All moms know there are two types of playdates: those that make your life easier and those that make you want to pull your hair out while simultaneously gouging your eyeballs and stuffing cotton in your ears. Or something like that. There are the kids who come over and say please and thank you (and mean it) when you get them a snack or drop them off. And there are the kids who whine incessantly or complain that they are bored or a playdate with that child will inevitably end up with at least one kid in tears, yelling or a broken sprinkler. Every. Single. Time.
Frankly, I'm old. And crotchety. And I just don't have the same tolerance for yelling, whining, sprinkler breaking that I used to have. So I really limit those particular playdates to when I'm feeling particularly generous or guilty or I know I have plenty of wine on hand.
Fortunately Juliette's friend Hannah is quite possibly the best playdate on the face of this earth. Not only is she incredibly polite (especially for a six year old) but she also has a huge imagination and a roll with it personality. And the two girls are just two peas in a pod. I'm stingy with playdates, but I'm telling you, I'd be thrilled to have Hannah over every single day. She's that awesome. When she's over, I know the girls will be playing with dolls, playing school, playing dress up, walking on stilts, doing cartwheels, writing stories or their favorite -- building forts.
The schools where my kids go are some of the best in the state. We are lucky with all the programs made available to us -- art, music, PE, computers, iPads, drama, coding, robotics, the list goes on and on. As with most school districts, the big push in our district recently has been with technology. I sat in on a PTA meeting at Annalise's 7/8 school yesterday where we learned about all the fabulous things the district is doing with their 1 to 1 computer programs in fifth and seventh grades and all the cool kits and robotic stuff and all the technology they have and want to purchase. It's all fabulous. But it makes me wonder -- Is it necessary? Is all the STUFF really helping our kids grow and learn? I'm honestly asking. I'm not trying to be a smart ass (at least not at this particular moment) or even be critical. I actually want to know what service it provides that other materials can't provide. Is my daughter better off because she has her own computer which she uses every day in her class? Do kids need to learn how to code in the third grade? Maybe they do. I'd love to know what the benefits are in the long run. Unfortunately our kids are the guinea pigs with all this new technology. We won't know if so much exposure is good for them for many many years. My thirteen year old's screen time per day has increased exponentially in the past few months because she now uses a computer every day in school and for her homework after school. Is this good for her growing brain? I don't know. So in the meantime, we're going to keep things pretty basic at home.
This leads me right back to Hannah, the ideal playdate partner, and fort building. Yesterday Hannah was over after school. Zachary and his friend Cameron (also a lovely playdate partner) had gone for a bike ride. Annalise was doing her homework before going to four hours of dance. And Hannah and Juliette made a fort. It covered (actually covers -- it's still there) almost our entire family room. It required no adult assistance. It required no special materials. All it required were two six year old girls, several blankets, some heavy books and two big imaginations. But think of all the skills that were used to build said fort:
engineering
math
architecture
design
planning
teamwork
leadership
compromise
patience
stick-to-it-ness
flexibility
I'm sure many other things as well. And then when it was done, the girls laid in there for another hour, reading books and playing with dolls and stuffed animals. It was the kind of playing that kids of any era or culture would have understood. Just two six year olds enjoying a simple childhood, the fruits of their labor and the kind of friendship that lasts.
Showing posts with label big girl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label big girl. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
A Big Kid Kind of Day!
Six years ago, Annalise started kindergarten. At the time, I was pregnant with Juliette. It seems so hard to believe, but today that kindergartner started sixth grade. And that unknown baby, merely a bump in my belly, is now a kindergartner.
This morning I packed three lunches (well, actually only two lunches and one snack), filled three water bottles, double checked three backpacks, braided two heads of hair (no braids for Zachary!), spread sunscreen on three noses, and sprayed three heads with lice spray. I did not load up a stroller with school supplies (all the big stuff -- packets of printer paper, Clorox wipes, Kleenex) because I don't own a stroller anymore. But our big wagon was full and we dragged that thing down the hill. We had to leave extra early so that we could have time to drop kids off in three different classrooms. Excited, and not even too tired or hot (We did go to Magic Mountain yesterday and it is August 12th!!! The humanity!), they smiled for pictures in front of their classrooms, hugged friends and said goodbye.
I knew this day would come. In some ways I looked forward to it. I even remember thinking when Annalise started how in six years I would get time to myself every day! Six years!!! That seemed like a whole lifetime! I wasn't sure I'd make it to six years! That was double Annalise's age! And yet, here it is. I did make it. I will (OK, in theory!) have time to myself every day. And I'm not really sure I want it. Yes, it will be great to be able to exercise every day. Go to coffee with a friend. Go to Target by myself. Work on the house a little bit. (That's as far as my brain can stretch right now. What am I going to do?) My house is quiet right now. Too quiet. I miss my little munchkin and her constant chatter.
My kids are getting bigger. The crib and high chair are long gone. The stroller, packed away in Grandma's attic. The rocking horse has a new home with my nephew in San Francisco. Tomorrow I will pack up the preschool shirts and tote bags and drop them off for an excited three year old who will start at St. George's on Tuesday. The transition has been slow and subtle, but there's no mistaking it now: this is a big kid house. We have braces and swim caps and soccer balls and ballet shoes and protractors. We listen to Macklemore and Maroon 5 and not to Baby Mozart or Beethoven's Wig. We watch Goonies and Back to the Future. Four fifths of us have read Harry Potter. And I am one of those veteran moms at the kindergarten yard who, six years ago, really looked like she had her shit together. Those moms who were comfortable sitting at the PTA meeting. Who knew the other moms at the gate. Who knew where to go. I remember thinking, "In six years, I'll be one of them. One of the old moms!" I'm one of them now. Only I don't feel old and I definitely don't feel like I have my shit together. I'm the same mommy who came home and cried, just like I did six years ago. Just like I did three years ago. The only difference is this time I walked up the hill alone. No stroller. No tiny hand in mine.
Tomorrow I will take a yoga class. Yoga!!! And be thrilled that I have the opportunity to do so. Tomorrow we will start up our morning dance parties again and I will be SO happy that we aren't dancing to The Wheels on the Bus! Tomorrow I will have an uninterrupted conversation with a friend! But this morning, I will take the time to miss my little ones. All three of them. And I will mourn the fact that my babies are growing up. And tomorrow I'll celebrate!
Gotta go... Time to go pick up that big girl! Can't wait to hold her hand while we walk up the hill and she tells me all about her big day!
This morning I packed three lunches (well, actually only two lunches and one snack), filled three water bottles, double checked three backpacks, braided two heads of hair (no braids for Zachary!), spread sunscreen on three noses, and sprayed three heads with lice spray. I did not load up a stroller with school supplies (all the big stuff -- packets of printer paper, Clorox wipes, Kleenex) because I don't own a stroller anymore. But our big wagon was full and we dragged that thing down the hill. We had to leave extra early so that we could have time to drop kids off in three different classrooms. Excited, and not even too tired or hot (We did go to Magic Mountain yesterday and it is August 12th!!! The humanity!), they smiled for pictures in front of their classrooms, hugged friends and said goodbye.
I knew this day would come. In some ways I looked forward to it. I even remember thinking when Annalise started how in six years I would get time to myself every day! Six years!!! That seemed like a whole lifetime! I wasn't sure I'd make it to six years! That was double Annalise's age! And yet, here it is. I did make it. I will (OK, in theory!) have time to myself every day. And I'm not really sure I want it. Yes, it will be great to be able to exercise every day. Go to coffee with a friend. Go to Target by myself. Work on the house a little bit. (That's as far as my brain can stretch right now. What am I going to do?) My house is quiet right now. Too quiet. I miss my little munchkin and her constant chatter.
My kids are getting bigger. The crib and high chair are long gone. The stroller, packed away in Grandma's attic. The rocking horse has a new home with my nephew in San Francisco. Tomorrow I will pack up the preschool shirts and tote bags and drop them off for an excited three year old who will start at St. George's on Tuesday. The transition has been slow and subtle, but there's no mistaking it now: this is a big kid house. We have braces and swim caps and soccer balls and ballet shoes and protractors. We listen to Macklemore and Maroon 5 and not to Baby Mozart or Beethoven's Wig. We watch Goonies and Back to the Future. Four fifths of us have read Harry Potter. And I am one of those veteran moms at the kindergarten yard who, six years ago, really looked like she had her shit together. Those moms who were comfortable sitting at the PTA meeting. Who knew the other moms at the gate. Who knew where to go. I remember thinking, "In six years, I'll be one of them. One of the old moms!" I'm one of them now. Only I don't feel old and I definitely don't feel like I have my shit together. I'm the same mommy who came home and cried, just like I did six years ago. Just like I did three years ago. The only difference is this time I walked up the hill alone. No stroller. No tiny hand in mine.
