Lithe Mama

Letter to my Girl: Age 7

2012-01-15T15:06:00.000-08:00

*I am a month late in writing you this letter but I had a baby just a few days before your birthday so I figure I get some leeway.*

My dear Lua Grace,

You are seven years old. After seven whole years I am no closer to figuring you out, my sweet little enigma. You are by turns outgoing and shy, creative and technical-minded, gentle and fierce, sullen and joyful. You are like a puzzle that, just when you think you have it, the pieces change shape.

This year you are in first grade. You love learning. You love playing. You also love chatting about nonsense with your friends. You love being a little girl. And let me tell you, Lua Grace, you are one kick-ass little girl. You've officially given up ballet in favor of karate. You even started sparring this year. One of your favorite things to do is rock-climb with your uncle. You are so brave: no fear of heights, of falling, of getting kicked by a boy twice your size in karate. You take it all in stride. But saying a prayer at Feast? That freaks you out. I guess the fear of public speaking even extends to the elementary crowd. The amazing thing about you is that you still do it, even when it scares you. Even when you think you can't.

When I think back on you at this age I will remember you like this: you are dressed in a ruffled blue skirt, clashing blue leggings, even more clashing blue sequined shirt, white socks and black mary jane shoes. Your hair is long and parted in the middle. Your eyes are bright, your smile a little crooked. You are a bundle of uncontrollable energy. Possibly you are wrestling with Charlie. Maybe you are coloring quietly at the table. Probably you are laughing.

I hope when you grow up you will like being a big sister, Lua. I know it's not always easy. You've taken the brunt of the need for attention since Maxwell was born. You've crawled on the floor, sucking your thumb. You've begged to be rocked. You even went through a couple of weeks of baby talk that had me cringing whenever you opened your mouth. But you are such a good sister. You try really hard to love Charlie, even when he is trying his hardest to drive you crazy. And although you've definitely had a tough adjustment with baby Maxwell, you don't take it out on him. In fact, this morning you made him laugh for the first time ever. The two of you were sitting on the couch - 7 years old and 6 weeks old, respectively - giggling together.

I know you wanted a baby sister, but can I tell you a secret? I am sort of glad that Max turned out to be a boy and that you are my one and only daughter. Because you, Lua Grace, are my girl. You are the one I will call every day and you won't mind (I hope). You are the one who will remember people's birthdays. You are the one who will understand what to do and do it without being asked. You are the one who will take over when I can't. And you will do it, even if it's hard. Even if you think you can't.

Sometimes I look at you and I can't believe how lucky Daddy and I are to have you.

I am so, so proud of you.

Love always,

Mom

Maxwell is born

2011-12-10T12:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Maxwell,

There was a moment right after you were born that I could live in forever. That was the moment that the midwife told me to reach down and take my baby. You. One minute the world was filled with pain and chaos, and the next it was only your warm slippery little body in my hands.

I was eight days past your due date when I decided to have my water broken to hurry things along. No one expected our third baby to be so late. Grandma Julie had been at our house for weeks waiting to meet you and she finally had to go home before you arrived. I can’t help but wonder now if you ever would have been born, had it been entirely up to you. You were very comfortable in there.

That morning a nurse at St. Joseph’s called me to say that there had been a sudden baby boom in their maternity ward and that there wasn’t room for me. I would have to try for a different day. I was heartbroken. And mad. And hugely pregnant. And also just really crabby. I couldn’t believe that I still wasn’t going to get to meet you. When I’d finally calmed down enough to see straight, Daddy took me out to have a very spicy lunch and then we drove to the Mall of America and to walk and walk and walk - hoping in vain to induce labor.

We’d walked past every store at the largest, most crowded mall in the country and I was still not having any regular contractions. My feet were pretty tired though, and my stomach hurt from the Szechuan lunch, and I was ready for a nap. That was when my phone rang. It was Mary, the midwife. “St. Joe’s has space for you,” she said, “if you can make it here really soon.

I was floored. I’d been so sure that you were not going to make an appearance. Like, ever. And now I had a chance! Daddy and I rushed back to the car, with strangers all the while pointing at us and whispering to each other that they’d never seen a pregnant woman move that fast. Actually, I’m fairly sure it was the quickest I’d moved in the past nine months. We made it to the top floor of the parking garage, squeezed between the cars of thousands of Christmas shoppers, just as the first light snow began to fall.

In a rush of optimism, we’d packed our hospital things in the car before we left, so we were all ready to go. We dragged them into the hospital to the maternity ward, got our room, and waited for the midwife to come. When she arrived, she broke my water right away and then we all sat around waiting for the contractions to start. You caused a lot of waiting before making your appearance, sweet one.

My water was broken at about 4:30, Auntie Mara arrived at 7:00, and the real contractions began around 7:30pm. As a snow storm swirled around downtown St. Paul, I walked up and down the hallway of the maternity ward, simultaneously urging the contractions on and wishing with all my might that they would end. Yours was my third labor, and the third time I’d apparently forgotten what hellish, awful back pain I experience when giving birth. I heard myself begging for an epidural, heard the midwife say “not until you start having real contractions that will push the baby down,” heard myself say “these aren’t REAL contractions??”. We walked up and down, up and down the hallway. Me stopping every twenty feet to clutch the wall and moan, Daddy pushing down on my back so hard that it left marks on his hands, Auntie and Mary murmuring encouragements that I could almost hear over the pain.

I’m not sure exactly what time the agony ended but I do know that it involved a doctor with a very long needle that freaked out everyone in the room except for me. “Side effects include possible headache and backache” said the anesthesiologist. “I don’t care,” I said. “Also an extremely rare possibility of spinal cord injury and paralysis,” said the doctor. “Sounds awesome,” I said, “Bring it.”

Epidural in place, the next couple of hours went by in a warm cloud of comfort. By the time your Ouma arrived the snow was coming down hard outside, covering the dark streets in a soft white blanket. I lay there quietly as Mary, various nurses, Daddy, Auntie Mara, and Ouma stared at the fetal monitor. Your heart rate was eratic. Sometimes it was 160, sometimes it was 65. Everyone looked concerned. I felt helpless until the midwife suggested that we get the baby out as quickly as possible. Okay, I thought, something I can do. Truthfully, I’m not good at handling back labor but I’m an expert pusher.

I was moved to my side, which you seemed to like better because your heart rate evened out to a more stable rate. Then we took bets on when you would arrive, guessing it would be before the clock struck midnight. We were all wrong because, of course, you were in no hurry. I began to feel more and more pressure just after one o’clock in the morning. Finally the midwife told me I was ready to push.

I can’t remember exactly how many pushes it took to get you out, only that I could have done it a lot quicker if you weren’t quite so big. Mary kept making me stop at the most painful moments so that you would do less damage on the way out. It all felt very surreal to me, maybe because I didn’t actually go into labor on my own. I couldn’t believe I was really going to meet you. By 1:15am you, my precious Maxwell Bennett Missaghi, were born.

All of us exclaimed at once, “It’s a boy!”. I pulled you to me and you were chubby and purple and slimy and perfect. We waited with bated breath for you to scream, but you only let out a feeble little squawk. You’d had the cord wrapped around your neck and you’d swallowed some fluid. I wasn’t the only one who’d had a hard time of it. The nurses harassed you until you cried a little bit, and I held you to me not wanting to ever let go. Daddy and I stared and stared at you, both of us in awe of sweet and beautiful you.

Maxwell today you are six days old. So far you are probably the best baby in the history of babies. You’re calm and good natured. I’ve only heard you cry a handful of times. You love to sleep, to be cuddled, and to eat. You are so very loved by your big brother and sister, your mom and dad, your grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends. I wish I could explain to you how much you mean to me, and how much I look forward to watching you grow.

But, if you want to stay tiny, quiet and cuddly for a while longer, I’m okay with that.

I love you til forever.

Mama

Charlie Turns 5

2011-10-10T09:25:00.000-07:00

My dearest Charles,

Yesterday you turned five years old. As I write this, you are sitting at my feet building a LEGO car with the intense concentration of a heart surgeon trying to close off an open ventricle. The look on your face reminds me of your father’s when he’s working at the computer: a T-Rex could walk into the living room right now and take a swipe at your head and you would just shrug it off and keep right on lining up those little plastic blocks.

Age four was full of surprises and growth for you. Your tummy slimmed down and your legs stretched out. You no longer crawl into bed with me every morning to snuggle, unless I grab you and pull you under the covers. You are independent. You can dress yourself, brush your own teeth, and go through an entire toy manual for 8-12 year olds on your own, just following the numbers and pictures.

That being said, it was kind of a hard transition. For almost half of the year, you had nearly constant temper tantrums. Four or five times a day you would stomp your feet and scream your head off at every “no” that was sent your way. You are a very particular person and you like everything to go according to plan. It took you several very difficult months to settle into the realization that that’s not always possible, and it took me the same amount of time to figure out what I could get you to stretch on and what I had to let you do your own way. For example, I learned that hours of heartache and headaches could be solved just by fixing your socks so that the hem lines up exactly on top of your toes before you put your shoes on in the morning.

We are still working on this delicate balance between your plans for the day and my timeline for getting things done. This year Lua started full-day school so you and I are home together most of the time. Your favorite things to do during the day (besides LEGOs), are as follows: talking, dancing, talking, riding your bike, talking, singing, talking, playing the piano, talking, playing cars, and talking. Yeah, you talk. A LOT. This was a relatively new phenomenon this year as well. Your preschool teachers couldn’t believe the difference in your social skills between this year and last. You narrate everything you do, tell lots of jokes, ask lots of questions, and if you can’t think of anything to say you just sing as loudly as possible. Sometimes it is awfully hard just to get you out the door, into the car and buckled up because you pause every three steps to tell me something completely unrelated to what we’re doing. If I wasn’t hugely pregnant right now, I would be carrying you from place to place just to speed up the process.

