Now - An Announcement

Now that Lauren is fully potty-trained -- day and night...

Now that Mia can wake up too early on a weekend morning, turn on the tv to PBS, grab a box of cereal, and let mama and daddy sleep in for at least an hour...

Now that I sleep through the night 355 days of the year...

Now that our house is filled with all manner of teeny, bitty little things like Barbie shoes, fairy wands, and Hi-Ho Cherry-O's...

Now that I'm in a good, healthy running routine...

Now...

Now...

Now...

I'm pregnant.

Let the fun begin!

Weekly Column: How to Surprise a Teeth-Conscious Mom

We take great pride in our clean teeth around here. 

Nightly, dutifully, our daughters let us brush their teeth before taking hold of the brushes themselves and scrubbing a few spots we ‘missed.’  They sit still while we floss, and then the job is done; we’re off to bed.  If we remember, we might even brush their teeth again before we head to preschool in the morning. 

Yes, they have clean little choppers.  Healthy smiles.  We’ve even been diligent about taking our oldest to the dentist. 

She had her first cleaning at age three.  The visits consist of a careful cleaning by a sweet dental hygienist, a quick chat with the dentist, and a congratulatory bag of new teeth-cleaning goodies.   Dentist visits are a fun photo-op – a simple memory.  Easy and worry-free.

Which is why I was completely stunned to hear, upon our last visit, that my daughter had a cavity.  Impossible, I thought.  But we’re so careful, I complained.  How did this happen, I cringed.

Thankfully, my hygienist has probably seen the likes of my thoughtfully blank stare before on the faces of other prideful parents.  She immediately began explaining helpful ways to avoid more cavities in the future, and we left, armed with new hope. 

She told us that while brushing and flossing IS vital to healthy teeth, there are other things to consider as well.

Passing a toothbrush quickly over the surface of each tooth isn’t enough – it has to be done carefully, and for much longer than we’d been doing.  A teeth-brushing session should last at least two minutes.  It doesn’t sound like a long time, but when put to the timer, two minutes takes some serious effort. 

The placement of the toothbrush is also important: it should be more directly aimed at the gum line rather than the broad tooth itself.  Much plaque can be found lingering where tooth meets gum; brushing just the tooth will lead to plaque being left behind for hours or days at a time.  And skipping the morning brushing out of forgetfulness or laziness is a no-no.  Brushing at least twice a day, every day, and flossing once, is mandatory for healthy teeth and gums.

What we eat has as much impact on the health of our teeth as our cleaning habits.  I’d always known that candy and soda weren’t healthy, but the reasons we tried to avoid them had nothing to do with dental health – we simply didn’t want our kids eating so much sugar.  When they did have candy, we never thought to clean their teeth afterward, preventing layers of sugar from lying dormant for hours. 

But more surprising was the reality that occasional candy probably wasn’t our worst offender.  That spot could very easily be blamed on crackers, granola bars, cereals, and other simple carbohydrates.  Quick snacks like these break down into lingering sugars in our mouths, even if they seem harmless.  Our hygienist suggested popcorn or fruit for healthier alternatives.  And if we do have crackers or candy, to brush soon after eating. 

Luckily, we haven’t gotten into the habit of nursing cups of juice throughout the day, but that was another common pitfall for kids, as well as acidic energy drinks and diet sodas. 

The best part was that my five-year-old took all of this information to heart because it was explained to her directly.  She heard all of the right advice, and not just from her parents; the nice lady with the colorful scrubs – she of infinite influence and importance – told her how to take care of her teeth. 

And she means to do just that.

[Online version here.]

Quickies

Mia: Dad, have you ever had perfume squirted in your eyes before?  (I have no idea how this thought entered her head.)
Daddy: Yeah, I have.  Didn't feel very good.  But it wasn't perfume, it was cologne. 
Mia:  What's that?
Daddy:  Girls wear perfume; guys wear cologne.  They're really the same thing, though.
Mia: I think your provolone smells pretty, Dad.

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Hear no evil....(when will a drive throught the car wash become less than terrifying?) 

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See no evil...(oh the drama of a five-year-old and her affronted imagination.)



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Speak no evil....(simply because her mouth is too full of frosting to protest.)



Happy weekend, my friends!!

Bigger Picture Moment: The Possibility for Sweetness

I've had a post brewing in my head for a day and a half.  Something about time passing and blessings taken for granted and never being able to recapture a moment.  And the moment I had in mind was simple: both girls, clamoring around me in the kitchen, desperate to be my helpers.  Desperate to do whatever magical thing I'd decided to do in the kitchen, even if all that means is to watch me peel potatoes. 

They wanted to be close; active; helping.  And I couldn't ever imagine a time that they'd rather not be close; active; helping.  But I knew it would come in the years ahead of us.  If appreciating my sweet girls over a pile of potato peels was what it took to savor our moment, I was happy to say I'd done it. 

So this post, it wasn't writing itself.  It was a bare outline.  The possibility for sweetness.  The essence of an inspiration.  But I didn't have a moment to write it: breakfast -- ballet lessons -- lunch -- naptime.