Tomorrow I will take a yoga class. Yoga!!! And be thrilled that I have the opportunity to do so. Tomorrow we will start up our morning dance parties again and I will be SO happy that we aren't dancing to The Wheels on the Bus! Tomorrow I will have an uninterrupted conversation with a friend! But this morning, I will take the time to miss my little ones. All three of them. And I will mourn the fact that my babies are growing up. And tomorrow I'll celebrate!
Gotta go... Time to go pick up that big girl! Can't wait to hold her hand while we walk up the hill and she tells me all about her big day!
Monday, March 24, 2014
Open Letter to My Daughter's Teacher Who Doesn't Understand Why I'm Nervous About Her Flying Across the Country with Her Class
Dear Mr. H,
Before we get started, think of yourself and the control freak that you are. Soak that in. Own it. Don't try and deny it.
OK, you got that? Now imagine that, control freak that you are, you have a child.
Imagine wanting something so much and then for some reason you can't explain, God gives that thing to you. A baby. For some reason the universe has trusted you to carry a baby. (I know this is a stretch; work with me here.) And for the next nine months your only role, the only thing that matters, is to keep that thing alive. And you do. And you're in the hospital and you're like "Yes!! I totally did that! I made that kid out of thin air and here she is in the world!"
And then they let you take her home. And you're like, "No, seriously, people, I don't know what the f*&% I'm doing here. Don't make me leave!! WHY ARE THEY LETTING US TAKE HER HOME??? DON'T THEY KNOW WE ARE MORONS???" But they do. They make you take that baby home.
And then you get that baby home and you look at her and think, "I can't even keep a plant alive. I'm not to be trusted with a goldfish. I give this kid a month at best." And yet somehow, you make it through that first month. And then another. And another. Purely on the power of milk from your own breast. (Again, work with me here. Use your imagination.) And then you're like, "Dude! I kept this thing alive ALL BY MYSELF!!" And you do a little bit of fist pumping, because this is by far the biggest thing you've ever done.
But you're not done yet. That kid keeps growing. And growing. And she starts doing things. Chewing on things (other than your breast); rolling over; babbling; crawling; walking; talking; analyzing shirt sleeves. (OK, maybe your kid wouldn't do that , but my toddler was super obsessed with spaghetti straps and cap sleeves. But she's kinda freaky like that.)
And she's so much like you. She looks like you. She laughs like you. She's sensitive like you. And you think, "Wow! She's just like me. A mini me!"
And then you realize she isn't just like you. You realize your spouse is in there, too, and maybe some distant relative or maybe something that is uniquely her. And then comes the hardest part for us control freaks... YOU HAVE TO LET HER BE HER! She's not you. She's her own unique person with her own unique qualities and hopes and talents and fears. And, as a parent, it's your job to let that all come through. To let her be the person she's meant to be.
And so you learn to let go a bit. You take her to preschool. You drop her off for playdates. You let her take trips with her grandparents. You let her walk by herself to school.
And you still teach her everything you know.
And then one day you'll realize she can do things you CAN'T do. She knows about cells and the American Revolution and things you probably knew at one time but don't anymore. And she can run a mile in seven minutes (which you're pretty sure you never could do). And she can do a pirouette. And a double pirouette. And a triple. (And you know you have to use spell check to even write the word pirouette, much less know how to do it yourself.)
And this is the joy of being a parent: knowing that you could have control-freaked that kid into being someone just like you, but letting go enough to let her become who she is meant to be. You'll still be in there: in her looks, in her snarky sense of humor; in the way she writes. But she will also be completely her own person. And this is not only ok; it's beautiful.
But, my fellow control freak, it's not easy. It takes a lot of faith in the world. Faith in her teachers. Faith in the people in your neighborhood who drive too fast. Faith that kidnappers stay the f*&% away. Faith in her. Faith in God. Faith in the universe.
And this week, it takes every ounce of faith I have to let that child get on a plane without me, and let her travel all the way across the country in a metal tube. Let her sleep in a dorm room with only one other fifth grader. Let her travel by bus over snowy roads. And travel back home to me in another metal tube. And faith that my heart won't break from missing her so much.
But I DO have faith in her. Faith in the universe, faith in God, faith in the tube, faith in the bus driver and faith in you. I know you will look after my baby and keep her safe. I know you will. But this isn't easy for me. And I think if you looked at this trip through my eyes and saw all the things which are out of my control and even out of your control, you'd understand why I'm, you know, a teensy bit anxious. Why I've sent too many emails. Asked too many questions.
That's my baby up there in that tube with you right now. My flesh and blood, who grew in my belly and nursed at my breast. Who has a great laugh and a kick-ass grand jete. Keep her safe and bring her back to me Friday a little wiser, a little funnier and full of awesome stories to tell. I can't wait to see her again.
And thank you. You'll never know how grateful I am.
With Love,
Christa
Before we get started, think of yourself and the control freak that you are. Soak that in. Own it. Don't try and deny it.
OK, you got that? Now imagine that, control freak that you are, you have a child.
Imagine wanting something so much and then for some reason you can't explain, God gives that thing to you. A baby. For some reason the universe has trusted you to carry a baby. (I know this is a stretch; work with me here.) And for the next nine months your only role, the only thing that matters, is to keep that thing alive. And you do. And you're in the hospital and you're like "Yes!! I totally did that! I made that kid out of thin air and here she is in the world!"
And then they let you take her home. And you're like, "No, seriously, people, I don't know what the f*&% I'm doing here. Don't make me leave!! WHY ARE THEY LETTING US TAKE HER HOME??? DON'T THEY KNOW WE ARE MORONS???" But they do. They make you take that baby home.
And then you get that baby home and you look at her and think, "I can't even keep a plant alive. I'm not to be trusted with a goldfish. I give this kid a month at best." And yet somehow, you make it through that first month. And then another. And another. Purely on the power of milk from your own breast. (Again, work with me here. Use your imagination.) And then you're like, "Dude! I kept this thing alive ALL BY MYSELF!!" And you do a little bit of fist pumping, because this is by far the biggest thing you've ever done.
But you're not done yet. That kid keeps growing. And growing. And she starts doing things. Chewing on things (other than your breast); rolling over; babbling; crawling; walking; talking; analyzing shirt sleeves. (OK, maybe your kid wouldn't do that , but my toddler was super obsessed with spaghetti straps and cap sleeves. But she's kinda freaky like that.)
And she's so much like you. She looks like you. She laughs like you. She's sensitive like you. And you think, "Wow! She's just like me. A mini me!"
And then you realize she isn't just like you. You realize your spouse is in there, too, and maybe some distant relative or maybe something that is uniquely her. And then comes the hardest part for us control freaks... YOU HAVE TO LET HER BE HER! She's not you. She's her own unique person with her own unique qualities and hopes and talents and fears. And, as a parent, it's your job to let that all come through. To let her be the person she's meant to be.
And so you learn to let go a bit. You take her to preschool. You drop her off for playdates. You let her take trips with her grandparents. You let her walk by herself to school.
And you still teach her everything you know.
And then one day you'll realize she can do things you CAN'T do. She knows about cells and the American Revolution and things you probably knew at one time but don't anymore. And she can run a mile in seven minutes (which you're pretty sure you never could do). And she can do a pirouette. And a double pirouette. And a triple. (And you know you have to use spell check to even write the word pirouette, much less know how to do it yourself.)
And this is the joy of being a parent: knowing that you could have control-freaked that kid into being someone just like you, but letting go enough to let her become who she is meant to be. You'll still be in there: in her looks, in her snarky sense of humor; in the way she writes. But she will also be completely her own person. And this is not only ok; it's beautiful.
But, my fellow control freak, it's not easy. It takes a lot of faith in the world. Faith in her teachers. Faith in the people in your neighborhood who drive too fast. Faith that kidnappers stay the f*&% away. Faith in her. Faith in God. Faith in the universe.
And this week, it takes every ounce of faith I have to let that child get on a plane without me, and let her travel all the way across the country in a metal tube. Let her sleep in a dorm room with only one other fifth grader. Let her travel by bus over snowy roads. And travel back home to me in another metal tube. And faith that my heart won't break from missing her so much.
But I DO have faith in her. Faith in the universe, faith in God, faith in the tube, faith in the bus driver and faith in you. I know you will look after my baby and keep her safe. I know you will. But this isn't easy for me. And I think if you looked at this trip through my eyes and saw all the things which are out of my control and even out of your control, you'd understand why I'm, you know, a teensy bit anxious. Why I've sent too many emails. Asked too many questions.
That's my baby up there in that tube with you right now. My flesh and blood, who grew in my belly and nursed at my breast. Who has a great laugh and a kick-ass grand jete. Keep her safe and bring her back to me Friday a little wiser, a little funnier and full of awesome stories to tell. I can't wait to see her again.
And thank you. You'll never know how grateful I am.
With Love,
Christa
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
I'm a Dance Mom
True confession time: I'm a dance mom. I fully admit that this is a role I have embraced and grown to love, but in no way did I ever expect that this would a part of my life. Soccer mom? Yes. Baseball mom? Yes. Minivan-driving suburban mom? OK, it wasn't on my list of things I hoped for, but I'm not too terribly surprised that I ended up there. But dance mom? Oh hell no. No way. No how. Not in a million years. But somehow I ended up here. It's been a journey. Before you judge me, let me share a little of the journey with you.