Going through this pregnancy with you has been a delight. You are very excited about the baby coming. I didn’t really experience this with Lua when I was pregnant with you because she was so young - not even two - and didn’t really understand what was happening. You, on the other hand, love to feel the baby kick and listen to the baby’s heartbeat at my monthly appointments. I can’t get enough of hearing you explain to anyone who will listen - friends, teachers, and strangers in elevators - that you are going to be a little brother AND a big brother, and that the baby is now “in the countdown” (the term my midwife used at my last appointment when she said I’ll be coming in every two weeks from now on).

When I first got pregnant, your daddy and I worried about how you would adjust to not being the baby of the family anymore. This year has taught me to be optimistic about your ability to grow and change, and to embrace new things in life. I am so proud of who you are now, and so excited to see the big person you will become. You will forever be my baby, my sweet and gentle little man, my cuddle bug. This year I learned that you will also be a brave, interesting, fierce, intelligent, kind, and creative person. I love you.

~Mama

Cheating the Heat

2011-07-22T11:45:00.000-07:00

I'm sure you're all well aware that a crazy heat wave has engulfed practically the whole country for the last week or so. As a Minnesotan, I am contractually obligated to talk about the weather as much as possible. As a pregnant woman, I am contractually obligated to complain about the weather as much as possible. In order to fulfill these important obligations, I would like to start by stating the obvious:

Holy freaking cow it is hot outside.

In case you were wondering what a nearly-six-months-pregnant lady does when it's a hundred and four degrees outside, let me fill you in. I don't go outside. Like, at all. The minute I step from my door to my car I can feel my lungs begin to rebel and my whole body start to sweat. Don't forget, I don't do sweat. This is half of the reason I never took up running (the other half being, I hate to run). The main problem resulting from this self-imposed house arrest is that I am typically the person in my household who takes care of all matters of lawn and garden care. Currently my lawn is growing five-inch tall clovers, my basil is fried, the geraniums in my window boxes are holding on to their last shred of life, and the kiddy pool in the backyard is growing a stunning array of bright green algae.

Am I planning to do something about these unsightly flaws? Um, no. I will not mow the lawn again until the temperature drops below eighty degrees, which probably means my grass will be four feet tall by the end of August. I periodically go out at night to water the plants just because I feel sorry for them, but it's not enough to bring them back to glory. And the pool? Well if the kids want to swim they're either going to have to figure out how to clean it themselves or just jump in and pretend it's a pond. I'm sure if we leave the water there long enough it will even start to attract frogs!

By no means do I want to wish summer away, but a little relief from the scorching heat wouldn't hurt. Meanwhile, I am planning to continue enjoying my air conditioning. I've even managed to clean out two closets and the storage room downstairs while the kids play with Legos and coloring books. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get myself another glass of mint iced tea and wipe the condensation off of the living room windows.

Dear Disney, I quit.

2011-07-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

Kids movies are scary. At least my kids think they are. When we went to Disney World last year, I’m pretty sure my kids were the only ones there who had seen only a small handful of actual Disney movies. Of that handful, they’d hid their eyes or run screaming from the room for half the running time. Very shortly after trying to introduce Lua and Charlie to some of my favorite childhood movies, I wondered why I was bothering to do so.

In Cinderella, the protagonist is orphaned and then thrown into a life of indentured servitude to her step-family. In Finding Nemo, Nemo’s mother gets eaten by a shark within the first few minutes of the film, while the rest of the time is spent in a child’s worst nightmare as Nemo is kidnapped and held captive in a Dentist’s office. In Toy Story, a psychopathic neighbor child torments and mutilates beloved toys and dolls. Lady and the Tramp has a bunch of creepy cats who slink around the new baby threatening to suck the life out of it. Don’t even get me started on The Little Mermaid, The Lion King, and Sleeping Beauty, all of which are full of evil, violence, and dead parents.

Why do we do this to our children? Most kids are sensitive to the slightest unfairness. They have trouble in real life processing illness, aging grandparents, dying pets, and bullies. Why then do we expect them to react with excitement when they see lovable characters in the movies losing family members and friends to vicious predators and bad guys? If they get to the point where these things are no longer upsetting, but thrilling, is that supposed to be a good thing?

There is one Disney movie that my kids and I actually love. It’s on repeat in our house a lot, and we own a ridiculous amount of it’s associated merchandise. That movie is Cars. Cars is sweet, and fun, and exciting. There are no bad guys, no violence, not even a scary scene. Yet somehow it manages to hold my children’s attention. The main story line of the movie Cars revolves around friendship, and the end of the movie is a pretty touching scene in which the main character learns about the value of sacrifice and love. Cars is a movie that I don’t feel bad showing my kids.

This is why we were so excited in our house for the release of Cars 2. It's also why I was so disappointed when we actually went to see the new movie. Everything I loved about Cars is turned on it's head in Cars 2. Not only is there the typical Disney bad guy in this movie, but there are machine guns, bombs, and even torture. There are cars that are actually tortured to death using electric shock in Cars 2. Apparently the people at Disney were trying to appeal to the adults who had to see this movie with their kids by turning into a spy thriller. Well guess what, Disney? I've already seen that movie. It's called Every James Bond Film Ever Made. The plot is old and tired, and did not interest me in the least. If I'd wanted to see a spy thriller, I would have gone to the newest Matt Damon flick. You didn't need to remake it using my four-year-old son's favorite cartoon characters.

As a parent of a little boy, I can vouch that it is very tough keeping my son away from all of the gore and violence associated with "boy" toys and TV shows. Even though Charlie has never seen a Super Hero movie, he somehow became obsessed with them and their accouterments as if someone has been whispering stories about weapons and muscles and Batmobiles in his ear as he slept. The last thing he needed to see was Mater (the goofy tow truck friend from Cars) with a bomb attached to his engine, shooting at bad guys with machine guns that pop out of his chassis.

I'm sure it's apparent to everyone now that Cars 2 upset me. I know I'm not the only one. A lot of my friends were angry about it too. But where is the general outrage about these kids movies? Why is it that Toy Story 3 (in which the beloved cast of toys gets locked in a daycare with a bunch of demented crazy toys and an evil dictator teddy bear who ends up being burned alive in an incinerator) got such rave reviews? Probably because parents thought it was exciting.

I would like to suggest to Disney/Pixar that they start making kids movies for kids again. Until that happens, I won't be taking my children to any more of their movies, nor will I be buying any more of the gobs of movie merchandise that is being pushed on us every time we enter a store. I know that I'm just one person, and I'm sure that they'll continue making millions on Cars 2 and the other movies like it. Hopefully though, if some other parents have the same idea, Disney won't make quite as many millions as they were hoping for. Maybe next time they will take some inspiration from the original Cars movie and create something that we can be comfortable showing our kids. I don't know about everyone else, but I would like to avoid another conversation with my four-year-old about why someone is trying to murder his favorite cartoon character.

Okay, end of rant.

Surgery Story

2011-06-22T07:56:00.000-07:00

Monday we went in to Children's Hospital to get the kids adenoids removed, and put a tube in Charlie's ear. Sunday night was hard. Lua was very upset. She wracked her brain trying to think of reasons to postpone the surgery to no avail. Finally, she just cried. Riaz laid with her until she fell asleep from sheer exhaustion at 10:30 at night.

In the morning Lua was calm. Maybe it was acceptance, or possibly just resignation. Charlie, having no real idea what surgery meant, was simply mad because he wasn't allowed to eat breakfast. We packed them in the car with surprisingly little resistance and met my mom at the hospital.

The staff at Children's couldn't have been nicer. I almost wished that I could go there myself when I need a hospital visit, because I've never met a kinder, more accommodating group of nurses. They put the kids at ease and by the time we sat in the waiting room for surgery, I was definitely more nervous than either Lua or Charlie. They sat there calmly playing with toys in their purple and blue hospital pajamas, waiting for someone to call their names.

Charlie's turn was first, and I was the one to walk him into the operating room with a hair cap and a long paper gown pulled over my front. Charlie's hand gripped mine as his fuzzy yellow socks shuffled down the long hallway. They brought us into the white room filled with folks in scrubs and paper face masks. I sat down in a chair and I was so grateful when they asked Charlie to sit in my lap for the sedation. The nurse spoke to him gently as she put the mask on his face, covered in the chapstick flavor he'd selected - grape. (My memory of getting my tonsils removed included sniffing some chapstick, and I thought it was that which put me to sleep. But here they put it on the mask so that the nitrous oxide doesn't smell bad).

Once the mask was in place the nurse sang "Five Little Monkeys" while Charlie drifted off to sleep. Before I knew it, Charlie's head was heavy on my chest and his eyes were closed. It wasn't until we'd laid him on the table and I was creeping out of the room that I started tearing up. I forced myself to quell the flow before I got back into the waiting room to sit with Lua.

Once Charlie's operation was done, they brought him into a waiting room and called Lua in for her turn. The procedure for sedating her was basically the same, except they had her climb up on the table herself and I held her hand while the nurse put her mask on (bubblegum flavor this time) and talked to her about My Little Ponies. Lua wasn't scared, she wasn't traumatized. She didn't look at me with panic in her eyes when the drugs started to take effect. I breathed a sigh of relief and left her operating room with my heart feeling lighter.

The kids are recovering nicely. This is the third day after their surgeries, which we were told would be the most difficult day. It's the first time they've had fevers but they are fairly mild. I am so glad my mom could stay with us and help take care of the kids (and me!) while they are getting better. It's supposed to take a couple of weeks before they are completely over the swelling from the surgeries. I can't wait for the day that Lua wakes up and can breathe out of her nose without trouble, and Charlie can hear perfectly out of his right ear that was filled with fluid before the surgery.

Thanks so much to all who said a prayer or sent a good thought to our family this week, and especially to the kind staff at Children's Hospital who helped get Lua and Charlie - and Riaz and I - through this experience with relative ease and comfort. You are all a blessing.