Naptime.  I'd write it at naptime. 

Only, at that hour my biggest girl was clinging to me.  I'd tucked a frazzled toddler into bed already, and Mia just needed some closeness.  She's been needing it all week for some reason.  (Will those reasons ever present themselves clearly?)  Really, I had no choice but to crawl into bed beside her.  She wouldn't be sleeping, I knew that already, but a snuggle became important in the middle of the day.  I curled myself around her while she experimented with the best of positions.  She rolled and slumped and clung and stretched.  Finally, she rested with her head buried in my neck, her arms tucked into my chest.  She made little clicks and swishes with her mouth, because the silence was just too boring to be acceptable. 

Outside, the sky was grayish dark.  An endless morning of rain wasn't budging, and fat drops blew against the window on lazy gusts of sometimes-wind.  Platter-plunker-splink.  Miles away from our cozy bed, the bass of a thundery echo tumbled through the sky. 

I drifted off with my nose buried in Mia's coconut-scented hair.  I started a dream, even, in that quarter-hour of snuggling.  Then, Mia was bored with my smothering embrace.  She wanted to play quietly; she'd had quite enough of a rest.

So I didn't write that post about simply experienced moments and capturing time which is ripe with the possibility of sweetness after all.

I lived it, instead.  It smelled like rain and coconuts and attachment.

We're seeing the Bigger Picture through simple moments -- moments that force us to stop and take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful.  Please join Hyacynth at Undercover Mother for more moments, and to share your own!

Of Ears and Issues

In October, we had pumpkins, and like any good girl-raising family, we decorated them with Mrs. Potato Head pieces.  Poked holes in them and plugged them with plastic ears, lips, eyes, crowns, earrings....these pumpkins were fancy.  Of course, we saved the plastic parts to use again next year.  Some of them are still tumbling around unhindered in the back of our vehicle, because the black hole under our back seats needs plastic ears in order to thrive, apparently.  (Otherwise, I surely would have put them away by now...) 

Mia found a pegged-ear as I buckled her into her seat this week, and -- because of some necessary compulsion -- placed the peg directly into her own ear, thereby creating a humorous third ear as well as a frantically lecturing mother. 

"Mia, we NEVER put things into our ears, okay?  Not into our ears OR our noses."  (Because something in me needs to cover all tempting cranial orifices with the same, swift lecture.)  My eyebrows were furrowed, my lips were firm, and I wasn't letting this go.  The notion of things being shoved into ears freaks me out. 

Once, when Mia was small, she poked a tiny turquoise bead up her nostril.  She screamed and sobbed while digging for it, poking it further with each swipe, until I helped her blow her nose -- and the impacted bead -- into a kleenex.  And it was fine.  But...what if that had been her ear?  You can't blow your ear into a kleenex.  And if that something were pokey, like, say, a potato head peg,  there's the additional freak-out factor of a ruptured ear-drum.  Shudder.

"But why not, mom?"  Mia took the toy away from her ear with obedient disappointment.  Her cute joke hadn't gone as planned. 

I explained about ear drums and how delicate they are and how much it would hurt to poke one...and I tried to do so with mere technical terms instead of emotional worry.  She wasn't freaked out in the least.  My auricular anxiety seems not to have been transmitted into her genetic code. 

As I climbed into the driver's seat, happy to have averted an unlikely crisis, Mia piped up with one more question:  "But why can't we put things into our noses?  Do we have a nose-drum, too?"

So I smiled.  And laughed.  And relaxed. 

For a moment.  Until:

"What would happen if we poked a needle into our ear-drums, mom?"

I almost drove off the road. 

In Defense of Princesses

When we watch a princess movie, not a detail -- not a tiny bit, not a passing whim -- is left unquestioned.  We go over what makes people sad and why they behave in ways we don't understand.  We unpack motivations and fears. 

Oh, we talk about the dresses and jewels and castles, too.  Our interest is piqued, as always, by the magical lives of these adventurous girls.  (And I admit -- I'm included in that 'our'.  I've always loved fairy tales, whether Disney-altered or otherwise.)  Mia talks about the kind of princess she wants to be when she grows up: an artist princess, or, lately, a baker princess.  But the job title of 'Princess' is seemingly non-negotiable, here. 

And there is no question that her princessly future will include a prince.  Recently, she pretended for most of an entire, homebound snow day, that there was a young, blonde, kind, funny, slow-eating prince in our house.  He was going to take naps here -- he would sleep on the couch, and I should take care not to be worried when I heard his massive, rumbling snores.  Later, at night, she trusted that he would sneak into her room and play with her, because he is a new genre of prince that I've never encountered in my sheltered life: a Nocturnal Prince.  But during the day, I'd be hearing snores.  I might laugh, but I mustn't hurt his feelings.