When Annalise was young she was painfully shy. Painfully. She was the kid who was constantly attached to my leg. She would spend playdates and parent ed on my lap or clinging to my side or in my arms. It would take serious coaxing to get her to play. Even when we were with kids she'd known her entire life, she would cling and worry. Until she was fine. It just often took her hours to be fine. She wanted to go to the birthday party, but she wouldn't participate. Until the end. About fifteen minutes before the party was over, she'd start to have a great time. And then she'd have a fit that it was time to leave. With a mom who stayed home full time and being the oldest child (and only child, for almost three years), she was almost always with me. She had yet to start preschool. She didn't have a lot of opportunities to spend time with other kids without me. So when a friend suggested she take a dance class, I thought it might be a good idea.
Annalise was almost three. I was due with Zachary any day. (And then I was overdue with Zachary. Every time I would walk/waddle down that ramp with Annalise, I'd hear, "Are you still here!?" I swear I was pregnant with that child for two years.) But I digress. Annalise was technically too young for the class, but they made an exception for her. (Probably not the smartest move they'd ever made.) Well, she loved the class. No clinging. No whining. No crying. Just a little girl having a whole lot of fun. There was a little problem though. She wasn't dancing. She jumped and she ran and she giggled. But there wasn't a lot of dancing coming from that kid. So we took a break for a while. We tried a different class at a different studio the following summer. Egh. Not impressed with the class. Annalise didn't really like it and neither did I.
When Annalise was a little over four, we tried again, back at the original studio. This time, something stuck. Right from the beginning, Annalise was happy there. She loved her teacher. She ran into class with glee. She didn't need me to hold onto her, hold her hand, peel her arm off my leg. And going in, she didn't even know any of the kids. For the first time in her little life, Annalise was at home. (Home away from home, that is. At home, the child was funny and silly and talked incessantly, sang and danced and told stories, made jokes. Away from home: leg clinger.) She was so happy at dance class we really couldn't believe it. And so somehow we got suckered into becoming dance parents. It happened so subtly that we really didn't see it coming. It kind of snuck up on us and took hold before we even realized it had happened.
Before Annalise's recital, I asked the studio owner what would happen when she ran off the stage in a panic as soon as her music started. She attempted to assure me that it wouldn't happen; that it almost never happens and it wasn't going to happen with Annalise. "Uh huh, " I said. "So what are you going to do when she runs off the stage in a panic?" Again, she tried to convince me it wouldn't happen. Clearly she didn't know my kid at all.
The day of the recital arrived. I curled and curled and hairsprayed my four year old daughter's long, straight-as-a-stick hair, knowing it would be completely flat by the time she went on stage. I put blush and mascara and lipstick on my four year old. (I could write a whole blog entry on putting makeup on children. It is one of the weirdest things I've ever done. I don't even wear makeup myself, so this is bizarro land for me. And I suck at it. She's lucky if the makeup is anywhere close to the right spot on her face.) I dressed Annalise in shiny black tap shoes tied with red grosgrain ribbons, tan tights, and a polyester stars and stripes dress. Backstage I helped her instructor bobby pin on seven white sailor hats. They were ready to perform thirty seven seconds worth of "The Good Ship Lollipop." I went and sat down, ready to jump onto the stage to retrieve my screaming daughter. It didn't happen. She came on, in her line of little American flag-clad girls, and did her dance. Her head was turned, watching her teacher off stage most of the routine; she didn't smile, but she never did look like she was going to make a run for it.
I went to retrieve her from backstage. A smiling, happy and proud little girl awaited me. She LOVED it! She loved it so much she wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show. We changed her out of her costume and went upstairs to the balcony to watch. She stood on the edge of the balcony, hanging on the railing, completely enthralled by the show in front of her. At the end of the show they called all the dancers back on stage for the finale. Since we didn't know this was going to happen, we'd stayed upstairs, Annalise in a sundress and not her costume. Once she saw what was happening, and that she could be back on that stage, Annalise had an absolute fit. She wanted back on that stage so badly that we had to drag her out of there crying. She was totally hooked.
And that's how it all began. From there, we continued on. Annalise took one tap/ballet class a week. She dabbled in hip hop. (She'll tell you this was not her strong suit. It wasn't.) We kept her at the small studio where she had started. They were personal and loving and greeted her by name and with a giant hug before every class. They made her feel special. And Annalise bloomed. We watched our shy little girl grow not only in skill and grace but we watched her gain confidence and poise. She learned how to handle pressure, rise to the occasion and role with the punches. She learned to deal with last minute changes, recover from mishaps. And she learned about hard work. Dancing does not come naturally to her. She has a hard time remembering choreography. Her musicality was lacking. And she gets her flexibility from my dad, which is to say she could barely touch her toes. As a four year old. She's a lucky girl; most things come really easily for her: school, soccer, softball, running, most things she tries. She's never the best at anything, but she's always one of the best, and without much effort at all. Dance has taught her to have a strong work ethic. It has been amazing for her and has helped to transform her into the confident child whom I know today.
Over the years Annalise has increased the time she spends in the studio each week. She was on the company at the small studio where she started when she was four. We went to dance competitions. (Yes, dance competitions. This is another blog post as well.) We've done quick changes backstage at recitals where she was in six different routines. And then her studio closed. We saw it coming. We weren't surprised, but she was deeply saddened all the same. So this year we made a move to a much bigger studio. MUCH bigger! She is now a small fish in a big pond. And the kid is swimming! She's thriving! And she's happy. And now her little sister is dancing, too. And loving it as well. And that kid loves the stage as much as her sister. She even has the smiles and facial expressions on stage already. Oh boy. I got another one.
So, yeah, I'm a dance mom. I put mascara on small children. I own Aqua Net. I buy booty shorts and foot thongs. And I've seen the power of dance. I've seen how being on a stage can bring out the best in someone. I know the confidence that comes from learning to do the splits on all three sides, mastering a double pirouette, winning a special judges award at a competition. I will try my best to not be a crazy dance mom, but I will continue to load my minivan up with dancers and bring them to the studio, where they will learn about team work, dedication and hard work.
When Annalise was young she was painfully shy. Painfully. She was the kid who was constantly attached to my leg. She would spend playdates and parent ed on my lap or clinging to my side or in my arms. It would take serious coaxing to get her to play. Even when we were with kids she'd known her entire life, she would cling and worry. Until she was fine. It just often took her hours to be fine. She wanted to go to the birthday party, but she wouldn't participate. Until the end. About fifteen minutes before the party was over, she'd start to have a great time. And then she'd have a fit that it was time to leave. With a mom who stayed home full time and being the oldest child (and only child, for almost three years), she was almost always with me. She had yet to start preschool. She didn't have a lot of opportunities to spend time with other kids without me. So when a friend suggested she take a dance class, I thought it might be a good idea.
Annalise was almost three. I was due with Zachary any day. (And then I was overdue with Zachary. Every time I would walk/waddle down that ramp with Annalise, I'd hear, "Are you still here!?" I swear I was pregnant with that child for two years.) But I digress. Annalise was technically too young for the class, but they made an exception for her. (Probably not the smartest move they'd ever made.) Well, she loved the class. No clinging. No whining. No crying. Just a little girl having a whole lot of fun. There was a little problem though. She wasn't dancing. She jumped and she ran and she giggled. But there wasn't a lot of dancing coming from that kid. So we took a break for a while. We tried a different class at a different studio the following summer. Egh. Not impressed with the class. Annalise didn't really like it and neither did I.
When Annalise was a little over four, we tried again, back at the original studio. This time, something stuck. Right from the beginning, Annalise was happy there. She loved her teacher. She ran into class with glee. She didn't need me to hold onto her, hold her hand, peel her arm off my leg. And going in, she didn't even know any of the kids. For the first time in her little life, Annalise was at home. (Home away from home, that is. At home, the child was funny and silly and talked incessantly, sang and danced and told stories, made jokes. Away from home: leg clinger.) She was so happy at dance class we really couldn't believe it. And so somehow we got suckered into becoming dance parents. It happened so subtly that we really didn't see it coming. It kind of snuck up on us and took hold before we even realized it had happened.
Before Annalise's recital, I asked the studio owner what would happen when she ran off the stage in a panic as soon as her music started. She attempted to assure me that it wouldn't happen; that it almost never happens and it wasn't going to happen with Annalise. "Uh huh, " I said. "So what are you going to do when she runs off the stage in a panic?" Again, she tried to convince me it wouldn't happen. Clearly she didn't know my kid at all.