Crazy Congestion

2011-06-08T06:59:00.000-07:00

Anyone who knows me well can tell you that I have a lot of neuroses. For example, I hate whistling. If you're whistling around me for any extended period of time, you might want to duck because I will have a serious urge to punch you in the face. On the same token, do not repeatedly kick the back of my chair. Just don't. I have a hatred of it that goes back to elementary school. I don’t like sweat, on me or anybody else, and I feel faint at the sight of blood. For several years as a child I refused to take an elevator. I don't go on rides that spin, or rides that drop, or really any rides at all. I like eating chicken but if it has any stringy or chewy bits, or if it looks like it was once a live animal, I won't go near it. Are you getting the idea yet? I am clearly a little nuts.

One of my oldest neuroses has to do with anesthesia. When I was about five years old I had my tonsils removed. I have a vivid memory of the nurse giving me this thing that looked and tasted a lot like orange Chapstick. She told me to lick it. I did, and suddenly everything around me started blurring and changing. I was scared, so I turned to look for my mom. When I found her, her head appeared to be growing. Soon it was three times the size of her body. I was crying for my mom but I didn't want her giant head to come near me. Apparently that stuff was supposed to knock me out right away but I was so scared it took a lot longer than it should have. The surgery went fine, but the anesthesia messed with my head. To this day, I cannot stand to hear the song they were playing at the intake desk to the hospital, an eighties song that is sometimes still played in muzak form at the mall.

Yesterday I took the kids to the doctor for what has to be the hundredth time since winter began last year. They have both had non-stop ear infections, eye infections, adenoid infections...basically their entire heads are constantly infected. I feel so bad for them but especially for Lua, who has never been able to breathe out of her nose. When she was a toddler we used to wonder at how loudly she breathed. Every time she stopped talking in her car seat I was sure she'd fallen asleep because of her loud, rhythmic breathing, only to turn around and see her wide awake and breathing like a fifty-year-old over weight man.

After a lot of allergy testing and x-rays, we eventually found that Lua has super large adenoids that are causing all of these infections as well as blocking the airway to her nose. We decided to get them removed. At around the same time, the doctor found that both of Charlie's ears had been filled with fluid for months and like his sister, his adenoids were massive. Charlie doesn't have all of the breathing problems that Lua does, so we would probably have been content to leave his adenoids alone and just let him grow out of the problem. However, we were concerned about the ear infections they were causing and the damage they could eventually do to his one functioning ear. (Charlie wears a hearing aid in his left ear). The doctor recommended removing his adenoids as well as putting tubes in his ears.

The point of this rather long explanation is that now we are sending both of our little ones in for surgery on the same day at the Children's Hospital in St. Paul. I realize that the surgeries couldn't be more routine, and I feel truly lucky that we don't have anything more serious to worry about with our children health-wise. However, I must admit that I am freaking out a little. Not about the surgeries, really, since I trust the doctor who is doing them and I know they are simple procedures. My real worry is about the anesthesia.

Last night I was laying awake wondering how I can put my kids through this. A lot of my parenting techniques have revolved around trying to keep Lua and Charlie from inheriting my crazy worries. Am I just setting them up for a life of covering their ears in the mall every time they hear that one Life House song from 2007 that was playing in the hospital when they got their adenoids removed? What if they have a bad reaction to the anesthesia? In that case, how could I ever forgive myself for doing what is essentially elective surgery? (Adenoid problems usually go away once the child reaches puberty). But then again, how could I live with myself if Lua got serious sleep apnea from her mouth breathing, or if Charlie's hearing was further damaged because my own neuroses kept me from getting these important procedures done on them?

Luckily I have a partner who is not nearly as nuts as I am. Together we've decided to go ahead with the surgeries. Lua is not happy. She says she doesn't care that she's always sick, that it doesn't bother her. It's true that her chronically stuffy nose, migraine headaches and infected ears don't really get her down, but isn't that sad? The truth is that she doesn't know life any other way. Please keep us in your prayers next week as we try to get two kids to the hospital with lots of post-surgery popsicle bribes. I for one just hope they're not playing any music in the lobby. I've got enough issues as it is.

90% Grace

2011-06-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

Upon a lot of reflection over the past week I came to the sorry conclusion that a lot of my four-year-old's tantrums were my fault. Not that I was poking him with a sharp stick or anything, although I definitely wanted to sometimes. More like I was so fed up with his crazy behavior that I would snap at him the moment he started to stamp his foot or raise his voice to a whine. My rise in temperature (read: hotheadedness) would set off Charlie's, and he would explode from there. So I guess maybe I didn't start this problem but I definitely fed the beast.

One week later and Charlie's temper tantrums are significantly reduced. A combination of extreme patience, bribery, copious amounts of compliments and firm consequences has seemed to make the difference. Also, trying not to act like a four-year-old myself. I brought out the Good Behavior Coins, which make an appearance any time the going gets really rough. Every time I see Charlie doing something good, no matter how small, he gets a Good Behavior Coin. When he gets ten coins, he gets a reward. In the past, these rewards have usually been a new toy or a book. Sometimes they have been going to fun places like the water park or the zoo. Right now, Charlie's reward is that he gets to pick out one of his own toys from storage, where I stuck them after he refused to clean up his room last week (the Tantrum of the Ages that prompted the previous post). Wait, did I just admit that I confiscated all of Charlie's toys after he refused to pick them up? It's official, I have become my father. Hi, Dad. Thanks for infiltrating my brain.

Being a good parent is really hard work. It takes a lot of perseverance and a lot of sugar. (Yes, I tossed the last few pieces of red velvet cake when they got old but I immediately set about making a gluten-free chocolate concoction. Maybe when things have really calmed down I will go on a spinach juice diet. Maybe not.) Parenting is as challenging as it is tedious, as rewarding as it is frustrating. I keep reminding myself that eventually all of these seeds of good character we are planting in our children will come to fruition. When we have a young man who is confident and self-assured, who opens doors for people, who listens without interrupting, who can pray, joke, and handle setbacks with grace. Then my husband and I will look back and know that this was worth every struggle.

As far as the present goes, as much as Charlie sets my ears to steaming he also knows the fastest way to my heart. He is is the ultimate mama's boy, so you know that I can't be mad at him for long anyway. Today I am bringing Charlie to Grandma's so that he can spend a couple of days with her. I'm already missing his pudgy little arms wrapped around my shoulders and his contagious giggles. I know the time apart will be good for us, but our time together is pretty great too. At least ninety percent of it.

10% Tantrum

2011-05-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

Someone quoted a statistic to me the other day that claimed preschoolers are obedient ninety percent of the time. That leaves them rebelling against their parents a mere ten percent of the day. Can that really be true? Can this sharp anxious headache, this high strained voice, and this tic in my left eye really be explained away by a ten percent rate of crazy?

Charlie’s temper tantrums seem inevitable, like the rising of the tide, or the fact that I slept through fitness yoga at the Y again. Every time I enter a store I have to take a deep breath. I try to steer us away from the toys but it is very hard. Those wily store managers always seem to know the exact item I do not want Charlie to see (the Lightning McQueen musical car keys! The Lego helicopter! The Spider Man roller skates!) and they proceed to place them in a position that makes them impossible to avoid.

Most of Charlie’s tantrums start this way, with a toy or a Super Hero shirt or a package of candy that I refuse to buy. A lot of them end with me carrying a four-year-old kicking and screaming out of the store without buying what I went there to get in the first place. Online shopping is looking more and more appealing. In fact, why I go anywhere these days, ever, is a complete mystery. Chalk it up to eternal optimism. That and my coping mechanisms, copious amounts of red velvet cake and Dinosaur Train.

As with everything else, it helps to have a sense of humor about four-year-olds. I learned this the other day when the whole family was in the car and we passed by the mall. Out of nowhere, Charlie started shouting “CHIPOTLE!”. The fact that he even knows how to pronounce the name of this restaurant, let alone that it is housed in the mall, probably tells you that we go there too often. “Chipotle! Chipotle! Chipotle!” He hollered as he waved his arms around and kicked his feet. Tears began streaming down his little cheeks. “Chipotlechipotlechipotlechipotlechipotle!!!” I couldn't help it, I started to chuckle. My six-year-old began giggling, and my husband pulled out his video camera to record the whole thing. I’ve made it clear that we are not putting Charlie’s Chipotle tantrum on Youtube, but that doesn’t stop us from occasionally enjoying it at home on a Friday night.

One of the problems that we are having in terms of addressing this tantrum issue is consistency of response. Clearly, we don’t laugh at the poor guy every time he loses it. Instead, we usually vacillate between comforting him, sending him to his room (when we’re home), bringing him to the car (when we’re not), and taking away privileges when he refuses to calm down. The greatest effect that I’ve seen this have is that Charlie has not ridden his bike in a week and a half because he keeps losing the privilege of taking it out of the garage. Unfortunately the major consequence of this is not improved behavior. Instead, it's that Charlie is not getting out all of the energy that he usually does on his bike and that, in turn, is making him lose it even more often.

Temper tantrums, much like this eye tic of mine, will pass eventually. I know this because my six-year-old hasn’t bitten me in several years (success!). The challenge for me is to pay more attention to the ninety percent of things Charlie is doing right. Reward those things, so say the experts, and I will have much less negative behavior do deal with. Attention and reward. Attention and reward. My plan for today is to repeat this to myself over and over until someone questions my sanity. Oh and to save some of the red velvet cake for tomorrow when I’ll really need it.

Waiting for Tomatoes

2011-05-16T07:45:00.000-07:00

Summer is approaching and although the temperature doesn't seem to want to warm up past the fifties, I can already feel it in the air. Lemonade, skinned knees, Popsicles, sprinklers, toads, freshly mowed lawns, dirty fingernails, bare feet, watermelon, chalk drawings, the smell of baking pavement and chlorine...all of these things seem to be hovering around the corner. When I was younger autumn was always my favorite season. Now that I am officially a grown up I cannot get enough of summer. If it was summer all year long, minus one day for fall, one day for winter, and one day for spring, I would be a happy camper. Maybe this means I should consider getting the heck out of the Midwest, right?