Yes, we are a princessy household.  As sure as I am that these pretendings and imaginings are healthy and fun for us, I can't help but notice all the ways young girls might be waylaid by the princess-mentality.  The beautiful, entitled, womanly, rebellious, happy-ending mentality.  My only argument against those things are to assert that our family doesn't live in a world that encourages diva behavior, and our princess fixations are playful and sweet.  Our daughters don't wear flimsy, grown-up clothing or behave provocatively, and if they wander in those directions, we'll handle it. 

I agree that it might be worrisome if the only pretend games we played were princess-centered, but I know otherwise: we are pirates and skunks and lions and ladybugs.  We imagine we are islanders or mountaineers; we sail the oceans and explore in caves.  We run the full gamut of imaginary lives in any given day, and I feel that my children are gaining well-rounded ideas of what life is or could be. 

As for the happy-ending part, I'm torn.  I think a good dose of hope and positivity is helpful in navigating life, and I harbor no illusions that my girls will grow to the age of 18 without understanding that princess stories are fantasy.  I like the innocence of a baker-princess.  The creativity of an artist-princess.  And I like that my girls can dream themselves into unreachable positions before realizing the truth of hard work and dedication.  'Thinking on the bright side' is not something to be ashamed of, in my opinion.  Even if that bright side is unrealistic, there are good aspects of our princess dreams that are worth aspiring to: kindness and adventurousness, helpfulness and creativity, curiosity and perseverance.

The other thing is, sometimes your dreams do come true. 

In Beauty and The Beast, one of Mia's newest favorites, we don't know the name of the prince.  We know he is a vain and selfish prince in the beginning, a temperamental beast in the middle, and a handsome, tattered man in the end.  We've discussed his lack of a name and wondered why he's only known as The Beast, and now Mia's come up with a solution: we must name him. 

She cocked her head to one side and scratched her ear. "Mama, I think the beast DOES have a name.  His name is Justin."  And off she skipped, dancing to a self-made tune and imagining herself as Belle with a no-longer nameless prince.

I don't think it's merely a lack of other boys' names on her mind that made her choose her daddy's name for the prince.  I don't think it's an accident that she sees her father as handsome and valiant, brave and strong, kind and generous.  And I don't think it's an impossible dream for Mia to imagine herself dancing off into the sunset with such a man. 

It's an attainable princess-hope.  It's a dream come true -- in reality, though. 

It's a happy ending (and beginning) in the real world.

Weekly Column: Cultivating Creativity

All day long, our children pretend.  They are masters of the imaginary, commanders of make-believe. 

Somehow, though, when it comes to sitting down and having them physically create something, we often stumble over the same predictable roadblocks: lack of faith in execution – they want ME to do it for them; lack of grandiose options – they want something new and exciting; lack of motivation – what’s the point?

For a child, the act of creating something can be one of the easiest ways to learn and grow, with almost no outside input or persuasion.  They can put their imaginations down on paper (or clay, or cloth) and have it to keep.  They begin to feel valuable and capable: traits that will carry them through countless obstacles as they mature.  In short, creativity isn’t just something that will help dig them out of boredom in dull times.  Creativity is a precious life-skill and one that deserves to be cultivated.

And that’s where we come in – cultivation.  While we, as parents, can’t do the work of creating for our children, we can set the stage for an atmosphere that will be rich in the encouragement of creativity.  All it takes is a little forethought and – yes – creativity of our own. 

Start by keeping an ample supply of artistic materials on hand.  This doesn’t mean you have to shop for carts full of the most spectacular art supplies available.  Try searching your cabinets and closets.  Old greeting cards, beads, yarn, fabric, paint, tissue paper, cotton balls, toothpicks, magazines…gather interesting things and keep them in a mostly organized area for creating.  The more textures and colors the better, as these will help jump-start the flow of ideas in our little ones’ minds. 

Allow the kids access to those supplies frequently.   If possible, leave them out in easily accessible areas so a bored child can walk by, spot a glue-stick, scissors, and a magazine, and get down to the business of creating without any hinderances.  Keep crayons and paper out on the coffee table.  Stash pipe-cleaners and cotton balls in a box on the kitchen counter.  Do whatever it takes to keep creative materials visible.

Don’t be afraid to make a mess.  If you’ve been holding back on paint or play-doh because the possibilities for catastrophe seem overwhelming, calm down!  For painting, throw an old sheet over the table, tie long hair back, put on Dad’s old shirts, and let the fun begin.  As for play-doh or clay, stick to simple tools, especially for little ones.  Super-involved toys for pressing and cutting can be frustrating and limiting; stick to plastic knives, rolling pins, cookie cutters, and other simple tools.  Supervision is important, but it doesn’t have to stifle.  Your just being nearby is usually all it takes to stop a disaster from happening.

Display their work.  Our children put lots of time and effort into their creations, and it must really boost their confidence to see that work appreciated as art.  Tape a ribbon to the back of a painting, mount it behind a cheap photo-frame mat, and hang it on their bedroom wall for decoration.  Fill a wall with a collage of personal creations.  Encourage them to take pride in their work, and assure them that YOU take pride in it as well.  Draw attention to it, and beg for more. 