The day of the recital arrived. I curled and curled and hairsprayed my four year old daughter's long, straight-as-a-stick hair, knowing it would be completely flat by the time she went on stage. I put blush and mascara and lipstick on my four year old. (I could write a whole blog entry on putting makeup on children. It is one of the weirdest things I've ever done. I don't even wear makeup myself, so this is bizarro land for me. And I suck at it. She's lucky if the makeup is anywhere close to the right spot on her face.) I dressed Annalise in shiny black tap shoes tied with red grosgrain ribbons, tan tights, and a polyester stars and stripes dress. Backstage I helped her instructor bobby pin on seven white sailor hats. They were ready to perform thirty seven seconds worth of "The Good Ship Lollipop." I went and sat down, ready to jump onto the stage to retrieve my screaming daughter. It didn't happen. She came on, in her line of little American flag-clad girls, and did her dance. Her head was turned, watching her teacher off stage most of the routine; she didn't smile, but she never did look like she was going to make a run for it.
I went to retrieve her from backstage. A smiling, happy and proud little girl awaited me. She LOVED it! She loved it so much she wanted to stay and watch the rest of the show. We changed her out of her costume and went upstairs to the balcony to watch. She stood on the edge of the balcony, hanging on the railing, completely enthralled by the show in front of her. At the end of the show they called all the dancers back on stage for the finale. Since we didn't know this was going to happen, we'd stayed upstairs, Annalise in a sundress and not her costume. Once she saw what was happening, and that she could be back on that stage, Annalise had an absolute fit. She wanted back on that stage so badly that we had to drag her out of there crying. She was totally hooked.
And that's how it all began. From there, we continued on. Annalise took one tap/ballet class a week. She dabbled in hip hop. (She'll tell you this was not her strong suit. It wasn't.) We kept her at the small studio where she had started. They were personal and loving and greeted her by name and with a giant hug before every class. They made her feel special. And Annalise bloomed. We watched our shy little girl grow not only in skill and grace but we watched her gain confidence and poise. She learned how to handle pressure, rise to the occasion and role with the punches. She learned to deal with last minute changes, recover from mishaps. And she learned about hard work. Dancing does not come naturally to her. She has a hard time remembering choreography. Her musicality was lacking. And she gets her flexibility from my dad, which is to say she could barely touch her toes. As a four year old. She's a lucky girl; most things come really easily for her: school, soccer, softball, running, most things she tries. She's never the best at anything, but she's always one of the best, and without much effort at all. Dance has taught her to have a strong work ethic. It has been amazing for her and has helped to transform her into the confident child whom I know today.
Over the years Annalise has increased the time she spends in the studio each week. She was on the company at the small studio where she started when she was four. We went to dance competitions. (Yes, dance competitions. This is another blog post as well.) We've done quick changes backstage at recitals where she was in six different routines. And then her studio closed. We saw it coming. We weren't surprised, but she was deeply saddened all the same. So this year we made a move to a much bigger studio. MUCH bigger! She is now a small fish in a big pond. And the kid is swimming! She's thriving! And she's happy. And now her little sister is dancing, too. And loving it as well. And that kid loves the stage as much as her sister. She even has the smiles and facial expressions on stage already. Oh boy. I got another one.
So, yeah, I'm a dance mom. I put mascara on small children. I own Aqua Net. I buy booty shorts and foot thongs. And I've seen the power of dance. I've seen how being on a stage can bring out the best in someone. I know the confidence that comes from learning to do the splits on all three sides, mastering a double pirouette, winning a special judges award at a competition. I will try my best to not be a crazy dance mom, but I will continue to load my minivan up with dancers and bring them to the studio, where they will learn about team work, dedication and hard work.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
A Little Trim
I know I still haven't posted anything about Juliette's Rainbow Art Party. I will. I'm still deciding which pictures to use and I need a bigger chunk of time to do that. Someday I'll have a bigger chunk of time. Maybe when Juliette leaves for college.
So we had a little excitement this week in our house. Excitement in the form of scissors. Who has a guess as to where I'm going here? Yeah, you all do. Hair. Cut. Not pretty. I'd post pictures but I do want Juliette to still speak to me when she's a teenager. And I also want to save them for bribery.
Juliette was in her room for her nap on Monday. She almost never falls asleep immediately and sometimes she doesn't fall asleep at all. On Monday she did. And when she woke up I went in to cuddle with her. I did notice that her hair was horrible looking but isn't their hair always horrible when they wake up from their naps? And then I noticed in the trashcan in her room these beautiful long wisps of blondish brown hair (along with some clearly synthetic black and blond hair). And then I looked closer at her hair. Oh. My. God. Her hair was seriously scary. The bangs are awful. She took chunks out of the back and off the sides. All over. As one of my friends said, she looked like Billy Ray Cyrus. It was seriously mullet-like. Oh boy. Of course it happened on a Monday and no one is open on Mondays. Thank God for Supercuts! She now has a super cute bob cut. As she said, "My hair is really cute, Mommy. Everyone thinks my hair is cute."
Juliette's hair is cute. But I keep telling people not to comment. I don't want to encourage her to do it again!
My brother asked why I was upset by it all. He said I let her pick out her own clothes; it's Juliette's hair, why shouldn't I just let her choose how her hair should look. It's a great question. Why don't I let her choose how she wants her hair to look? Why was I upset? Do I care that much about what her hair looks like? On an every day basis, actually, no. I don't really care what her hair looks like. But for certain things, yes, I want her hair to look nice. For her dance pictures, where she's a part of a group, yes, I'd like her hair to look nice. I can't put her hair up because it's so short on the sides. I don't know how I'll even do the hair for the dance pictures and performance. But she's only four, and when we all look back on those pictures, we will all remember and have a laugh remembering how Juliette cut her hair. It's like the kid in Juliette's class who wears pajamas every day. I am so grateful that his mother let him wear his pajamas in the class picture. (Clearly a third child. No first born would ever be caught at preschool in their pjs unless it was pajama day!) I want to remember the kid who wore his pajamas every day. And really, how awesome is that?! Clearly this is a brilliant child. I would like to stay in my pajamas all day, too. That kid is a genius.
But there's more that upsets me. When I asked Juliette why she did it, she said, "I just wanted to be a little bit sneaky." So that upsets me. She cut her Polly Pockets' hair and the next day she cut the wigs' hair in the "beauty salon" at preschool the next day. Who's to say she's not going to go into her sister's room and cut the hair of the $100 American Girl Doll's hair. That's what I'm more upset about. It's a trust thing. She is having her nap now. I don't know what I'll find when I get in there. And I don't like feeling that way about one of my children.
So we had a little excitement this week in our house. Excitement in the form of scissors. Who has a guess as to where I'm going here? Yeah, you all do. Hair. Cut. Not pretty. I'd post pictures but I do want Juliette to still speak to me when she's a teenager. And I also want to save them for bribery.
Juliette was in her room for her nap on Monday. She almost never falls asleep immediately and sometimes she doesn't fall asleep at all. On Monday she did. And when she woke up I went in to cuddle with her. I did notice that her hair was horrible looking but isn't their hair always horrible when they wake up from their naps? And then I noticed in the trashcan in her room these beautiful long wisps of blondish brown hair (along with some clearly synthetic black and blond hair). And then I looked closer at her hair. Oh. My. God. Her hair was seriously scary. The bangs are awful. She took chunks out of the back and off the sides. All over. As one of my friends said, she looked like Billy Ray Cyrus. It was seriously mullet-like. Oh boy. Of course it happened on a Monday and no one is open on Mondays. Thank God for Supercuts! She now has a super cute bob cut. As she said, "My hair is really cute, Mommy. Everyone thinks my hair is cute."
Juliette's hair is cute. But I keep telling people not to comment. I don't want to encourage her to do it again!
My brother asked why I was upset by it all. He said I let her pick out her own clothes; it's Juliette's hair, why shouldn't I just let her choose how her hair should look. It's a great question. Why don't I let her choose how she wants her hair to look? Why was I upset? Do I care that much about what her hair looks like? On an every day basis, actually, no. I don't really care what her hair looks like. But for certain things, yes, I want her hair to look nice. For her dance pictures, where she's a part of a group, yes, I'd like her hair to look nice. I can't put her hair up because it's so short on the sides. I don't know how I'll even do the hair for the dance pictures and performance. But she's only four, and when we all look back on those pictures, we will all remember and have a laugh remembering how Juliette cut her hair. It's like the kid in Juliette's class who wears pajamas every day. I am so grateful that his mother let him wear his pajamas in the class picture. (Clearly a third child. No first born would ever be caught at preschool in their pjs unless it was pajama day!) I want to remember the kid who wore his pajamas every day. And really, how awesome is that?! Clearly this is a brilliant child. I would like to stay in my pajamas all day, too. That kid is a genius.