The kids are finishing up their school years. Lua will be done with Kindergarten soon. She is so tall - all long legs and big blue eyes and dark lashes. Yesterday I was watching her playing with her friends outside in the backyard. Four little ladies slouching in chairs around the fire pit, laughing and chatting as if they were old friends. As if it is even possible to have old friends when you are six. When I look at Lua, I see her as she will be when she's grown. She will be happy, she will be confident, she will be exactly who she wants to be.

Lua takes on summer as if it were waiting for her to recognize it. "Summer," she seems to be saying, "Here I am in my shorts and tank top, ready for my skin to turn cinnamon brown, ready to track dirt in the house with my bare feet. You can start now." If summer refuses to listen, Lua will pretend it heard her anyway. She will not change out of her swimsuit even if it's raining and forty-five degrees outside. Lua will conquer the weather with sheer determination.

Charlie seems to have found his share of confidence this spring as well. We got him a bike for Ayyam-i-ha in February and he has not wanted to leave it since. Charlie is completely fearless on his bike. He is four years old and already rides faster than me. His little legs pump so hard up hills and down hills, faster and faster as he rides around corners and between obstacles, that he'll frequently tip over as he takes a sharp turn. Amazingly, he doesn't care. Charlie gets right back up on his bike and speeds past Lua, past the neighbor kids, past people, dogs and cars.

The other day when Riaz was walking around the block while Charlie rode his bike, Charlie's chain came loose. On those little bikes when you peddle backwards to stop and your chain falls off, you are out of luck. You can't peddle forward but you also can't hit the breaks. Charlie was heading down a steep hill at the time, going as fast as his little legs would take him. He was about to reach an uncontrolled intersection. Riaz watched in amazement as Charlie realized what was happening. He quickly swerved his bike over to the curb, let go of the handle bars, and dove into the grass, skidding across someone's lawn and leaving a streak of grass stains on his white t-shirt. Unperturbed, Charlie waited for his dad to fix the chain, got back on the bike and kept on riding without slowing down. The older Charlie gets, the more I see his brave and competent father in him.

Watching my kids grow and change this year has been incredible. But truthfully, I'm ready for a break. I'm ready to sit in a lawn chair, sip some iced tea, and read a good book while the kids run around the yard splashing each other with the hose. I'm ready to throw on a sun hat and dip my feet in the wading pool. I'm ready to pick a warm cherry tomato off of it's stalk in the back yard and feel it's sweet burst on my tongue. I'm ready to enjoy a time when kids get to be kids and I get to be a kid again too. In other words:

Okay, Summer, let's go. We're all ready for you.

The Cold War

2011-03-14T19:44:00.001-07:00

Charlie and I have been engaging in an epic Battle of Wills for some weeks now. It is everything a good war should be: tiresome, sad, infuriating and violent (one-sided violence perpetrated by the four year old weapon of mass destruction living in my house). As the Battle has slogged on my will has weakened while his has only seemed to grow in fury. The more I ask Charlie to hurry up, the more often he falls to the ground and inches his way along the floor like a catatonic worm. The more I tell Charlie to keep his hands and feet away from his sister (arms are for hugging, not hurting!) the more he seems to genuinely enjoy pummeling her. The more I direct Charlie to use nice words, the more often I find him shouting “kill” “hate” and “dumb” as if they were the mantras of his one man liberation army. The more we go through this, the more negative I become as a parent and as a person.

In fact, the longer I spend relating our battle the more I feel like I need Morgan Freeman sitting next to me to narrate this whole blog post. How sweet would that be? A nice melodramatic soundtrack would also class this thing up a bit.

So fast forward to today. General Me gave myself a mission: I was going to have a good day. The sun was shining, the snow was melting, and I was going to enjoy my children, dammit, even if they were determined to be complete stinkers from the moment they woke up til the moment they fell asleep at night. I was going to love the hell out of them.

I called a truce. I put on a smile and kept it there all day, praising them and playing with them and ignoring their bad behavior. I listened to Charlie when he was upset, and I distracted him when he was angry. I didn’t once meet him at our frequent battle zone: the Point of Utter Frustration. And it felt good. So, so good.

Tonight when I was cuddling with him and reading his bedtime story, Charlie turned into me and laid his head on my chest. He reached his arm up and squeezed my neck, his all time favorite snuggle. “You’re so warm,” he said. “When I didn’t like you, I forgot how warm you are.”

Just like that, Charlie won the war.

My reparations will be as follows: Always make sure to praise him thirty times for every one time I discipline him. Always express myself lovingly even when I am straight up pissed off by something he did. Always listen to him until he feels heard. And most importantly, always cuddle him until we are both nice and warm.

Fantasy

2011-02-01T09:08:00.000-08:00

Happy February to all. That means only a couple more months of snow. This winter has been a cold, snowy, depressing mess. Too much darkness and bitterly, bitterly cold. I am jonesing for some sun on my face, some warmth on my shoulders.

Over the weekend we went to a concert at Orchestra Hall in downtown Minneapolis. Afterwards we walked to a diner for pie. The sun made a miraculous appearance in the middle of the afternoon, and we could feel it’s rays reaching out and stroking our cheeks like a long lost friend. Lua walked through the city streets with her coat tied around her waist and her face tilted toward the sky. “It’s like summer”, she declared, smiling, “except for the cold wind”. She skipped all the way to the diner.

This time of year in Minnesota can make you crazy. The yearning for spring is palpable. It makes you want to jump out of your goosebumped skin. Or jump into your car and drive south for a long, long time. If I could, I would drive along, following the Mississippi, until I reached the Gulf of Mexico. When I got there I would scramble out of my car and run to the water, stripping off clothes as I went. In my minds eye I can see myself diving into the gulf, piercing the cool blue water with my sun-baked arms.

The Day We Killed the Tooth Fairy

2011-01-24T07:51:00.001-08:00

One of the few imaginary things my little six-year-old pragmatist still believes in is fairies. She has been crazy excited for the tooth fairy to come for about a year now. Wiggling her teeth has become a favorite past time which she engages in any time, any where.

You can imagine how thrilled Lua was when her first tooth fell out last week. I was downstairs working on the computer, and she came bounding over to me, jumping up and down.

"My tooth fell out! My tooth fell out!" She grinned and there was a small gap in the middle of the bottom row of her smile.

"Oh wow! That is so great!," I replied. Riaz, standing behind her, had already taken pictures. He looked almost as excited as Lua did. "Run to bed now and don't forget to put the tooth under your pillow for the tooth fairy!", I told Lua.

When I'd finished working, it was almost eleven. I climbed up the stairs and headed over to Lua's bedroom to check out the tooth situation. She was sound asleep, snoring lightly, as was her brother next to her. Silently I crept over to her bed and stuck my hand under her pillow.

Nothing.

I felt again, but still came up empty handed. That's when I noticed a little piece of plastic wrap sticking out of Lua's clenched fist. Brow furrowed, I tugged at the plastic. Lua was holding it so tightly, even in sleep, that i had to pull with one hand and push with the other berfore the plastic wrap finally broke free of her grip. Inside was a tiny white tooth.

"Huh", I said aloud. Weird. I shrugged and dropped the little tooth in my pocket. Carefully placing two crisp dollar bills under Lua's pillow, I tip toed away home free, without waking a soul.

When I got back into our room, Riaz was sitting up playing a game on the computer. When Riaz is doing anything on the computer, although his ears are there and his mouth is there and his brain is there, the three don't actually communicate in any meaningful way. I should have known this by now.

"Wow," I remarked. "Lua was really holding onto that tooth hard! I wonder why she didn't put it under her pillow? It's almost like she didn't want me to get it..."

"Hm...funny," said Riaz-bot.

The next morning, I was awakened by a loud wail. My husband burst into our room from the living room, where he'd apparently been comforting Lua.

"Why did you take her tooth?", he asked. "She wants her tooth back."

"What? Since when? Why didn't you tell me that she wanted to keep her tooth last night?"

"Um...I don't know. I guess I forgot"

"You forgot." (As you can see, one of the reasons this is such a great story is that I look like the good guy!)

"Well you have to give it back to her now, she's crying about it. I told her you'd give it back," said Riaz.

"You WHAT??" Keep in mind here that a mere month previously I broke the news to Lua that there is no Santa Claus. I desperately wanted her to continue believing in something magical. Plus, I didn't want her to think that we parents just make shit up all the time. Even though, okay, maybe we do some of the time. "No, you cannot tell her that I took the tooth! You can't! Go back and tell her to write a letter to the tooth fairy and leave it under her pillow tonight. The tooth fairy will give it back to her tomorrow."

It was at this point that Lua walked into our bedroom from the doorway, where she'd been hiding the whole time.

"Mom, I heard everything you guys said. I just want my tooth back now," she sniffled.

I shot Riaz a glance that could have wilted a plant on the spot. "NO! THE TOOTH FAIRY HAS IT. Look, grab my phone! I will send her a text message! I'm sure she'll fly back here as soon as she can."

"Mom!", Lua cried, "I need that tooth back! FOR THE MEMORIES!!!" She ran out of the room sobbing.

"Libby. You're being insane," said Riaz. (Okay, this is the part where I look like the bad parent - maybe I didn't think this post through very well).

I took the tooth out of the box where I'd stored it in a neat white envelop labeled "Lua's first tooth", with the date. I threw the envelope at my husband's head.

Five minutes later, the envelope appeared under Lua's pillow, where she found it and immediately stopped crying. She took a dollar out of her piggy bank and handed it to Riaz, claiming that since she wanted to keep her tooth, FOR THE MEMORIES, it was only fair that she give back some of the money. I guess she kept the rest for psychological distress.

From that point on, we have all tried our very best to pretend none of it ever happened. Riaz and I don't mention it, and Charlie doesn't know what happened. Even Lua, when questioned by friends and family on the booty left under her pillow, will look at me and cheerfully state, "the tooth fairy left me a dollar!"