There are a thousand ways to become a household that values creativity.  A hundred possibilities for some paper and glue.  A few dozen opportunities to create in any given day. 

But all it takes is one encouraged child with one idea to create something beautiful. 

[Online version here.]

How do YOU set the scene for creativity?  Does your household come by creativity naturally, or do you need constant reminders and opportunities?

Bigger Picture Moment: Swinging as Adventure

Mia stayed inside, nursing a dramatically smashed finger.  It was SO smashed and sore that there could be no question of her venturing outdoors to play; what if it got hurt more?!  What if dirt got into the cut?!

But Lauren was desperate to go out, and I agreed.  Our grass was finally visible again after the snow melted away, the wind was roaring through the forest trees, and the sun was shining.  It was warm.  Beautiful.  We ran across the yard, aiming for our inevitable destination: the swings. 

This girl loves to swing.  It's her first hope upon exiting the house, and her tantruming wail as we come back inside.  And I love that she loves swinging, but...I worry that she isn't getting the full outdoor experience by limiting herself to the swings.  I worry that her creativity will fall behind.  I worry that I'll be stuck pushing her forever, wondering when she'll run off to explore. 

Still, I pushed.  I couldn't deny her this favorite activity after weeks of being snow-stuck inside.  She flew silently for the most part, gazing at the sky.  After my arms began to tire, I sat myself down on the swing next to her.  Together, we rocked back and forth in rhythm, her smiling and laughing, me relaxing. 

"Mama!  I want to swing with YOU!" she yelled.

Out of her baby swing (which still hasn't been taken down, even though she's a far cry from a baby...), I plopped her on my lap.  I looped my arms around the chains, crossed my hands over her chest and belly.  So slowly, we started.  She was nervous -- she felt too free, too uncontained.  I was a little careful as well -- it would be terribly easy for her to tilt one way or the other and roll from my lap to the ground.

But as we swung higher, we both relaxed.  Our hands wandered to the chains and held on there, instead of to each other.  The wind pushed and pulled us, the blue sky framed our feet, and we flew.  The higher we went, the further back we leaned until we seemed to be falling over backwards, tumbling under clouds.  She squealed and begged for more, detailing how she loved the blue sky and the windy clouds.  How she loved mama for holding her 'upside-down' and how she was having so much fun. 

Just Lauren and Mama. 

Just swinging.

And it occurred to me that swinging is an exploration.  It's not a limitation of glorious outdoor possibilities.  It's an embracing of those things.

It just takes a toddler to force me to see it: adventure and wonder are all in the eyes of the beholder. 

We're finding the Bigger Picture through our simple moments -- moments that force us to take notice of the ways our worlds are important, meaningful, and beautiful.  Please join us at Melissa's place for more moments, and to share your own!

Fancy That

You can lead a toddler...

To a fancy dinner....

But you can't make her eat.

Hope your Valentine's Day was as happy as ours!  (And maybe even -- if you were very lucky -- free of meltdowns!)

I Didn't Mean to Cry on Valentine's Day

First, it was Smashing Pumpkins. 

They were blaring 1979 in my ears as I drove across town on my menial errands and the music rattled around in my memory.  Nostalgia swelled up inside me, pulling me in strange directions; I thought of my grandma, which is completely odd: never in my life would I have associated her with Smashing Pumpkins.  Not for any reason.  Yet, there she was, hugging me in her warm soft way, wafting her powdery, fabric-softened scent across my cheeks. 

Then, it was the Chinese restaurant.

Not the Chinese restaurant, just a random building on the side of a busy thoroughfare as I passed.  Not the Chinese restaurant my grandma took me to for a special date when I was an awkward pre-teen.  That one was all the way across town and we had both been excited to try it.  It was brand new, sparklingly decorated and hidden away in the corner of a strip-mall.  I discovered a delicious plate of nuclear-yellow rice noodles at that restaurant.  Grandma and I read along the outside edge of the red-and-white paper place mats all about the Chinese Zodiac characters and what they meant for our futures.  I'm sure there was endless happiness involved. 

Next, it was an old lady.

She sang quietly to herself as she perused the canned fruit in the grocery store.  She sang without minding who heard -- maybe without even noticing the song's escape from her mouth.  And I wanted to rush over to her and tell her about my grandma, who sang along with every task.  Laundry, dishes, cooking, gardening, vacuuming, and probably grocery shopping. Songs were in her house and in her heart, and they were beautiful.  So happy and cheerful, even in the gloomiest of circumstances. 

Last, it was 4th Street. 

Long after 1979 had faded away into the recesses of the radio station's signal, I had a task to accomplish on 4th Street.  My hair was tickling my cheeks; windows down on a day so sunny that the snow can't help but meltingly surrender.  At grandma's block, it was all too much.  Valentine's day, the day of love, and all these overwhelming memories sat themselves upon my chest and began heaving.  Rather, I began heaving. 