But there's more that upsets me. When I asked Juliette why she did it, she said, "I just wanted to be a little bit sneaky." So that upsets me. She cut her Polly Pockets' hair and the next day she cut the wigs' hair in the "beauty salon" at preschool the next day. Who's to say she's not going to go into her sister's room and cut the hair of the $100 American Girl Doll's hair. That's what I'm more upset about. It's a trust thing. She is having her nap now. I don't know what I'll find when I get in there. And I don't like feeling that way about one of my children.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Becoming a Big Girl
Have you ever met a toddler that does not insist that they are "a big girl" or "a big boy"? Our favorite quote of Zachary's is, "Zachy no baby. Zachy big boy." He was almost two. The "big girl" in our house is now narrowing in on three. In so many ways, she is becoming a big girl. She can dress herself -- down to the shoes and all; she can ride a tricycle; she can even unload the dishwasher. She also could tell me the second she pooped or peed. (Do you get where I'm going with this?) And then she would immediately insist on a new diaper. And if a new diaper was not forthcoming, the whole neighborhood heard about it. It was time. I knew it. She knew it. The neighbors knew it. It was time to potty train.
Let me give you a little back story as to how I feel about potty training. Annalise was the easiest child on earth to potty train. I swear I remember it taking about a day; maybe a bit longer for the pooping. And she hardly ever had an accident. It was easy. Piece of cake. But she was the easiest toddler ever. And what does God give you when you've had an easy toddler? Zachary. Zachary was not the easiest toddler on earth. And I'm convinced he was the hardest child ever to potty train. In fact I am scarred for life. In my opinion potty training is the worst task a parent has to strike off their list. (But I have yet to have teenagers, so stay tuned for that opinion to change.)
But it was time. And I had the time. The big kids had a whole week off from school for Thanksgiving. The next break they would have is at Christmastime, and that wouldn't work if we also had to fit in a very loooooong drive to Arizona to see the in laws. And frankly I was tired of the diapers... Tired of changing them; tired of paying for them; tired of being yelled at because of them. So Thanksgiving it was. We gave Juliette all sorts of warnings that it was coming. She seemed excited, expecially since we attached potty training to a new "big girl" room. (We're still not sure what that means yet!) So Thanksgiving vacation came and we stocked up on stickers, a poster for her door reading "Juliette is using her potty!" (which was, of course, a total lie for quite a few days), M&Ms and Dollar Store prizes. Oh and potties. All sorts and varieties of potties. We were ready!
Unfortunately the pee was not so ready. We quickly learned that Juliette has a bladder like Jason's in that it can hold a whole gallon of pee. We would go hours of sitting and trying, eating M&Ms and nothing. And then an accident on the kitchen chair or on the dining room floor. After three days I was ready to throw in the towel. And then a little success on day four and then regression again. I was ready to hang myself. Finally after a week, we had a break through.
It was Saturday morning. The kids were due to go back to school on Monday and I was so frustrated and torn. I didn't know what to do. Once the kids were back in school, we would be back to carpools and soccer practice, dance class and running all over town. We would not have a bathroom at our beck and call. Juliette was particularly clingy that morning. She wanted to watch a movie. (The answer to this was yes, as the potty training kid gets to do a whole lot of whatever they want during potty training in the Evans house.) And she wanted to cuddle. You should also know that Juliette is my least cuddliest kid. This is through some cruel trick of nature. The mommy who wants to cling on to her last baby needs a baby who likes to cuddle!! It's a total bummer. But on this day she did want to cuddle. And that child laid on my chest for an entire movie! She cuddled and buried her head in my shoulder and did all those cute things that babies are supposed to do. And we talked. We talked about how she is a big girl now, but she will always be my baby. It was an honest conversation with no alterior motive. But somehow it was just what Juliette needed.
That afternoon, Juliette was potty trained. She still has accidents on occasion, but I can firmly say that she is potty trained. It's like a miracle to me!
So even my girl who is so insistent that she is a BIG girl and NOT a baby needed to be babied a bit. Potty training has to be one of the great stresses of babyhood, behind weaning and learning to sleep by oneself. My big girl just needed some reassurance that she is still my baby. I have tried to reassure her that even when she has babies of her own that she will always be my baby. I am grateful to be able to cross potty training off my list. And I am grateful, too, that now when Juliette needs to be babied a bit, she will not scream for her diaper to be changed. She will ask for a cuddle. That's the best kind of babying there is.
Let me give you a little back story as to how I feel about potty training. Annalise was the easiest child on earth to potty train. I swear I remember it taking about a day; maybe a bit longer for the pooping. And she hardly ever had an accident. It was easy. Piece of cake. But she was the easiest toddler ever. And what does God give you when you've had an easy toddler? Zachary. Zachary was not the easiest toddler on earth. And I'm convinced he was the hardest child ever to potty train. In fact I am scarred for life. In my opinion potty training is the worst task a parent has to strike off their list. (But I have yet to have teenagers, so stay tuned for that opinion to change.)
But it was time. And I had the time. The big kids had a whole week off from school for Thanksgiving. The next break they would have is at Christmastime, and that wouldn't work if we also had to fit in a very loooooong drive to Arizona to see the in laws. And frankly I was tired of the diapers... Tired of changing them; tired of paying for them; tired of being yelled at because of them. So Thanksgiving it was. We gave Juliette all sorts of warnings that it was coming. She seemed excited, expecially since we attached potty training to a new "big girl" room. (We're still not sure what that means yet!) So Thanksgiving vacation came and we stocked up on stickers, a poster for her door reading "Juliette is using her potty!" (which was, of course, a total lie for quite a few days), M&Ms and Dollar Store prizes. Oh and potties. All sorts and varieties of potties. We were ready!
Unfortunately the pee was not so ready. We quickly learned that Juliette has a bladder like Jason's in that it can hold a whole gallon of pee. We would go hours of sitting and trying, eating M&Ms and nothing. And then an accident on the kitchen chair or on the dining room floor. After three days I was ready to throw in the towel. And then a little success on day four and then regression again. I was ready to hang myself. Finally after a week, we had a break through.
It was Saturday morning. The kids were due to go back to school on Monday and I was so frustrated and torn. I didn't know what to do. Once the kids were back in school, we would be back to carpools and soccer practice, dance class and running all over town. We would not have a bathroom at our beck and call. Juliette was particularly clingy that morning. She wanted to watch a movie. (The answer to this was yes, as the potty training kid gets to do a whole lot of whatever they want during potty training in the Evans house.) And she wanted to cuddle. You should also know that Juliette is my least cuddliest kid. This is through some cruel trick of nature. The mommy who wants to cling on to her last baby needs a baby who likes to cuddle!! It's a total bummer. But on this day she did want to cuddle. And that child laid on my chest for an entire movie! She cuddled and buried her head in my shoulder and did all those cute things that babies are supposed to do. And we talked. We talked about how she is a big girl now, but she will always be my baby. It was an honest conversation with no alterior motive. But somehow it was just what Juliette needed.
That afternoon, Juliette was potty trained. She still has accidents on occasion, but I can firmly say that she is potty trained. It's like a miracle to me!
So even my girl who is so insistent that she is a BIG girl and NOT a baby needed to be babied a bit. Potty training has to be one of the great stresses of babyhood, behind weaning and learning to sleep by oneself. My big girl just needed some reassurance that she is still my baby. I have tried to reassure her that even when she has babies of her own that she will always be my baby. I am grateful to be able to cross potty training off my list. And I am grateful, too, that now when Juliette needs to be babied a bit, she will not scream for her diaper to be changed. She will ask for a cuddle. That's the best kind of babying there is.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Phooey
Juliette is learning to talk. I know. All babies do it. It really shouldn't be anything special. But it SO IS!! She has had quite a few words for some time now. But now she is in the period of time my mom calls the "language explosion," where new words are coming fast and furious out of that kid's mouth. And, I'm sorry, but it really is adorable. I love that she is able to communicate with us with confidence and we are (sometimes) able to understand her. Today she repeatedly said, "Ogurt", a new one. She was done with her yogurt, but it was like she had to repeat herself over and over so the word would cement itself in her brain. My favorite word is "My shit," which is a sit/chair hybrid. So I get a kick out of a 17 month old cussing. (Ask me some day about Annalise and moving my gramps into a nursing home. More kid cussing. Love it!) And now she is constructing "sentences" like "Mama sit a dow side." (Mama, sit down outside.) This morning she kept pointing and saying "phooey" over and over. I handed her the flower I thought she was talking about. She pushed it down, pointed again and repeated "phooey." Of course! Phone! There were two play cellphones on Annalise's desk and she wanted both. She made her calls ("Papa," "Gama," and "Dada work") and was a happy girl.
She is very proud of herself, too. Of course she is always trying to keep up with the big kids. Last week we went down to Annalise's school to play after dinner with a few other families. The kids had the whole playground to themselves and so Juliette was really able to roam about freely. She didn't look back as she crossed the entire field to join in the huddle with the other kids. When they ran off, she was right behind them. At Annalise's dance rehearsals, she was right up in front, attempting to follow the choreography. It is amazing what happens to a third child sometimes. It seems like sometimes they really embrace that baby role and seem even younger than they are. Not this girl. She wants nothing more than to keep up with "Zachy" and "Seece." And third borns are exposed to things so much earlier. I seriously doubt that many first born 15 month olds are talking about "R2" when they spot R2D2 at the toy store. Maybe some day Juliette will embrace being the baby, but for now, she is daring herself, pushing herself and willing herself to be a big kid. Phooey.