Scared

2011-01-11T20:21:00.000-08:00

Last night I had a dream that i was at the doctor’s office. The nurse who was doing my initial interview looked me up on Facebook and found that I’d listed myself as a “Stay at Home Mom”. She turned her computer around to face me, pointed at the words, and gave me a look of disappointment, as if I’d failed at life by listing this as my occupation. When I woke up I thought, how strange that my subconscious would do this to me. I have always been proud of what I do with the kids. Even faced with the inevitable blank stares when I announce my full-time mommy status to an inquiring person at a company event or a dinner party, I smile with a straight back and my head held high. I am raising the next generation. I am putting my children’s needs before my own. Although certainly not glamorous, I truly believe that I am doing the most important job in the world.

Despite all this, there has been a tiny niggling worm invading my conscious, and apparently subconscious, thoughts. Now that I have been at home for six years and my children are getting more independent, is this still what I want for myself? For months I have been having the following internal debate: Which do I want more - to continue to devote all of my time to my children, or to focus my energies on something outside of my family? Am I ready to give up life as I know it? Am I ready to be done with the sweet smell of infants, the intimacy of nursing, the tiny warm body curled up next to me when I sleep? Am I ready to not be there every time my kids fall down and scrape their knees? Am I ready to dole out the responsibility of caring for my children to someone who is not in my family?

When I awoke from my dream this morning, it occurred to me that perhaps I was asking myself the wrong questions. When I was in my senior year of college, graduating with a degree in Global Studies, I spent a lot of time thinking about what I wanted to do with my life. When you graduate with a liberal arts degree you need to do this, because there is no clear career path, and for the most part those of us with BAs end up doing something pretty much unrelated to our major. So I thought and thought, and what I came up with surprised me in its simplicity. What I truly want to do, I thought to myself, is be a mom. I have wanted that for as long as I can remember, longed for it with an ache that at times completely enveloped me. And so, with the support of my incredibly accommodating husband, I got just what I always wanted. I am a mom.

The problem with motherhood as a life goal, as everyone knows, is that it is fleeting. One of the major goals of parenthood is letting your children go off into the world, carrying themselves on their own strong little legs. Motherhood was not a stretch for me. It never made me scared, and I have never thought to myself “I cannot do this. How will I do this?” What scares me is the NEXT of it. What will I do after this? So what I realized this morning was that instead of asking myself if I am ready to give up what is comfortable, I should be asking myself if I am ready to take a big risk. And then another one, and another, and another.

Risks are terrifying by nature. My children cannot reject me (at least until they are sixteen and begin to slam doors in my face), but the big bad world is full of rejection. Am I ready to face that? Am I ready to work long and hard on something I love and have everyone who sees it toss it back at me without a glance? That’s some scary stuff. Am I ready to go forward and persevere despite the possibility of rejection? I don’t know.

But how will I ever know until I try?

One morning in the future, I will wake up before everyone else in my house. I will get out of bed and look at my children sleeping. I will listen to their steady breathing in the early morning silence. I will walk to the window, open the shades, and look out. I will say to myself...

Now it is time to be scared. Now it is time to be exhilarated.

Lua at 6

2010-12-13T13:01:00.000-08:00

My dear birthday girl,
Today you are a bundle of explosive energy
Today you are full of unanswerable questions
Today you are having your cake and eating it too
Today you are learning what it means to have compassion
Today you are exploring your world but not finding any limits
Today you are joyous
Today you are challenging your parents to a duel
Today you are radiating heart-stopping beauty
Today you are growing tall and strong
Today you are fighting with all the rage of a hurricane
Today you are playing with abandon
Today you are holding your brother in your arms
Today you are oblivious to the ugliness
Today you are facing a long, magical, unknowable path
Today you are six years old.

Charlie Boo Turns Four

2010-10-09T06:26:00.001-07:00

Dear Charlie,

Today is your fourth birthday. When I close my eyes and picture you at four, this is what I see:

You are standing just outside of a big group, watching. Your little body is all round head and big belly, bowed legs and long dark eyelashes. In my imagination you are wearing pajamas. The ones with the skinny striped legs and the cartoon lion shirt. You are quiet and thoughtful for a while, and your lips are set in a pout. You are waiting to see what will happen. Finally you make up your mind that the situation is safe, maybe even fun. When you decide to head toward the group, you do so with gusto: running (belly first) and pumping your arms, a big happy grin on your face. Then you squeal and jump in. Charlie, this is you. My careful boy, my serious boy, my joyful boy, my silly boy.

You are the funniest kid I know, Charlie. You love to tell jokes and make people laugh. You like to tell spooky stories that make your eyebrows shoot up and down and your mouth form a little O of excitement. You are easily embarrassed, so when you do something adorable (which is often) I can’t tell the story to others while you’re around or you’ll get upset. You dislike being the center of attention generally, yet you crave the attention of your sister so much that you will do almost anything to get it. (Including hit her repeatedly for no apparent reason.)

One of my favorite things about you is your sense of justice. You spend hours thinking about the good and bad behavior you see. Although it doesn’t stop you from having the occasional naughty outburst yourself, you are continually reflecting on what’s right and wrong. This results in you policing your entire preschool class as well as all of the neighborhood kids. Even if you’re feeling reserved or shy, you will stand up for what you think is right with astonishing ferocity. If the kids at school are talking during reading time, you will raise your hand and tell them they’re supposed to be quiet. If one of Lua’s friends is doing something mean to her, you will confront them, no matter that you are a foot shorter, and shout, “You be nice to Lua! Don’t be nasty!”

Charlie I want to keep you close to me like a security blanket. The very best way to start my day is by fitting your head under my chin and hugging your warm little body. On cool mornings, we pull the covers up over our heads like a tent and giggle at each other in the dark. No matter how crazy you and your sister made me the day before, when we begin the morning this way I can’t help but feel that life is perfect.

I love you forever and ever and ever,
Mommy

Like brother like sister

2010-09-23T07:36:00.000-07:00

Today over breakfast, my three year old son announced, "I don't want to die". All I could think was: uh oh, here we go again.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't the most pressing matter on the mind of a three year old be, like, whether his sandwich is cut in squares or triangles?

I told Charlie that when we die, our souls go to heaven. Heaven is a beauti- wait! No, it's not beautiful! - heaven is a SUPER COOL place where we all have lots of fun. (Charlie tells us often that he doesn't like beautiful things, only cool things). "But," he argued, "then Lua won't like it because she only likes beautiful things, and she doesn't like any of my very cool toys".

"Heaven is great", I assured him. "Everybody is happy there". He was not convinced. In fact, he wanted to know if there was reincarnation ("after we die do we come back here again?") .

I assured Charlie that heaven is awesome, and that I would go there before him so I could show him around. And I told him that it's okay to die because death is a part of life, but that he won't die until he is VERY VERY old. Then he wanted to know if Santa would be in heaven. Ugh. Who even told him about Santa? Oops, probably me. Why did I have to show him the claymation movie of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer last December? That was a mistake, because if we're lying about that, we could be lying about anything right? I told him I didn't know.

Sigh. Life and death are so complicated.

Month in Review

2010-09-21T07:44:00.000-07:00

I can't believe the summer passed by without a single post from yours truly. I have no excuse except to say it's really hard to type on your laptop while simultaneously splashing around in a swimming pool.

Now, it's September. The pools are drained and the inflatable one in our backyard has been folded up and put away, leaving a big empty patch of dirt in our backyard. The toads are surely unhappy that we've taken away their nice wet habitat. We have a lot of toads in our backyard. Every couple of weeks I have to mow the lawn very slooooooowly so as not to commit toad genocide.

Lua started kindergarten this month. On her first few days, I thought she might burst from excitement. She was so ready to be in a structured environment. So ready to be around friends and sing songs and play games. Of course the honeymoon period doesn't last, and now she complains to me as I drag her out of bed in the mornings:

"Mom, I'm too bored. The day is so long, but it's too short to learn anything. Can't I just stay home and play with friends?" When I remind her that all of her friends are in school too, for longer days than she is (she's doing half-day kindergarten) , she just sighs as if dragging her into class to sing the alphabet and eat goldfish crackers is equal on the torture scale to, say, holding her up by her ears.

Of course, once we actually get Lua to school she does just fine. She has such a pressing desire to learn that it outweighs her own lethargy every time. I decided since she's not feeling challenged that I would add some work for her to do when she gets home in the afternoon. We've printed out some worksheets and done some art work and worked on reading skills. Yesterday when she read the first twenty pages of "Go Dog Go" I had a sinking feeling that I was doing more damage than good. If I teach her to read now, what is she going to do with herself for the rest of the year in school? Perhaps we should work on some skills that she won't be getting in her regular class. Hm...maybe I should pull out the Russian flash cards that I made in high school.

Charlie started preschool this month too. Today is just his second day of school, so I'm not sure how much I can really comment on it yet. He was very shy when we went to meet his teachers but since then he's seemed to warm up to everything. Apparently he even spoke to people last week, which is much more than I expected from him for September. When Charlie's at home he gifts us with a never-ending narrative of his day but when he's out in public he's usually much more reserved. Where Lua's teacher told us the first week that she was standing in front of people's cubbies and pointing out to them where they should put their things, I expected Charlie to stay to himself, quietly observing the class for the first few weeks. Happily, he seems to be loving class, and acting his cheerful, inquisitive best.

That is a round up of our lives at the moment. I have a few goals for myself as the school year starts as well. Four hours a week (when Charlie is in preschool) may not seem like a lot, but it's at least enough to keep up with this blog a little more. Wish me luck!

A Good Heart

2010-04-12T11:58:00.000-07:00

This morning I made Lua's preschool teacher cry. Well, that's not quite right. I made us both cry.

Lua will finish preschool next month, and this morning were the final parent/teacher conferences I'll have for her in preschool. To be honest, I didn't know what to expect. Lua has always gotten glowing reviews before but I wasn't sure it would hold out this time. This last month or so has been such a challenge for us at home. It's felt like Lua has been performing a month-long test of my patience, endurance, and kindness. And I've been failing miserably. Need an example? Here's a conversation we had over the weekend:

Me: Lua, when you wear a skirt you need to sit with your knees together.

