticed by the scent of strawberries.

The educational philosophy centers on stimulation and independence. Teaching kids through engagement and creativity.

They handed her a knife.

Grace cooks with me often. I let her stand next to me by the stove and stir bubbling pots. I have never given her a knife though. I guess they knew something that I couldn't see.

I stayed as far back as I could, but watched her closely. She handled it deftly.

She found a container full of tadpoles. She knew what they were without any help. (How does she know what a tadpole looks like?) She explained to the teacher the transformation they would go though. The teacher seemed impressed and told her to feel free to explore anything she was interested in.

She played with puzzles, found fire ants digging tunnels through gel, watched as another teacher transferred the baby chickens into a shaded coop.

She washed hands when instructed to and feasted on her share of the cut strawberries, mint and a sprinkle of sugar she helped prepare.

This change will be hardest on me. Watching my child prove first hand that my baby is no longer a baby. She will thrive in this environment. Without me. Without my vertical 100 yard proximity.

Grace will soon be a Montessori girl and everything I have come to know and depend on will change. This will be good for her. Good for us.

But, ugh, how I hate change.

The Start of Summer

Some people celebrate Memorial Day as the start of summer.

We dace to a slightly different beat, patterned after arm splashes, spinning wheels and pounding feet. Our summer season starts with Matt’s first triathlon. This was Pocomoke weekend.

It was Matt’s 5th year running the race, and while he claims that the field was too slim, his endurance and ambition paid off. He placed 16th overall and 2nd in his age group, resulting in his first real metal.

While I was proud of him, my joy came from watching my girls soak up the sun and sand on the Ocean City beaches.

And our mass consumption of taffy and doughnuts of course.

Away

Tuesday night was the first night I've ever been away from Clare.

393 nights I've spent with my Clare in my arms and pressed to my chest. Give or take a few.

When Matt travles for buisness, Grace says he is going on vacation because there is a hotel stay involved. So while I packed my bag on Monday night, Grace asked why I was going on vacation. I know it is just a word, vacation. Something that helps her understand what is going on, why we are sleeping in beds that are not our own, but it felt like a knife to me.

Mama is not going on vacation.

In fact, I am trying to come up with any feasable reason not to go. If I hadn't promised to split the cost of the hotel room with a colleauge, I don't think I would have gone. 393 nights with my babies. The panic attacks about not being there for the 394th night made my stomach churn right into my throat.

Dropping the girls off at daycare Tuesday morning was gut wrenching. I didn't cry on Clare's 1st day of daycare, but I bawled that monring.

One

Things you MUST know about Clare on her 1st Birthday:

1- The girl loves the wind on her face and in her hair. Promising spring breezes to fridgid winter gusts, it is all the same to her. Her eyes sparkle with smile and her chin always lifts to greet it.

2- She likes to ride in the shopping cart like she’s backing down a driveway. You know that position. Body half twisted, arm up on the seat, head looking backwards. She wants to see where she’s going, not where she’s been.

3- Clare hugs with her whole body. I swear, sometimes think that if I let go, she would stay fastened around my neck. Bumped heads, teething, stolen toys- all can be fixed with a strong hug.

4- She loves her sister fiercely. (As Grace does her) Already they sit close, pressing foreheads together, whisper nonsense words and giggle for the fun of the nonsense. It makes my heart so happy.

Happy Birthday to my little girl- our lives are so much richer with you in them!

To the Nine's

Nine months really is a magical mark.

You hold your breath and let the moment pass when your baby has been outside of your flesh longer than she was inside.

At home, we celebrated the day with an inpromtu cake. In my head, I celebrated with lists of love.

Whenever anyone asks about Clare, I dub her the "Worlds Happiest Baby"! That IS her titile and I will fight you for it.

She laughs with her eyes, she smiles with her heart, she hugs with her whole body.

The Critique

I knew this day would come eventually. Honestly, I'm a little bit surprised it took this long. Six months. Six whole months without it.

The Critique.

Clare’s teacher is famous for it. She bore and raised 8 children you know.

The Critique.

Your child is beautiful. Perfect. Full of life and personality…… But……

I really don’t take it too personally anymore. With Grace, the Critique always tore me apart. I guess that is the mindset of a new mother though. YOU have no idea what you’re doing for the most part, so you might very well be doing it wrong.

Anyway, Clare’s first real Critique came the other day. Actually, it was two Critiques. Bam – Bam. Double punch. Kind of like pulling of a band aid. Your child is wonderful …… But ……

The first was her newfound desire to play rather than sleep at nap time.

I always wondered how the teachers decided who got what kind of chair. There are 3 bouncing chairs, 1 back and forth swing and 2 side to side swings. I always thought the swings looked so much more comfortable. Clare sat in a bouncing chair. Now I know they were reserved for the high maintenance children. Clare has been moved to a side to side swing so she can’t spend nap time bouncing herself in play instead of napping.

The second was the infamous Tummy Time.