She is very proud of herself, too. Of course she is always trying to keep up with the big kids. Last week we went down to Annalise's school to play after dinner with a few other families. The kids had the whole playground to themselves and so Juliette was really able to roam about freely. She didn't look back as she crossed the entire field to join in the huddle with the other kids. When they ran off, she was right behind them. At Annalise's dance rehearsals, she was right up in front, attempting to follow the choreography. It is amazing what happens to a third child sometimes. It seems like sometimes they really embrace that baby role and seem even younger than they are. Not this girl. She wants nothing more than to keep up with "Zachy" and "Seece." And third borns are exposed to things so much earlier. I seriously doubt that many first born 15 month olds are talking about "R2" when they spot R2D2 at the toy store. Maybe some day Juliette will embrace being the baby, but for now, she is daring herself, pushing herself and willing herself to be a big kid. Phooey.
Friday, May 28, 2010
I'm Back!!
I have taken quite a break from writing in my blog. I have been unbelievably busy and have not had a spare second to myself. But this afternoon, Juliette is napping; Zachary is "resting" while watching a movie and Annalise is still at school. They are all great by the way. I'm not sure what this entry should be about, so maybe I'll just catch you all up.
I have been so busy because, well, I have three kids. But more than that, I also co-chaired the fair at Zachary's school this spring. (Much more on that later...) And since then I have been playing catch up with my life! Also, my brother and his family were here from Italy for two wonderful months. (Hopefully more on that later, too!) And other than that, I shuffle people from one place to another. Jason is still plugging away at work and then working around the yard on the weekends. We're hoping to get some fun stuff done around the house now that I have a little break! And maybe we actually spend some time together, too. Aaaahh, a girl can dream! :)
Annalise is still doing her first grade thing. She is gaining confidence every day. She is still a "floater" -- playing with different kids all the time, which I think is fabulous. She has a couple girls whom she would call her "best friends," but doesn't play with them every day. She seems very happy with her friends, her school, everything but her brother. (More on that later, too!) She finished softball, which she really liked. It is kid-pitch in this league, which was excruciating to watch. Often there were only one or two hits in the entire game. Ugh! It is just strike out after walk after strike out. So obviously they don't get to practice their fielding, either. I just don't get it. But fortunately, I don't run the league, so I don't get to make those decisions. I'll let someone else who actually knows something about softball make those decisions. She is still dancing, too. She's getting pretty good, though I really can't read her when she dances. Does she love it? She says so, but she just looks very intense. I'd like to see her let go a little.
Zachary is finishing up his second year of preschool. He is very conflicted about not going to kindergarten next year, as many of his friends are. We have had him observed by the district psychologist, who really thinks he is doing just fine, though he is a little immature. He definitely is showing a little more interest in "academics" lately. And we need to do a better job of follow through with him, and not accepting "I don't know" or "I can't" as an answer. He is still very social and loving. And I think he's a good friend, too. He is also done with his gym class. I'm a little sad about this, but he was ready to move on. And he has moved on to tee ball! Adorable!! Everyone gets a base hit, even if it takes you ten tries to hit the ball off the tee; even if you get tagged out; even if you run zig zag across the field to get to your base. The last one up always gets a homerun. The game goes on even if the opposing team is now sitting in the outfield playing duck duck goose. It's really cute and he's having a lot of fun.
Juliette is a rascal!! She is now 16 months old and is just so full of spirit! She's been walking and climbing for so long that now she really is an expert. Somehow she still manages to fall about 30 times a day. But she is one tough cookie. She cries for a second and then is back in action. She is by far the toughest one of my kids, and the least bit of a drama queen. She has tons of words now, and a few signs, too. But her favorites are baby, please, doggy, cracker, birdy and Zachy. My favorites are still shoes, cheese, purse and backback. She is always in action, often with a purse over her shoulder, ready to go. She is still a huge flirt and wins hearts wherever she goes.
Okay, you are now caught up on the major happenings in our house. Hopefully I'll have a chance to go into more detail, too. Keep sleeping, Juliette...
I have been so busy because, well, I have three kids. But more than that, I also co-chaired the fair at Zachary's school this spring. (Much more on that later...) And since then I have been playing catch up with my life! Also, my brother and his family were here from Italy for two wonderful months. (Hopefully more on that later, too!) And other than that, I shuffle people from one place to another. Jason is still plugging away at work and then working around the yard on the weekends. We're hoping to get some fun stuff done around the house now that I have a little break! And maybe we actually spend some time together, too. Aaaahh, a girl can dream! :)
Annalise is still doing her first grade thing. She is gaining confidence every day. She is still a "floater" -- playing with different kids all the time, which I think is fabulous. She has a couple girls whom she would call her "best friends," but doesn't play with them every day. She seems very happy with her friends, her school, everything but her brother. (More on that later, too!) She finished softball, which she really liked. It is kid-pitch in this league, which was excruciating to watch. Often there were only one or two hits in the entire game. Ugh! It is just strike out after walk after strike out. So obviously they don't get to practice their fielding, either. I just don't get it. But fortunately, I don't run the league, so I don't get to make those decisions. I'll let someone else who actually knows something about softball make those decisions. She is still dancing, too. She's getting pretty good, though I really can't read her when she dances. Does she love it? She says so, but she just looks very intense. I'd like to see her let go a little.
Zachary is finishing up his second year of preschool. He is very conflicted about not going to kindergarten next year, as many of his friends are. We have had him observed by the district psychologist, who really thinks he is doing just fine, though he is a little immature. He definitely is showing a little more interest in "academics" lately. And we need to do a better job of follow through with him, and not accepting "I don't know" or "I can't" as an answer. He is still very social and loving. And I think he's a good friend, too. He is also done with his gym class. I'm a little sad about this, but he was ready to move on. And he has moved on to tee ball! Adorable!! Everyone gets a base hit, even if it takes you ten tries to hit the ball off the tee; even if you get tagged out; even if you run zig zag across the field to get to your base. The last one up always gets a homerun. The game goes on even if the opposing team is now sitting in the outfield playing duck duck goose. It's really cute and he's having a lot of fun.
Juliette is a rascal!! She is now 16 months old and is just so full of spirit! She's been walking and climbing for so long that now she really is an expert. Somehow she still manages to fall about 30 times a day. But she is one tough cookie. She cries for a second and then is back in action. She is by far the toughest one of my kids, and the least bit of a drama queen. She has tons of words now, and a few signs, too. But her favorites are baby, please, doggy, cracker, birdy and Zachy. My favorites are still shoes, cheese, purse and backback. She is always in action, often with a purse over her shoulder, ready to go. She is still a huge flirt and wins hearts wherever she goes.
Okay, you are now caught up on the major happenings in our house. Hopefully I'll have a chance to go into more detail, too. Keep sleeping, Juliette...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
One Year!
Yesterday Miss Juliette Camille turned one year old! How this year has flown! I know it sounds cliche, but it really does seem like just yesterday when we were in that delivery room, watching the inauguration, anticipating her arrival. And now here we are, a year later, and she is no longer the same helpless, tiny creature we joyously welcomed into our arms.
At one, Juliette is a force! She was an early, confident mover and now she is an early, confident runner! One of her favorite things is sneaking away from us (down the hall, for example), and running and squealing as we swoop in to round her up. She doesn't really say many "real" words; just mama, dada, mimi (our word for nursing) and nana (night night). And she can also sign mimis, all done, water and more. She enthusiasticly shows off her clapping and waving skills and loves to shake her head no as she reaches for something she knows she's not supposed to have. She is an emptier of cupboards and a stealer of her siblings' toys, homework, socks, lunchboxes, etc. She loves babies and dollies. She has latched onto one of Annalise's old dolls, stripped it of its clothes and now drags it with her wherever she goes. "Dirty Dolly" cuddles with her when she sleeps and she loves to give her cuddles, hugs, kisses and pats on the back. She loves her family! She squeals with delight and dances up and down when Daddy comes home at night. She loves to wrestle with Zachary. She is constantly trying to get into Annalise's room (especially when Annalise is already in bed!) to be with her. She reaches out of my arms to have Grandma hold her. Hardly ever does anyone turn her away! She is a huge flirt and quick to make friends. She is the kind of baby who everyone in the grocery store wants to talk to and Juliette is happy to oblige with a little peek-a-boo or playing hard to get. She has a beautiful, genuine smile that lights up a room.
It's hard to imagine life without her. Did we actually have a debate about having a third child? What were we thinking? The decision seems so easy now. Life with Juliette is so much richer, filled with so much more joy. She makes us laugh and smile. She challenges us. She fills our lives with love and joy.