Lua (sitting like a frat boy, slouched down with her legs spread out across the seat of the car): No I don't.

Me: Well, you really do because everyone can see your underwear when you sit like that.

Lua (scowling): No they can't. We're in the car. No one can see me.

Me: That's true right now, but it's good to get into the habit of keeping your legs together all the time when you're wearing a skirt so you don't forget.

Lua (more scowling): No it's not.

Me: Lua, you don't want everyone to see your underwear

Lua: Yes I do! I don't care at all. (Spreads her legs even farther apart)

Another example (and this is not even a joke):

Me: Lua! Come downstairs, it's time for lunch!
Lua: NO. I HATE YOU.

It's like she's trying out for the role of surly 14-year-old in a family sitcom. Except she's not going to get the part because she's FIVE YEARS OLD.

Anyway, back to the parent/teacher conference. Lua's teacher started out with a sheet that's kind of like a report card, going over all the things she's supposed to have learned this year. And the gist of the report went like this:

Lua is wonderful. Math skills? She's brilliant. Motor skills? She's advanced. Music? She loves it. Art? She's talented. Language skills? the teacher actually paused here, laughed, and gave me a look that said "I think you know she speaks like a college graduate." Helpful? Definitely. Attitude? Cheerful. Social Skills? Kind, friendly, patient, generous, mature. According to her teacher, Lua is friends with everyone, and everyone loves her. She is confident, independent, cooperative, intelligent, and enthusiastic.

At this point the teacher ran her finger down the list, looked up and me and said "I'm trying to think of anything I can say about Lua that I'm not thrilled with, but the only thing I can come up with is how much we're going to miss her next year."

I'm sure you've guessed that this is when I burst into tears, which caused the teacher to follow suit. I think as a mother, especially a full-time stay at home mom, I get caught in this cycle of trying to correct my kids' bad behaviour and I take for granted all of the wonderful things they've already learned and become. I'm sure it's totally natural for Lua to be testing her limits with me at this point in her development. She feels safe with me, safe to be on her worst behaviour to see how much she can get away with. But it's so hard for me to not take that personally. I feel like her challenging me is a reflection of my poor parenting, and I worry that something I did is turning her into an angry, disrespectful child.

"Thank you," I blubbered as Lua's teacher and I were wiping our eyes on the backs of our hands, "you have no idea how nice that is to hear". The teacher smiled kindly at me. "Remember", she advised, "it might not seem like it, but she really wants you to set limits and stick to them. And eventually she'll see you're not going to budge and she'll stop pushing so hard. But Lua? She's going to be just fine. That girl has a really good heart."

Fate

2010-01-25T12:56:00.001-08:00

Lua: Do you think that God has our whole lives and everything planned out for us? Like, who we are and when we do good things and when we do naughty things?

Me: Some people believe that. It's called fate, or destiny. Some people think God plans everything thing out before hand, like our lives are a book that has already been written before we were even born.

Lua: Do you think that's true?

Me: No. I believe that God has given us all of the tools and opportunities we need to become our most excellent selves, and it's our job to take advantage those tools and opportunities when they show up in our lives. That way, we decide what our own destinies are.

Lua: I think you've already done that. Like, become your most excellent self.

Me: Aw, thanks Lua, that's really sweet.

Lua: (smiles) I mean, well...most of the time.

Love Letter to Lua, Age 5

2009-12-14T11:48:00.000-08:00

My dear Lua,

You are a heart-breaker. You are also a heart-fixer. I know this because you break my heart, and then mend it back together again, a little bit every day.

All of your life I have tried to walk the thin line between keeping you informed and telling you too much. You are so perceptive and intelligent that I have to tip toe along that line like a tightrope walker. I am afraid that if you learn too much about the world too fast, you will lose something. Your innocence, your joy, your sweet nature...they all feel tenuous. You are like sand swishing through my hands, and I want to hold on to you so you won't blow away.

Recently I discovered that I have less control over what you think about than I previously imagined. No matter how many times I assure you that witches are not real, you have nightmares. You also stay up at night worrying about whether or not you will ever find the right person to marry. You fret over your parents dying, even though I've told you that we'll live to be very very old. You understand my personal failings and I am terrified that you will take them upon yourself. These things tear me apart. I want your confidence to be as impenetrable as a fortress. I want you to be as brave as a soldier, and as happy as a pig in a mud puddle. I want you to be worry-free, guilt-free, prejudice-free, and barrier-free. I want your life to be perfect.

I know this sounds naive. When you are reading this, all grown up and out there in the world, I'm sure you will roll your eyes at me. All parents want their children to have perfect lives Mom, I can imagine you saying. No one ever does. You are pragmatic that way even now. Sharp, honest, and to the point.

The thing is, despite all of the mistakes your parents make and the worries that pop up in your mind from time to time, you are so strong. You are smart and friendly and complicated and beautiful and bossy and precocious and caring and unforgettable. Slowly, slowly, you are turning into a young lady. You are beginning to think of others before yourself. You are starting to solve problems with your words instead of your teeth and hands. You are the quickest thinker I know - you always have an answer for everything. You are a caretaker and a leader. I couldn't be more proud of you.

Lua Grace, your life will not be perfect. But you are pretty darn close. You are the most exceptional daughter I can imagine.

I love you as high as the highest number, as big as the universe.
Mama

The Little Pizza That Could

2009-12-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I haven't shared this with everyone yet but PEOPLE: THE WORLD MUST BE TURNING BACKWARDS. Charles is actually asking to use the potty. Frequently. Before he's dirtied his pull-ups. It's a miracle from heaven. Thank you heaven, remind me to buy you something special.

So a few weeks ago when said miracle began occuring, I was sitting on the bathroom floor talking to Charlie while he sat on the potty.

"Nothing's happening," he complained, looking down in confusion.

"It's okay," I assured him, "sometimes it takes time. You might have to sit there for a little while and wait."

"No," he said. "I can't do it."

That's when I told him the story of the Little Engine That Could, a tale I'm sure you all remember involving a little blue engine that made her way up a steep hill by chanting "I think I can, I think I can" until she made it to the top.

From that moment on, Charlie has been chanting "I think I can, I think I can" to himself every time he encounters something difficult. He'll say it while he's going potty, while he's pushing open a heavy door, or while he's trying to reach a toy from a tall shelf. I for one find it incredibly adorable and endearing. I think it's especially cool because he's using the phrase to encourage himself to stretch the limits of what he originally thought possible.

Tonight we were eating dinner at a pizza joint. When the pizza arrived, I doled out pieces and cut Charlie's into bite-sized chunks.

"Be careful," I said, "the pizza is really hot."

Charlie studied the pizza for a moment, then stabbed a piece with his fork and brought it to his mouth. "I think it's not, I think it's not..." he mumbled to himself before sticking the piece in his mouth. He quickly pulled it back out and sighed.

"I think it is hot, Mom. I think it is."

Junior Physicist

2009-11-17T20:19:00.000-08:00

The other day Lua asked me if numbers have an ending. Like, is there a highest number? I told her no, that numbers are infinite. She thought for a minute, then replied "You mean like the universe?"

Pop Culture at Age 4

2009-11-17T20:08:00.000-08:00

Conversation overheard between two four-year-olds listening to the radio:
Lua: I hate this song.
Ruthie: What?! You don't like Kings of Leon??? (sounds more like "you don't wike Kings of Wee-on??)
Lua: No, they're boys. I only like girl singers. Except Michael Jackson, but he sounds like a girl.
Ruthie: Michael Jackson?
Lua: Yeah. He's a Baha'i. (side note: absolutely not true.) Are you a Baha'i?
Ruthie: Um...I don't know.
Lua: Well, if you're a Baha'i, you go to Feast. Do you go to Feast?
Ruthie: I don't know. What's Feast?
Lua: Feast is when you get together and say prayers, and then you eat a lot.
Ruthie: Well, I don't think I've done that.
Lua: Well then you're not a Baha'i. But Michael Jackson is.

Happy 3rd Birthday Charlie Boo

2009-10-08T18:41:00.000-07:00

My darling Charlie,

When you wake up (assuming you don't get out of bed in the middle of the night, complaining that it's still dark out - which is actually pretty likely, but I digress) it will be your third birthday.

What a spectacular little boy you are. The year between two and three has allowed us to see more nuanced aspects of your personality. I always knew you were sweet, but now I know how very tender and thoughtful you are. I always knew you were fun, but now I've seen you in a fit of giggles that strikes you so hard it makes you fall over and clutch your tummy. I always knew you were friendly, but now I know how you'll strike up a conversation with any old stranger in any old place, never failing to elicit a great big smile from all around you.

Here are some things about you at age three that I think you should know:

1) You love to sing. You sing everywhere you go, and I am not exaggerating. People frequently come up to me in public places and say things like "my, my, he's quite the singer!" and it takes me a minute to realize what they mean. I have gotten so used to hearing your EXTREMELY loud voice belting out classics like "La la la La la la Rocket Needs a Home" and "Goin' on a trip in our favorite rocket ship..." and "ABC"s and "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" that I no longer hear you at all. It's sort of like when I lived next to the airport and when other people would cringe and plug their ears as a huge 747 would come in for a landing right over our heads, I'd be all "is there a fly in here? I think I heard a buzzing."

2) In stereotypical boy fashion, you absolutely adore anything with wheels. You like trikes and bikes, motorcycles, cars, buses, trucks, diggers, airplanes, rockets and trains. The great thing about this passion of yours is that it's easy to find things that interest you and, unlike your big sister, you will actually take these things and play with them. By yourself. In your room. In other words, you, my dear son, have the valuable ability to keep yourself busy. I love that about you.