I don't cry for my grandma these days.  I miss her, but it's a happy missing: a remember-the-way-she missing.  A wish-I-could-tell-her missing.  But today, with the song and the restaurant and the old lady and the road and the sunny day, it all overpowered me.  I cried and cried, just me and my carful of groceries.  Just me and the sunshine and the dripping piles of too-bright snow.

And then, because it felt right, I stopped at the tortilla shop and bought two-dozen fluffy flour tortillas.  Because my grandma knew how to appreciate an authentic tortilla, and if she'd been at home today -- perched on her porch with hot coffee in a pearly-peach coffee cup and saucer -- I'd have taken her some tortillas, too, and we'd have hugged like it was going out of style. 

She probably would have sang to me as I walked across the porch and into her expectant arms: If I knew you were comin' I'd'a baked a cake -- How d'you do? How d'you do? How d'you do?!

Weekly Column: The Bedtime Rush

At bedtime, our house usually takes on an aura of efficiency. 

The end is near and we race towards it with glazed eyes.  We plow through the routine with diligent tunnel-vision.  It’s not hard to do – our routine has remained largely untouched over the past few years.   We know exactly what happens after the bath is finished and we know how many drops of lotion cover a toddler’s body.  We know which little one wears which favorite jammies and prefers which toothpaste.  Each child hears a few stories, each child is tucked in bed, each door is closed tight.

Then, each parent is sacked out in silence on the couch.

We may have as many as three or four golden minutes of silence before the peace is broken. 

Girl number one has an important question about Curious George’s lack of a tail, and Girl number two needs a drink of water.  Girl number one forgot to pick out her clothes for the next day, and Girl number two is worried about an ominous shadow.  Over and over, we’re called back for a clarification or request or an assurance, and the night’s efficiency is kaput. 

By the time they’re finally settled, forty-five minutes may have passed.  Bedtime will have snowballed into The Nightly Reoccurring Bedtime Fiasco. 

Weekly, my husband and I would reevaluate and try to resolve the stalling.   We switched storytelling roles, wondering if a different parent would ease the clinginess.  We tried being more stern with our rules, only allowing one ‘call-back’ per night.  We attempted to cut the interruptions off at the pass by being ultra-prepared: water was on the nightstand, clothes were laid out, bathroom breaks were reinforced before lights-out. 

And for a night or two, those things worked.  We could race through our bedtime routine, get the job done, and avoid prolonging bedtime requests. 

Still, those solutions weren’t permanent.  We became more and more frustrated as too many nights ended in arguments rather than calm hugs.  Then, after sharing our troubles with friends, a suggestion came: spend MORE time at bedtime.  Don’t rush through the process, eyes only on the end prize of a quiet evening.

The logic made sense.  If our girls were begging more attention at bedtime, maybe they needed more attention.  Maybe the headlong sprint towards lights-out was too fast and methodical to allow for any quiet, calming discussion or snuggling.  An extra bit of planned attention at the end of the day might be the perfect solution for our runaway bedtimes. 

So we tried it. 

In Girl number one’s room, daddy talked over the day’s highlights, listening to silly questions and wondering what tomorrow might bring.  He sang a favorite song, and let his big girl snuggle on his lap.  They got a drink of water together.  Tucking-in and snuggling down took about ten minutes longer than usual, but after he closed the door, she didn’t make a peep until morning. 

In Girl number two’s room, I sat with her in the rocking chair.  We picked out an outfit to wear the next day, and chose the perfect stuffed tiger to keep her safe through the night.  She did a dance to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle while I fixed her blankets.  We talked about why it’s not okay to pee the bed, and we made a second trip to the potty, just in case.  As long and slow as bedtime was, it was still quicker and happier than the usual round of call-backs and frustration. 

Plus, it still works. 

Slowing down at bedtime was just what this family needed to enjoy the end of the day, once again. 

[Online version here.]

7 Quick Snow Joys

1.  Last weekend, we took advantage of the miserably beautiful amounts of snow on the ground, and went sledding with the girls for the first time, ever.  Mia was in packed-powder heaven from the the word GO.  For the past few years, she's been a little unsure of the snow: crying over the cold, bored with the white, angry with the wetness.  But this year is her year, apparently. 

2.  Her giggles and squeals covered the hillside with sweet joy.

3.  Alternately, Lauren's cries and screams covered the hillside with sheer terror.  She was at the top of the hill and absolutely refused to come down on the sled despite her desire to be near me -- at the bottom.  We assumed she'd love the trip down to get to me as long as it was taken in Justin's arms....but we were wrong. 

She roared with as much fear and anger as I've ever heard her express.  (If you click the picture to enlarge it, you'll see her crying eyes...poor thing!)  We didn't try it again, and she later said Mama, I will just do the sled when I'm a little bit bigger.  THEN I will love it.




4.  As if trying to top Lauren for volume of descent, my mom came down soon after.  She's so funny.  I don't know how to describe her whoooops and yaaaaahhhhs without also providing a soundtrack, but here's a good example: people have been known to decline her company in scary movies because her screams are so piercing and sudden.  That's also what she sounded like as she laughed her way down the hill.  Half exhilaration, half anxiety.  My mom is the coolest.