At one, Juliette is a force! She was an early, confident mover and now she is an early, confident runner! One of her favorite things is sneaking away from us (down the hall, for example), and running and squealing as we swoop in to round her up. She doesn't really say many "real" words; just mama, dada, mimi (our word for nursing) and nana (night night). And she can also sign mimis, all done, water and more. She enthusiasticly shows off her clapping and waving skills and loves to shake her head no as she reaches for something she knows she's not supposed to have. She is an emptier of cupboards and a stealer of her siblings' toys, homework, socks, lunchboxes, etc. She loves babies and dollies. She has latched onto one of Annalise's old dolls, stripped it of its clothes and now drags it with her wherever she goes. "Dirty Dolly" cuddles with her when she sleeps and she loves to give her cuddles, hugs, kisses and pats on the back. She loves her family! She squeals with delight and dances up and down when Daddy comes home at night. She loves to wrestle with Zachary. She is constantly trying to get into Annalise's room (especially when Annalise is already in bed!) to be with her. She reaches out of my arms to have Grandma hold her. Hardly ever does anyone turn her away! She is a huge flirt and quick to make friends. She is the kind of baby who everyone in the grocery store wants to talk to and Juliette is happy to oblige with a little peek-a-boo or playing hard to get. She has a beautiful, genuine smile that lights up a room.
It's hard to imagine life without her. Did we actually have a debate about having a third child? What were we thinking? The decision seems so easy now. Life with Juliette is so much richer, filled with so much more joy. She makes us laugh and smile. She challenges us. She fills our lives with love and joy.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Already, A Life of Crime
Today, Zachary and Juliette and I were shopping for Christmas gifts in our local bookstore. Mostly we wanted to pick out some books for my nephew, Saverio, who is about three weeks younger than Juliette. Zachary, excited to be picking out gifts for a boy, looked at just about every board book in the store. Finally, we settled on That's Not My Plane and That's Not My Monkey. He chose the monkey book first because, "Saverio LOVES monkeys!" (How Zachary knows this, I'm not sure. He hasn't seen him since he was three months old.) Regardless, apparently Juliette loves monkeys, too, because she snatched it out of my hand right away and looked at it in the front carrier the whole time we were in the store. Sure enough, we got out to the car, and as I went to put Juliette into her carseat, in between her little body and mine was the monkey book, totally hidden from view. Already, at the age of eleven months minus three days, she is a shoplifter. Sneaky little one.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Seven
Seven years ago, I went on the most harrowing ride of my life. It was scarier than the first time I drove out to Palm Springs, with only my learner's permit, the wind whipping the car around. It was scarier than the time our family escaped "the biggest storm in 20 years" in Boston, slip sliding up the hill to make it back to my aunt's house in New Jersey in time for Christmas. And it was scarier than the snow storm Jason and I drove through in the middle of the night on our way to Colorado, me hanging my head out the window to see the white line, the only way we knew we were still on the road. Seven years ago, we put one tiny baby into a Graco carseat (checked and properly installed by the CHP) and drove her home. We did not go on the freeway. We did not drive anywhere close to the speed limit. And we had somehow talked my mom into following us home. We had been unsuccessful in talking the nurses into joining us. I sat in the backseat, staring at the beautiful, terrifying, mysterious and loud creature next to me. I was scared out of my mind.
To this day, I do not understand why they let us take that little thing home from the hospital. She was so fragile and helpless. And we had NO CLUE what we were doing. Sure, we had taken every class possible. We knew how to nurse a plastic doll and perform CPR on a dummy. Sure, we had read every book on parenting (a practice I would NOT recommend). I knew that the baby's life should revolve around mine and not the other way around (yeah right) and that I should never let a baby nurse to sleep (um, had that author ever actually interacted with a baby?). But a real life baby, we had come to find out in our two short days in the hospital, was a completely different animal. This little being followed her own rules. We had no idea what those rules were and how to handle them. We knew we were completely in over our heads. I have the picture of myself, about to get into the car, to prove it. I am wearing the face of someone about to walk the plank.
For some reason they did let us take her home, and thank God they did. It took us a while, okay a long while, to figure out Miss Annalise. It took us quite a few more car rides as well, mostly in the middle of the night, with at least two, if not three, of us crying. It took us throwing out most of our parenting books. It took us listening to other parents, both seasoned and brand new. And mostly it took us listening to our hearts. Annalise was not an easy baby; far from it. She did not fit into any mold. She did not fit into our lifestyle; she did not fall asleep on her own. Of course she changed our lifestyle. Isn't that the whole point of parenthood? If I had wanted my life to stay the same, I would never have gotten pregnant to begin with. Annalise made our lives messy. She made things difficult. She made us tired. And cranky. She made my breasts swell and bleed. She spit up on everything, all day long. She cried. A LOT. She made us question every decision we ever made. But she was worth it; all of it. For soon after she arrived at our house, she cuddled with us. She would hold our fingers in her tiny, little hand. And soon after that she was smiling; then giggling; playing peek-a-boo. And the next thing we knew, she was pointing out accessories: "Hat." "Shoes." And then she was running in new shoes, falling down and scraping her knees. She was analyzing the different types of shirt sleeves: "Spaghetti straps." "Cap sleeves." (I know, the fashion thing is interesting. We think she gets it because Auntie Jenn was in the delivery room. She certainly doesn't get it from me!)
Somehow along the way, we learned to throw out the rules. We learned to listen to our hearts and listen to our child. She has grown into a smart and capable first grader. She frustrates the hell out of us sometimes (still). But mostly she amazes us. She is creative and imaginative. She has her own sense of style (obviously). She is kind and giving. She is goofy and beautiful. She sets up a play store called "Kid stuff for way less than you would believe" in our living room. And she sends e-mail to her Grandma, on vacation in Italy, because she misses her. She still wants to cuddle first thing in the morning. Her four-year-old brother is her best friend. She rocks out to Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift. She is trying to be independent. She wants us to drop her off at school instead of walking her to her classroom. But she wants to sit on my lap at "Eat lunch with your child day." She curls up in a chair and reads chapter books in her head.
I'm still trying to figure Annalise out somedays. Somedays I just don't get her at all. She still makes our lives messy (both literally and figuratively). She still cries a lot. But she hardly ever spits up anymore. And often she's actually able to tell us what's bothering her. She's our first born baby; our experiment. We've made a lot of mistakes along the way, but in the long run, so far, I don't know how, but we have really gotten it right.
To this day, I do not understand why they let us take that little thing home from the hospital. She was so fragile and helpless. And we had NO CLUE what we were doing. Sure, we had taken every class possible. We knew how to nurse a plastic doll and perform CPR on a dummy. Sure, we had read every book on parenting (a practice I would NOT recommend). I knew that the baby's life should revolve around mine and not the other way around (yeah right) and that I should never let a baby nurse to sleep (um, had that author ever actually interacted with a baby?). But a real life baby, we had come to find out in our two short days in the hospital, was a completely different animal. This little being followed her own rules. We had no idea what those rules were and how to handle them. We knew we were completely in over our heads. I have the picture of myself, about to get into the car, to prove it. I am wearing the face of someone about to walk the plank.
For some reason they did let us take her home, and thank God they did. It took us a while, okay a long while, to figure out Miss Annalise. It took us quite a few more car rides as well, mostly in the middle of the night, with at least two, if not three, of us crying. It took us throwing out most of our parenting books. It took us listening to other parents, both seasoned and brand new. And mostly it took us listening to our hearts. Annalise was not an easy baby; far from it. She did not fit into any mold. She did not fit into our lifestyle; she did not fall asleep on her own. Of course she changed our lifestyle. Isn't that the whole point of parenthood? If I had wanted my life to stay the same, I would never have gotten pregnant to begin with. Annalise made our lives messy. She made things difficult. She made us tired. And cranky. She made my breasts swell and bleed. She spit up on everything, all day long. She cried. A LOT. She made us question every decision we ever made. But she was worth it; all of it. For soon after she arrived at our house, she cuddled with us. She would hold our fingers in her tiny, little hand. And soon after that she was smiling; then giggling; playing peek-a-boo. And the next thing we knew, she was pointing out accessories: "Hat." "Shoes." And then she was running in new shoes, falling down and scraping her knees. She was analyzing the different types of shirt sleeves: "Spaghetti straps." "Cap sleeves." (I know, the fashion thing is interesting. We think she gets it because Auntie Jenn was in the delivery room. She certainly doesn't get it from me!)
Somehow along the way, we learned to throw out the rules. We learned to listen to our hearts and listen to our child. She has grown into a smart and capable first grader. She frustrates the hell out of us sometimes (still). But mostly she amazes us. She is creative and imaginative. She has her own sense of style (obviously). She is kind and giving. She is goofy and beautiful. She sets up a play store called "Kid stuff for way less than you would believe" in our living room. And she sends e-mail to her Grandma, on vacation in Italy, because she misses her. She still wants to cuddle first thing in the morning. Her four-year-old brother is her best friend. She rocks out to Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift. She is trying to be independent. She wants us to drop her off at school instead of walking her to her classroom. But she wants to sit on my lap at "Eat lunch with your child day." She curls up in a chair and reads chapter books in her head.