“That girl, she does not want to work her muscles. I know she is strong, but she does not want to crawl. She should crawl. She can do it. She just does not want to. You need to put her on Tummy Time at home, THEN, she will crawl. You will see.”

OK….. I can get behind that. Because I bet you if she wanted to she could crawl. She isn’t quite cruising yet, but she can hold herself upright on footstools and coffee tables with a little help balancing. But you know what? She doesn’t seem to want to yet. AND I AM OK WITH THAT. Besides, Grace was 10 months before she crawled. I have proof.

So I sat on the floor in front of the teacher and played with Clare while she chewed toys on her belly. After about 10 minutes she got mad. Started screaming. I sat her back up. Tummy Time is over.

The teacher gave me the eye and made a comment about how Mothers do not like to see their babies cry. Which leads me to point #2 about why we have limited Tummy Time at home. We typically spend our night trying to AVOID tears, not instigate more. Trust me, there are plenty of tears when we are doing our best.

This is what Clare normally looks like at home.

See. Happy. Sitting in a chair and NOT on her Tummy.

This is what she would look like if she insisted she spend more than 30 seconds on her stomach.

See. NOT happy. On her tummy. (And for the record - that is a spray painted frowney face and tears, NOT a Groucho moustache and prison tats.)

So, in closing, while I appreciate the attention to my child and your concern over her currently lack of mobility I think we will stay with the status quo for right now.

Bad Medicine

This picture was supposed to be part of a completely different post.

One full of glory and self-indulgent satisfaction. Instead, it is part of a story about Bad Medicine.

******************

We were sick far more days in December than we were healthy. In fact, I'd be surprised if out of the 4 of us, there was more than 4-5 days without headaches, coughing, runny noses or antibiotics. Such is the life with two small children in daycare I suppose, but still. Blah. It was horrible.

All through the month, Clare's teacher, formerly Grace's teacher, kept lecturing me on the healing powers of lemongrass. Specifically the concoction of lemongrass, ginger, lemon and honey. She swore by it as a instantaneous cold remedy*, and who was I to argue. I was the one with the lingering colds.
* She did always slide in that 12-13 hours of sleep was required too. Super. I'll get right on that.

So upon the decent of our first January colds, she sent me up to the Latino Market minutes away from my work. I stocked up on enough lemongrass, ginger and some superfluous dried lavender flowers to keep in in business for weeks. When I got home on Friday night, I dutifully pulled out my 5 quart soup pot and stuffed it full of the reeds, roots and water. Matt complained that the house smelled like hippies, but I was undeterred. I bragged on Facebook. I was so pleased with my homeopathic therapies and was convinced of the healing effect they would have.

Sunday morning, Clare had dark rings around the bottom of her eyes. Weird. The cold must be wearing her down too, poor baby.

Sunday night, the dark rings had turning into little pink spots with matching accessories on her forehead. WEIRD. Huh, a good night's sleep will make it go away, right?

Monday morning, she looked like this:

HOLY SHIT!!!! She's having an allergic reaction to something. I combed my head to try and think of what she's eaten that's new. Nothing. Absolutely nothing........

But she is a breastfed baby.......

And I drank 2lbs of lemongrass extract on Friday night and Saturday, something she's never had before.......

And OH MY GOD I'M POISONING MY BABY!!!!
(OK, I know it's not poison, but still- she is clawing at her own flesh and her whole body is covered in a horrible rash.)

And the Doctor scratched her head and said she'd never heard of anyone being allergic to lemongrass before, but it definitely looks like an allergic reaction so lets give her some heavy doses of Benadryl and see if it goes away - and by the way - lets look in Grace's ears while she is here why yes, she seems to have another bad ear infection to boot so lets do another round of antibiotics.

But does Grace mind? Not one bit. Because it means she gets to play with the train table for a little bit longer along with getting dum dums pulled out of her ears and Elmo stickers.

24 hours later, Clare seems to have faded back down to her normal peaches-and-cream complexion, as opposed to the giant strawberry she was sporting, and smiling as though nothing had ever happened.

Resolute

I hate making New Year's resolutions. Have I said that before? Yeah, I have.

I make loose resolutions with plenty of wiggle room included. This helps to keep me from failing. This year, as in the past, I don't care about loosing weight. I would be nice, but whatever.

This year, I want to me more ACTIVE.

(So, though I don't necessarily care about the weight thing, this should be a nice side effect.)

So along that line of thought, we signed up for the local Road Runners club. Well, Matt signed up- but I didn't argue. AND I whole hearted agreed to participate.

On January 1st, I ran my first mile in three years. Wait, let me clarify, I power walked up a hill and then ran most of the way down it, which in my mind is better than just running the 1 mile. Plus, I didn't hurt myself like I did last time.

And you know what? It was OK.
And you know what else? I'm going to do it again. Soon.

But you know what I won't be doing anytime soon? This. So don't even ask. It's not even on the radar.

And we will be an active family. That is resolute.