 

5.  Also cool?  These shades, on this hubby.  And those sun flares across the photo aren't bad either, huh?  I have no idea how that happened.  Maybe his coolness is just so pervasive....

Nah.  Never mind.

6.  Oh, Mia was cute.  I was so happy that I had cool-guy up there to assist and climb and push all afternoon while I took care of the tender Lauren at the bottom of the hill and took way too many pictures.

 

7.  And now that we've squeezed every last drop of enjoyment from this winter, I'm beyond ready for spring!  Green!  The rainbow colored world!  Natural WARMTH!  I'm ready. 

Jen at Conversion Diary hosts 7 Quick Takes every Friday -- stop by to check it out!

Bigger Picture Moment: Pants Optional

It's a summer evening in 2005, and I'm standing at our kitchen sink with my forearms submersed in bubbly water.  It's like I'm playing house: we don't have kids yet (although there's a baby Mia brewing in my ever-expanding belly); I bake muffins a few mornings a week; I revel in the task of keeping our home cozy and clean.  I sing myself a song, perhaps, as I scrub the dishes that won't fit into our sparkly-new dishwasher, and I gaze out the window at the glorious world.

I am insanely happy, looking forward to a lifetime of that same insanity with my caring, gentle, gorgeous husband.  As I scrub last night's hamburger helper (newlywed alert!) from a skillet, that husband rounds the corner into the kitchen.  He comes up behind me and I brace myself for a hug or perhaps a wayward grope. 

Instead, I am surprised by my soft pajama pants being tugged down to my ankles.  Justin laughs criminally, knowing my hands are occupied with soap suds and dishes, before darting away into the other room.

I've been pantsed, and my bare backside shivers in the air conditioning.  It is moments before I can rinse and dry my hands enough to pull my pants back up and seek retribution.  But within half a second, I know that I can't wait for this baby girl to bring some feminine camaraderie to the house. 

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It is a February afternoon in 2011.  After stripping down my daughters from their snow-wetted gear, I'm in the laundry room switching things from the washer to the dryer.  I still love playing house, trying to cozy-up the joint, but it takes quite a bit more effort and forethought these days: time is always short.  In the bedroom, I hear Justin laughing with his girls -- a 30-year-old daddy with 5-year-old and 2-year-old daughters.  Girly, frilly, sometimes dramatic daughters. 

I smile at the sounds of their laughter and wonder how my life ever became so full, so blissfully insane.  I spread a damp sweater across the ironing board to dry, before leaning back over the dryer to check for more. 

Suddenly, I hear the patter of tiny, girly feet behind me, and a conspiratorial giggle from the hallway.  Before I think to wonder what joke is being perpetuated, my soft leggings (which -- of course -- are so clingy that they grab hold of my underwear) are pulled down.  My backside is bare once again. 

My sweet, darling Mia -- the one who was to save me from boy-ish pranks -- can barely breathe for laughing so hard, but she somehow manages to scream Pantsed Ya! before dashing away to hi-five her dad.

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The insanity knows no gender boundaries around here.  And it's a good thing I can embrace insanity -- pant-less or otherwise. 

We're sharing our Bigger Pictures -- our simple moments that show us the truths of our worlds -- over at Alita's place today.  Stop by to share your own and visit others! 

Priorities

Things I forgot at the grocery store yesterday:

Oatmeal

Butter

Ground Turkey

Milk

Things I did not forget at the grocery store yesterday:

Oreo Cakesters

Brownies

Cocoa Krispies

Nail Clippers

I don't know what I must have been thinking, but it was clearly something along the lines of Chocolate will make my fingernails grow....

The Case for Sauceless Spaghetti

Spaghetti night is always a good time....

 until somebody gets a noodle wrapped around her arm.

But it's also good for practicing your twirling...

and perfecting your inhaling. 

Noble endeavors for a humble (necessarily sauceless) meal.

How To Use The Restroom

You must begin by understanding that no parent in the history of parents has ever relieved themselves without their children knowing exactly how and when and with what amount of force it's happening, so your mission will not remain secret for long.  However, there are steps you can take to ensure a successful restroom visit. 

First, you had better be supremely confident that you actually need to relieve yourself, or this venture is doomed to failure.  In order to be supremely confident, it's best to wait until the last possible moment, not allowing any room for the possibility of a false-alarm. 

Once you've made the decision, chart your path.  Eyeball the shortest route from your position to the restroom, and then avoid that route at all costs.  If your little ones see you embark upon a direct path towards the restroom, you'll be overtaken and sidetracked immediately.  Instead, the best course to take is the least direct one; walk in opposite, conflicting directions as long as possible, first aiming for the kitchen, then the hall closet, then the garage door, then the laundry room, until finally you're within sight of the restroom. 

In the middle of this well-planned evasion, attempts must be made to occupy the children.  You may choose to pile a bowl of push-pins in their laps (these being highly illegal, and therefore highly desirable) or 'accidentally' leave an opened box of Goldfish crackers on the living room floor.  Whatever tactic you choose, you will have allowed yourself a few minutes of privacy. 