I'm still trying to figure Annalise out somedays. Somedays I just don't get her at all. She still makes our lives messy (both literally and figuratively). She still cries a lot. But she hardly ever spits up anymore. And often she's actually able to tell us what's bothering her. She's our first born baby; our experiment. We've made a lot of mistakes along the way, but in the long run, so far, I don't know how, but we have really gotten it right.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
First Day of First Grade
Because of the fires, the first day of school was postponed two days this year. Annalise had fun playing on the beach and in the pool, but cried both times she heard that school would not start yet. So Tuesday afternoon, when we heard the news that school would start the next day, she was elated! (My mom and I groaned.) We got home late, and had time only to throw on pajamas and brush teeth. Of course Annalise had already picked out her first day outfit, so that was easy to set out.
The next day, though she must have been tired, she bounded out of bed and was ready early to head out the door. She hardly looked back as she kissed me goodbye and sat on the floor with her new classmates. I couldn't help but linger, not believing that she was going to be gone all day. In the end she had a great day, even though only one kid from her class last year was in her new class. She and Malia stuck together and were more than fine. But for me it was one of the longest days I've had since becoming a parent. Of course it was all compounded by the fact that we stayed inside all day. Zachary's asthma was still a problem and the air quality was still awful. He watched movies and I watched the clock. Even Juliette wasn't much of a distraction, taking a three plus hour nap. As my mom said, I felt like my right leg was missing. Finally twenty minutes before she was to get out of class, I couldn't take it anymore. We drove the one minute drive to school and waited outside her classroom. I wasn't the only one either. There were already moms there waiting impatiently for their right legs to come through that door.
I was so proud of my tired big girl. She had had her first full day of school and had weathered it just fine. (At dinner time, though, she asked if we were going to have a nap!) I know that I will adjust to having her gone. Officially, I know I'm supposed to like having all that time. I'm sure someday I will. I'm sure some days I'll be thrilled to let someone else deal with her. But in the meantime, I'm going to miss her when she's gone and that's just going to have to be okay.
The next day, though she must have been tired, she bounded out of bed and was ready early to head out the door. She hardly looked back as she kissed me goodbye and sat on the floor with her new classmates. I couldn't help but linger, not believing that she was going to be gone all day. In the end she had a great day, even though only one kid from her class last year was in her new class. She and Malia stuck together and were more than fine. But for me it was one of the longest days I've had since becoming a parent. Of course it was all compounded by the fact that we stayed inside all day. Zachary's asthma was still a problem and the air quality was still awful. He watched movies and I watched the clock. Even Juliette wasn't much of a distraction, taking a three plus hour nap. As my mom said, I felt like my right leg was missing. Finally twenty minutes before she was to get out of class, I couldn't take it anymore. We drove the one minute drive to school and waited outside her classroom. I wasn't the only one either. There were already moms there waiting impatiently for their right legs to come through that door.
I was so proud of my tired big girl. She had had her first full day of school and had weathered it just fine. (At dinner time, though, she asked if we were going to have a nap!) I know that I will adjust to having her gone. Officially, I know I'm supposed to like having all that time. I'm sure someday I will. I'm sure some days I'll be thrilled to let someone else deal with her. But in the meantime, I'm going to miss her when she's gone and that's just going to have to be okay.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Anticipation
School starts on Monday. My big girl will start first grade. Annalise has been anxiously preparing. Tuesday we dropped Zachary off at MyGym camp for a morning so the girls could do some back to school shopping. We bought two new pairs of shoes. And then she tried on about 30 outfits at GapKids until she narrowed it down to her favorite two. We also picked up her school supplies from school. She carefully examined each item and labelled them with stickers reading "This belongs to Annalise E." (This, of course, to separate her from all the other Annalises in her class. You know there are so many.) This morning we dropped Zachary off again and we went out to breakfast, just the girls. We had fun "writing" our own version of "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" -- "If You Take a Baby to a Restaurant." We rolled with laughter with each different senario. Then we went home and together decorated her pencil box.
I remember so much the anticipation of school starting. Like Annalise has been doing all day, I remember running down to the mailbox twenty times on the day the letters would arrive, telling us who our teacher would be. I, too, called my friends to see if they were in the same class. Every time the phone rings she jumps up to see if it is a room 9 friend. I admit, there are friends who I hope are in her class. I am pleased with her teacher and look forward to a challenging year where she will learn and grow in a loving environment. I think her teacher's soft voice and demeanor will balance nicely with all the noise (and okay, often loud voices) she hears at home. I look forward to p.e. classes, science and art, music and lots of reading and writing.
Monday she will put on her pink (Did you really think it would be any other color for the first day?) butterfly dress and polka dot leggings. She'll tighten the velcro on those pink glittery Geox shoes. (She's graduated from Lelly Kellies apparently.) We'll brush her newly cut hair and put in a sparkly headband. We'll pack up her new pink and green lunchbox with reusable, non-toxic containers filled with healthy, tasty treats to get her through the day. And she'll throw on her old blue butterfly backpack and we'll head down the hill. She'll have her own spot in room 9 next to a boy who picks his nose and whose shoes are untied, but whose hair is pefectly coifed for the first day. She'll play for the first time on the upper playground with her friends at recess. She'll be a little scared and a little excited, but she'll make it through her first day of first grade. She'll come home a little dirty and a lot tired. And we will all look forward to day two.
I remember so much the anticipation of school starting. Like Annalise has been doing all day, I remember running down to the mailbox twenty times on the day the letters would arrive, telling us who our teacher would be. I, too, called my friends to see if they were in the same class. Every time the phone rings she jumps up to see if it is a room 9 friend. I admit, there are friends who I hope are in her class. I am pleased with her teacher and look forward to a challenging year where she will learn and grow in a loving environment. I think her teacher's soft voice and demeanor will balance nicely with all the noise (and okay, often loud voices) she hears at home. I look forward to p.e. classes, science and art, music and lots of reading and writing.
Monday she will put on her pink (Did you really think it would be any other color for the first day?) butterfly dress and polka dot leggings. She'll tighten the velcro on those pink glittery Geox shoes. (She's graduated from Lelly Kellies apparently.) We'll brush her newly cut hair and put in a sparkly headband. We'll pack up her new pink and green lunchbox with reusable, non-toxic containers filled with healthy, tasty treats to get her through the day. And she'll throw on her old blue butterfly backpack and we'll head down the hill. She'll have her own spot in room 9 next to a boy who picks his nose and whose shoes are untied, but whose hair is pefectly coifed for the first day. She'll play for the first time on the upper playground with her friends at recess. She'll be a little scared and a little excited, but she'll make it through her first day of first grade. She'll come home a little dirty and a lot tired. And we will all look forward to day two.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Cuddle Time
Yesterday I wrote that we don't have a family bed. Apparently that's not entirely true! Sometime in the middle of the night Annalise crawled into our bed, leaving me sandwiched between her and Jason. (And I mean sandwiched -- the girl is a heat-seeking missile. My side of the bed was mostly empty as we all snuggled up on Jason's side.) I didn't sleep very well because of the sandwich (and Jason's pillow is way too high) and Juliette has been having sleep issues as well. But that is a whole other post. I was about to be annoyed and grouchy until I thought that I probably don't have too many years left of snuggling with her in bed. And then I remembered that in high school my mom used to climb into bed with me every morning. "Move over," she'd say, just like I say to Zachary whenever I cuddle with him. My mom and I would lay there a few more minutes, cuddle and talk. It's one of my favorite memories of my mom at that time of my life. What a great way to connect with a grouchy teenager -- corner them when they are happy to not go anywhere. A few more minutes in bed? Sure! I'll have to remember this when Annalise is more interested in boys, friends and her cell phone than she is in me. Hopefully cuddle time has a lot more years left in it. In the meantime, I'll try my best to savor all those special moments, even if they come at the expense of some much needed sleep.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Sex Ed
So here is the issue that we are currently dealing with in the Evans household. Annalise's BFF was recently told by a friend at school how a baby is made. Of course BFF brought it up to her parents, who then got a book and filled her in on the details. (They had to -- she already had been told the nitty gritty.) Fortunately, her parents also told her that this was something to discuss only with her parents. But she told Annalise that she knew how a baby was made and that she couldn't tell her how because this was something to discuss only with her parents. So now Annalise is asking. She has asked before, and we have kind of passed on the question by giving some details but telling her it's quite complicated and we didn't think she was really quite old enough yet to understand. This satisfied her for a while, but now that BFF knows (and she's only 3 months older), that doesn't fly anymore. We have a very open household. My kids know all about their bodies. She knows about periods and eggs and all that -- just not the actual act. I'm just afraid she's a little young. She just finished kindergarten for goodness sake! But I think the conversation will have to occur soon. BFF's mom gave me a great book that's really on her level. Deep down, I know it will be fine, but my inner prude is totally coming out!
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