3) You are the ultimate snuggler. I was so afraid that this aspect of your personality was going to decline as you grew out of babyhood, but thankfully it is still going strong. Not only to you like to cuddle, but something about that skin-to-skin contact is essential to you. You need it like water, especially when you're feeling tired, sad, or shy. Not long ago, in order to keep you from sticking your hand down my shirt (a remnant of comfort from nursing?) I began telling you to touch my neck instead. The base of the neck is now your favorite spot to hold. I am frequently choked by what you imagine to be a gentle neck caress. You evidently think that stroking necks is as cathartic for the person you're choking as it is for you - the other day when we were out with Grandma, you wanted her to pick you up but I told you she couldn't because it hurt her hand too much. "But...but I'll touch her neck," you said with such sincere conviction that it would help, "that will make her feel better."

4) You love your sister. She is the coolest thing in the world, and you want to do everything she does and you want to do it just like her. You frequently copy everything she says, word for word; her own personal echo. One of the most amazing things to me about the two of you is how often you think of each others happiness. I am blown away by your generosity of spirit toward her. Yesterday, I was at Target with you while Lua was at preschool, and I got you some fruit snacks as a treat for sitting patiently in the store. "What about Lua?," you said, "Lua needs a treat too." You thought about it for a moment and then decided with a smile, "I'll share my treats with her." And you did. Another example happened today when we were at the zoo. Lua tripped and fell on her hands, which made her cry. Later, on the way home, you leaned over to her seat and asked quietly if her hands felt better. Maybe this doesn't seem like much to you now, as you read this, but it seems to me that a compassionate and thoughtful 3-year-old is a very rare and precious being.

Charlie, there is so much to say about you that I feel like I can only touch on the tips of the tiniest aspects of your beautiful three-year-old self here. I could write a book on how cute you are, from your adorable husky little voice that NEVER STOPS TALKING, to your round little belly that leads you wherever you walk, to the diverse facial expressions you make when you're saying your bedtime prayers. What a gift you are to me.

Love you forever,
Mommy

Marketing

2009-09-10T07:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Charlie watched a Thomas the Train movie. Today I asked Charlie what he wanted for his birthday.

"Thomas and Friends!" he replied.
"What does that mean?," I asked. "Thomas and Friends what?"
"Thomas and Friends!"
"Do you mean you want more engines for your train set?"
"NO! Thomas and Friends!"
"You want a Thomas movie?"
"No no no. I want a Thomas and Friends DVD Experience, Mom!"

Twilight: the Toddler Years

2009-08-26T12:58:00.001-07:00

I have written a little bit about the many challenges that Charlie presents us with at bed time. However, I don't think I've ever fully described the level of stress his refusal to sleep produces. Just thinking about describing it actually gives me a headache.

Since birth, Charlie has been so different to Lua in this area. He just doesn't seem to need sleep. We have always been able to put Lua down in her bed without any fuss for naps and bedtimes, at whatever time we wanted, and she will just fall asleep. Charlie seems to want to bleed the life out of each day. He is like a Vampire of Time, just sucking out each and every minute, even if it is downright unpleasant for him and everyone around him.

We have tried EVERYTHING. I am not even kidding you. I will not go into an exhausted list of the many, many techniques we have attempted to get this kid to sleep, because you would still be sitting here reading this tomorrow. And, you would probably be tempted to drown yourself in the toilet just to end the aggravation, as I have been tempted many times before.

I was discussing this problem with some friends today, and they suggested I get a gate for Charlie's room. That way, I am not technically locking his door, and he can still see out, but he can't leave his room. So, the idea is that we go through the routine and put him to bed, tell him that this is the last time we'll be answering him tonight, and shut the gate. If he needs to stay up and play in his room it's okay. If he needs to scream and holler and bang his little fists against the wall, that's okay. He just can't get out, and we will not respond to his never-ending list of demands. (I need my flashlight! My flashlight needs batteries! Where is my soft rocket? I want milk! I want water! I'm hungry! I'm not sleepy! Can I sleep in your bed! Where is Lua? Can I sleep in Lua's bed? I want to sleep on Lua's floor. I need to sleep on Lua's floor! Can I drive you crazy enough that you'll let me come out of here and watch that movie with you?????)

So on the way home from the chat with these friends today, I bought a gate. I installed it as soon as we got home (Me woman. Me like power screw driver.) Charlie was really excited about it, which I realized later was because he thought we were buying a baby. (When I got the gate up, he said "Where's the baby? Where's that little purple baby?" And pointed to the kid on the box wearing a purple tee shirt). Anyway, now Charlie is corralled in his bedroom playing trains. He's singing and shouting, but still he is unable to get out of said room until quiet time is over. Because, did I mention? THE CHILD HAS STOPPED NAPPING. Which has piled stress on top of stress, because i have to chase him back inside his room twenty times during the one hour of quiet time we have every day, as well as fifty times a night after we put him to bed.

So far he's tried convincing Lua to let him out. (Woo-ah, come open the gate! Open the gate, Woo-ah!) but she's too smart to fall for that beginner's manipulation. The girl has definitely skipped some grades to Advanced Manipulation Techniques. So, ya'll, if Lua will just stay in her room for the full sixty minutes, I might just get ONE HOUR of free time here. BLISS.

Oh, and keep your fingers crossed for a less stressful bedtime tonight!

I Dream In Color

2009-08-24T09:28:00.000-07:00

This morning I was telling Lua about a dream I had last night that involved her. In the dream, Lua found a box of stamps, and she'd somehow managed to stamp her entire back with green Olympic circles. Personally, I was interested in the Olympic aspect of the dream. Lua was not.

Lua: Why weren't the stamps pink and purple?
Me: I don't know.
Lua: Hm. But I don't even like green very much. Well, I do like chartreuse. Maybe they were chartreuse?
Me: Maybe.

The Uterus as an Electronic Storage Device

2009-08-17T12:05:00.000-07:00

The Talk, Version 1

So, my good friends had a baby a couple of weeks ago. I was driving to the hospital to meet them when Lua asks me a very important question from the backseat. "Mommy," she wondered, "how do babies get into their mommy's tummy, and how do they get out?"

For a moment I was silent. What to tell her? How much to tell her? I desperately wanted to make something up about a stork or a baby store at the hospital, but my own pledge to tell my kids only truthful, straightforward things about their bodies held me back. I hedged.

"What do you think happens?," I threw the question back at Lua with genuine curiosity.

"Well", she said slowly, "I think that God has a special seed that he puts in the mommy's tummy. It grows and grows until it becomes a baby. I don't know how the baby gets out though, because there is no hole in the tummy."

Okay, that's a good start, right? Special seed. I can run with that.

"That's really close", I told Lua. And folks, this is the part that, when I told my twenty nine year old friend, it made her blush. But I swallowed hard and went on, "Actually the daddy has a special seed, and when it mixes with the Mommy's egg it makes a baby. The baby grows and grows just like you said, until it's ready to come out."

"But how does the baby come out?" Lua asked again.

So I told her. I tried to be technical yet vague, if that is possible. Instead of getting freaked out, Lua looked relieved, as if I'd solved a puzzle that was confounding her.

A couple of days later we were driving in the car again when Lua told me she had a wish.

"What's that?" I asked.

"I wish that I had a DVD player with a TV that was inside of me, and it would just pop out of my vagina! That way I could watch cartoons whenever I wanted."

Lua goes to Camp

2009-07-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

Lua started camp this week. Camp. I can hardly believe she is old enough to put on her own clothes in the morning, let alone go to camp. But there it is.

This is just a day camp, put on by the YMCA, Monday through Friday for one week from 9:00-4:00. Still, it's camp just like the movies. In the morning they all get together in a big circle and sing silly camp songs that are lead by college age counselors. They swim, canoe, make lanyards, and they even had Lua doing archery yesterday. At the end of the day, I pick her up covered in sunscreen and dirt from head to toe. Oh, and with a huge smile on her face.

When I dropped Lua off the first day, we were both nervous. She didn't know anyone, and she'd never been to camp before, whereas most of the older kids there had been going for years. I stayed with her, the lone parent in a sea of tie-dyed tee shirts, jean shorts and pony tails, until the big circle was formed and one of the counselors started singing a song I vaguely remembered from Camp Kitchi Yappi as a kid. Charlie and I crept away incrementally. This whole camp thing was a little scary for Lua and a lot scary for me. Lua looked so small and vulnerable standing there.

All day long I waited for the phone call that would say "come pick your daughter up, she's been crying since you left her - you awful mother!" But this call never came. I should have known better. Lua is incredibly resillient. She makes friends easily, tries new things without much fuss, and she's generally great at following the directions of any adult besides her parents. That is why I decided to put her in camp in the first place.

This whole experience has been positive for Charlie and I too. He is a totally different child when Lua is not around. He doesn't laugh as much, but he doesn't cry as much either. He's back to the even tempered child I remember from before the terrible twos struck. He's attentive and sweet, patient and fun. We've had some great one-on-one time, which is something we've rarely ever had before. And THE YELLING, it has stopped! THE YELLING has been a constant around here for the past few months. The kids yell at eachother over the stupidest things. They bite, kick, poke, and scream. This makes me want to yell back at them, which is never a good thing. So a little time apart is doing them well.

Still, every time I say something about Lua being at camp, Charlie has a melt down. He misses her. A lot. So do I. But camp is preparing me for what school will be like next year, and suddenly I am not so worried.

Is she 4 or 14?

2009-07-21T08:20:00.000-07:00

ME: I want to talk to you about the way you've been treating Charlie when your friends are around. Now, I know it can be frustrating to have your little brother with you all the time, but I think you're really hurting his feelings.
LUA: No I'm not.
ME: Well, let's put it this way. How would you feel if Charlie and Emily ran downstairs, shut the door in your face, and told you that you couldn't be part of their band?
LUA: I would feel fine.
ME: Lua. Come on.
LUA: What? It would be fine! I would be happy.
ME: I don't think you would be happy.
LUA: Mom, okay. I'll try. Now let's not have this conversation any more.

Zelda's House

2009-07-16T10:20:00.000-07:00

Our house was built in 1952 by the same family we bought it from in 2008. The matriarch of this family, Zelda, was living here alone when she passed away that year. We bought the house from one of her five children, a man who had grown up here. He probably shared the same room as Charlie, he'd played catch in our backyard and his sister had set up the gymnastics bar at the bottom of our hill, now covered over with branches. Due to the layout of the house, it is a fairly safe assumption that Riaz and I share the same room that Zelda and her husband slept in for over fifty years.