Once at the restroom door, check your back: is there a child peeking in your direction?  If so, abort mission until said child can be successfully distracted.  She must not, under any circumstances, discern your desire to pee.  Merely stare into the restroom as if you were looking for a lost object before walking casually onward.  If, on the other hand, there is not a child peeking in your direction, you may choose one of two options:

1 - Dart into the restroom on lithe, silent toes, leaving the door open to deter the child's notion that she is being abandoned.  If she sees that the restroom door is ajar, she may not even realize you've left the room, and you might be allowed a moment of private relief.

2 - Dart into the restroom on the balls of your super-speedy feet, gently -- silently -- latching the door behind you.  This option is only to be undertaken if your business is of the UBERprivate variety.  As soon as your child registers the change in atmospheric pressure that usually accompanies the loss of a parent's immediate touchability, she will undoubtedly race to the closed door and begin wailing without ceasing.  This is where the supreme confidence of your urgency comes in handy: if, while sitting on the pot, your delicacy is accosted by thumps and cries and kicks, you may lose all ability to relieve yourself unless you're in the most dire of needs.  Thankfully, if you've followed the earlier guidance of not attempting a restroom break under less-than-urgent circumstances, you'll be so desperate that no amount of extra-restroom tantruming will threaten to cause stage-fright. 

Once you've done your business, you may choose to take full advantage of your alone-time by remaining behind closed doors for a few more minutes.  You may wash your hands slowly and luxuriously.  You may rearrange the medicine cabinet.  You may even decide to recline in the relative sanctuary of the bathtub with a handily stashed novel for a moment of relaxation. 

However you choose to spend your restroom break, though, beware of the space between the floor and bottom of the door; if you accidentally let your eyes wander to that no-man's-land, the sight there will surely cause you to abandon your rest.  Tiny fingers, wiggling and reaching across the threshold, dimpled and reminiscent of those babyhood days, plump and innocent in their need for their mother's attention, will assail you.

Your use of the restroom will come to an abrupt end as soon as those fingers are spotted.  Your child will have employed the most tricky of weapons in the battle against Momentarily Lost Parents, and you -- most likely -- will not mind in the least; those fingers are like manna from heaven.

Good luck, my friends -- you'll need it on such a mission as this.

Weekly Column: Sharing Takes Practice...and Removal

In the middle of our living room, there is a small footstool.    It is unobtrusive, fitting nicely between the couch and the coffee table, but its presence is vital to the lay of the room.

It is a seat when a little girl needs to color at the table or when she’d like a snack.  It is a favorite resting spot and fort accessory.  It becomes a chair, ladder, or wall as needed, fulfilling every possible job qualification a footstool might encounter. 

And it is worn out.  Stained from years of spills and soles, the footstool looks very much loved. 

So loved, in fact, that it is often the center of an argument.  Daily, my daughters argue over who should be sitting there, who thought about sitting there first, who needed to look under the hinged top for a hidden treasure – the grievances go on, and my patience wears thin.  After the third or fourth irresolvable difference of opinion regarding the footstool’s rightful ownership, I’m ready to order a matching one online with priority overnight shipping.  I’m ready to declare that BOTH girls have a footstool, and there will be no more fighting over the best seat in the house.

But I know that wouldn’t work. 

As soon as I’d doubled the coveted seating, they would probably find a way to argue over whose was placed in the wrong spot on the carpet.  There would be fights over who gets the new, pretty footstool, and who’s stuck with the old, dingy relic. 

No, the way to solve the trouble of a fight over one popular item isn’t to acquire another.  It’s to teach sharing and turn-taking and appreciation and exploration of alternate options:  irritatingly fair techniques of child-rearing that create a nasty ruckus at the outset but promise wonderfully desirable results long-term. 

The trouble is, I find myself avoiding nasty ruckuses at all costs.  I mentally stamp my foot and cross my arms, flatly refusing to worsen the immediate situation even if it means things will be better later.  Passively, I dole out timeshares.  Someone declares my decision to be unfair, another attempt is forged, and round and round we go; demands and whines abound.   By now I’ve heard so much argument over one small, inconsequential footstool, that I cannot avoid the ruckus any longer.  

I jump into the fray – weapons raised and ready – and take the infuriating footstool away altogether.

 A full-blown toddler-fueled riot ensues.  One would think there is no other seating in the entire house that isn’t crawling with spiders or covered with flaming lava.  But the nasty ruckus is necessary, and I won’t back down. 

If, after a few guided attempts at sharing and turn-taking, my little ones are still not finding peaceable solutions, taking the item away will serve as a useful reminder against the same removal’s necessity next time. 

If I’ve paused long enough to turn moments of argument into moments of learning, they should know better.   If I’ve stepped down beside my irritated children and taught them words and ways to solve a problem on their own, they should know better.  If I’ve modeled the best ways to explain a grievance – calm and clear rather than screamed and frantic – they should know better.   If I’ve done those things over and over and over, and they still can’t decide on their own how to share the footstool, I’ll be removing it. 

I do hope they learn before I feel forced to remove it as far as the donation box; although it’s more trouble than it’s worth, that dingy little footstool is mine. 

See?  Generous sharing in action.

[Online version here.]

Sweet Tooth Friday!

Being stuck inside for days at a time lends itself to creativity.  Sometimes. 

Sometimes, it just leads to festering boredom.  We've had a little bit of both, lately.

This week, I've left the house twice.  Thankfully, one of those times included a trip to the grocery store to stock up before the blizzard swooshed over us, and stock up I did.  Although it would have been better if I'd had a plan -- lists of goodies to bake, quick and hot dinners, movies and popcorn -- I came away with a lot of helpful randoms.  Bananas.  Eggs.  Tomato sauce.  Donuts (duh).  Yogurt.  Cereal.  Milk.

And then I got home, stared out the snowy windows with my girls, and came down with a raging case of the munchies.  NOTHING sounded good enough, and if it did, I probably didn't have the ingredients to make it work.  Plus, Mia was just getting over being sick; I didn't want her to be tempted by lots of rich sweets.  Then again, I wanted to encourage her to eat something now that she was keeping things down...

In my fridge, there were yogurt and berries.  On my counter, there were a few old bananas.   So I mixed them up....

And we had smoothies! 

I know it's not the most spectacularly sweet of treats, but it satisfied a recovering 5-year-old and a picky mom in one, creamy, frothy, simple sip.  Here's how I made them:

1 cup vanilla yogurt
1 soft banana, broken into pieces
1 cup strawberries

Throw it all in the blender (or food processor) and turn it on to the highest of high.  If it's not mixing well, add a spoonful more of yogurt or a splash of milk.  Once everything's incorporated and foamy, pour smoothies into fancy princess glasses, and serve cold.  We've done these with frozen peaches and blueberries, too, with delicious results. 



If you're stuck inside this weekend, I hope you can find enough goodies to satisfy your sweet cravings by mixing up a smoothie!  I wonder what would happen if I stuck this in the freezer for a few hours and mixed in some chocolate chips...


This post is part of Alli 'n Son's Sweet Tooth Friday!  Head over to see what may tempt you this weekend!

Bigger Picture Moment: A Walk

Welcome to Bigger Picture Moments!  These are simple things -- thoughts, photos, memories, projects -- that have made up our days and helped us reflect on the unique ways in which our lives are unfolding.  Please feel free to link your own post below, so we can share in your simple moments: your Bigger Pictures.

:::A Walk:::

It was 8 degrees, and we went for a walk.  (Well, can you blame me?  After yesterday's post, you couldn't imagine I'd be able to keep myself away from him for long, right?)

It was impossibly bright out there in the country.  My parents' road was passable, and on the 4x4 crawl to get there, I couldn't stop staring at the glittery white stuff.  So, we walked.  We bustled the girls into the house, and scrambled back outside, just the two of us.  The snow was a blanket: swooping and sloping, draping and hanging.  Oh -- and piling.  Huge stacks beside the road, as yet un-blackened by nasty, wintry sludge. 

Besides slipping over patches of ice and tripping over my own boots, it was the best date we've been on in a while.  Two birds were dancing in a frozen, leafless oak sapling, trilling a musical twitter-eet, twitter-eet, and I could swear they were our own accompaniment. 

Our ears, covered in felt and wool: frozen.  Our noses, red and dripping: frozen.  My hot pink, thickest socks slipped down to my arches over and over, making me hang on the crook of Justin's arm and expose my ankles to the hard air so I could fix them again. 

He kept urging me home before he lost feeling in his cheeks, and then stopping me to notice something beautiful.  A 'hidey-hole'. 

The glimmering, frozen creek. 

A haggard, windblown fence.

 

The head of a legless mailbox.

A meandering set of fox tracks (maybe).

If I'd been told, as a teenager, that my idea of an amazing date would be a walk on a freezing, snow-crusted path, blocks from my parents' house...

I would have laughed.  I'm glad I know better now. 

Your turn!  What were your simple moments this week?  Your Bigger Pictures?  Share them here, and be sure to visit others to spread the love!

Mr. Freeze: The Sexiest Man Alive

One of the coolest things about being stranded at home with a grown man in a blizzard...

is that he takes very seriously a dare to wade into the deep, thick snow in order to obtain an accurate measurement of our Snowpocalyptic accumulation.  He sizes up the options.  He discards the simple idea of walking, instead opting for...

one giant, boredom-fueled leap into...

18 inches of snow in our eastern yard.  In our northern yard, there are 19 inches.  In our southern yard, there are 23 inches.  I don't know that I've ever seen so much snow from one storm...

but I DO know that I've never seen a sexier sight than this man shoveling snow.  Is there anything more attractive than this?  (It's really a rhetorical question -- because nothing is more attractive.) He's giving me the shivers.

And I'm not even playing in the snow.