When we first moved into the neighborhood, everyone I spoke with mentioned something about Zelda. I learned that she was a chain smoker. That she loved children. That she used to knit baby blankets. That she had two cats. I learned that Zelda had last decorated her (our) house in the seventies, and that it basically stayed that way until her son tore out the carpets and painted the walls after she died and before he put the house on the market. I learned that Zelda had planted three trees in the same spot in the front yard and that they'd all died except the little one that's there now, struggling to stay upright. I learned that Zelda raised five children in our little house, and I've often wondered how on earth she did this with our TEENY TINY bathroom. Zelda liked to take walks, she liked to visit with the neighbors and I've often imagined her cooking for her seven person family in our little galley kitchen.

Sometimes I talk to Zelda. Usually, it is when I find something in the house that is so ridiculous that I cannot believe it was actually built that way ("Zelda, what were you thinking?), or when I tear down part of the house and redecorate it ("Zelda, I wonder what you'd think of this? I bet you'd hate it.") Two separate people actually came by last week looking for Zelda, a year and a half after her death. One was a salesman, and the other was an old neighbor wondering what happened to the family.

There is something about living in the same place for fifty years that leaves an indelible mark of some sort, even if one's life is not particularly remarkable. It's not that I'm being haunted, or that I feel her presence or anything like that. It's more that this is her house, and although I am trying to make it my own, little signs of her just keep popping up. Far from finding this irritating, I find it reassuring. I'd like to think that if I lived in a neighborhood and a house for as long as Zelda did, I'd leave something of me behind too.

Lua's Library Pick

2009-07-14T19:01:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness this is not reference material, just a pleasurable bedtime read.

Absolutely No Excuse

2009-07-14T18:59:00.000-07:00

Cannot believe I haven't written anything since December. Must remember to feel guilty about it soon, for extended period of time.

Lulu is 4

2008-12-12T12:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Lua,

Tomorrow you turn four years old. In a way, it seems like you have always been this big and grown up - I am having trouble remembering you any other way. You have a way about you that is so...mature. Of course, it is in the midst of a lot of silly behavior. But still, it is definitely there.

The past six months have been devoted to a lot of soul searching on your part. I feel that your mind is taken up entirely with this journey of self-discovery and curiosity about the world around you. Great big questions (Death, souls, God, the Universe) have been swirling around filling up this house like the snow covering the ground outside. The other day you asked me why no one will tell you everything. I said that you go to school to learn about lots of things, and that I would try to answer any specific question you had. You persisted, "But I want to know about EVERYTHING!" I told you that no one knows everything. To which you sighed and replied "I'll ask Daddy."

I never thought I would be discussing such important questions as "Why can't we go visit people when they are dead?" while chowing down on chicken nuggets. We've talked and talked about death, and I've tried to keep it as positive and as un-scary as I possibly can. When we were reading a library book yesterday about a little girl who's grandpa died and you looked at me with a wrinkle in your brow and asked "Why is she sad? It's not sad! He's in heaven." I felt the thrill of victory. But it was quickly followed by apprehension. Surely you are going to start questioning something else soon, like eternity. Or quantum physics. Or taxes.

Age three has been a good year for you. You have started to develop your own friendships, started to play on your own and use your imagination. You and Charlie have even begun playing together, which is like a dream come true for me (Imagine! Being able to do the laundry and mop the floor without someone hanging off of my leg!) Listening to you interact with your brother is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. The first time I heard you say "Come on sweetie!" to him I wanted to kiss your little lips. But you wouldn't have liked that. In fact, you have recently developed a method of "air hugging" in which you can express your love without actually having to touch anyone at all, which works quite well for you. Real hugging is like torture to you - corporal hugging is a surefire way of punishing you for any misdeeds.

Lua, you are absolutely the most beautiful and special little girl I have ever known. You are so smart, so compassionate, so inquisitive and engaged - I know that every year you are going to make your dad and I more and more proud to be your parents. Thank you for being a part of our lives. You make me happy every day. I love you all the way to the sun and back - from your teeniest tiniest skin cell to your "hunormous" soul. You are amazing.

Love,
Mama

The Extraterrestrial Discount Store

2008-11-12T10:27:00.000-08:00

This morning the kids and I were playing rocket ship. The following conversation took place as we landed on the moon:

Me: What do you see?
Lua: A big marshal!
Me: What is a marshal?
Lua: Um, Marshalls, you know? Like, that store?
Me: There's a Marshalls on the moon?
Lua: Yeah, a BIG one. Don't you see it?
Me: Oh yes, there it is. Huh. Who knew?

Love Letter to Charles, Age 2

2008-10-08T20:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlie,

Can I still call you a baby at two years old? Lua and I decided that you will always be our baby, even when you're as big and tall as Daddy. And you still seem like a baby, even when you are using full sentences, (i.e. Where did car shoes go?), or manipulating me (I saw that little peek at me out of the corner of your eye before you decided to scream). There is something so sweet and vulnerable about you that I cannot imagine a time when I will not be singing you to sleep with your little arms wrapped tightly around my neck. Did you know that you comfort me as much as I comfort you?

Here are some things that you love at age two:
1. Your car shoes
2. Lua
3. Lua's friends
4. Pushing your bike along with your feet
5. Sugar, and anything made with it
6. Monkeys
7. Somersaults
8. Your teddy bear
9. The Poky Little Puppy
10. Anything Lua likes

Yesterday you burned your fingers on the stove. Daddy tried everything to make the hand feel better, but you would not let him touch it. No aloe, no ice pack, no cold water. When I got home you were sitting stiffly on our bed watching a movie and wailing pitifully every few seconds. I scooped you up and held you tight, which is all it usually takes to calm you down, but to no avail. I even pulled out the big guns: a dark room and a rocking chair. Nothing. You wouldn't let me near the afflicted fingers. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

"Do your fingers hurt?" I asked.
"Yes", you wailed, "fingers hurt!"
"Can I kiss them?" I wondered.

That was the magic key. Slowly, the fingers uncurled and you placed them very gently to my lips. I kissed them, and blew cool air over them. That quieted you for a while, but soon the whimpering returned and you began waving your hand frantically through the air. I moved you to Mommy and Daddy's bed and got a glass of ice water. After several unsuccessful attempts at getting your hand in the glass, I stuck an ice cube in my mouth and asked to kiss your owie again. You acquiesced. I carefully placed the burned fingers in between my lips and pressed them to the rapidly melting ice cube. You hushed immediately. We sat like this through two episodes of 24 and one really bad episode of Terminator. You, laying across my chest with your hand in my mouth, for over two hours. That is love, baby.

It probably sounds weird to you now, but believe me, parenting is a weird thing. You do lots of crazy stuff for your kids that you never thought you'd be doing. Like moving to the suburbs, and spending your only free time researching train sets. Listen to me: it is totally worth it.

Happy second birthday, Charlie. You are the most incredibly perfect little boy I have ever met. I love you more each day.
Mama

Ye Olde Sense of Humor

2008-04-03T11:28:00.000-07:00

Bahiyyih recently forwarded an email to me that I'd sent her in 2001. I am pretty sure I was a lot funnier then. Children must be sucking the hilarity right out of me. Behold an excerpt:

Omigod (thats a babysitter's club expression) can you believe that it is only 11 days until christmas? that means 15 days until i see you & juliet....MADNESS. i can't believe it. you will not believe the transformation i have gone through since june. i am now a famous bikini model for dots, where everything is $10. they offered me the gig when i was there stealing clothes a couple of months ago. they caught me, but instead of turning me in, they offered me this modeling deal to pay off my debt. and it just took off from there. i have lost 75 pounds through this great diet plan where you only drink diet grapefruit juice & then throw it up afterwards. all of the big chain stores, like Only Deals and Thrifty Mart and the Family Dollar, want me now, to model things like leg braces and those socks that are supposed to stop vericose veins. i even got an offer from the Piggly Wiggly, to ride around in one of those big tractor machines that move boxes around stores, giving away free samples of edible leg wax to their customers on saturday morning.
so really the only thing my life is lacking now is some sort of fabulous shampoo. it seems that no matter how many times i wash my hair, it is always falling out and the stench of vomit seems to linger in whats left of it...do you have any ideas?
see you soon,libby

More Evidence of her Practicality

2008-03-25T06:53:00.000-07:00

"Mommy? Isn't it nice to have a baby brother?"
"It is SO nice to have a baby brother."
"Yeah, but even if you didn't have a baby brother, you could just get a stuffed one."

The End of the World as I Know It

2008-03-24T18:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlie Bear,

Last weekend your daddy and I left you and Lua with Grandma and went on a little trip. This was only the second time you'd slept away from us and that time it had only been for one night, twenty minutes away. This time, it was for two nights and we were an hours drive from home. I was a little apprehensive about how you would take this separation, especially considering you were still nursing about three times a day. But, to be honest, I just really needed a vacation.

I swear I never meant to be one of those mothers who leaves their children with someone for a week in order to wean them. In fact, if the thought had crossed my mind I'd dismissed it with haste as I figured it would never work. Sure, you could survive three days without nursing when I was far away. But as soon as you saw me again, you would dive right down my shirt. Right?

Wrong. When we got home yesterday afternoon, this suprising reception awaited me: You were asleep for a few minutes after we arrived. Auntie Mara went to fetch you when you woke up, and she brought you out to the living room to see us. You looked stunned. Auntie set you on the floor and you just stood there, eyes wide as a deer, mouth slightly open. You looked as if you'd seen a ghost. Daddy opened his arms and cried "Come give me a hug, Charlie!" and after some time it must have finally sunk in, because you did. A huge grin spread accross your face and you threw yourself into Daddy's arms. I couldn't wait to steal you away, figuring that when I got you in my lap you would promptly flip over into nursing position and I could empty out my massively engorged and immensely painful breasts. Instead, you hugged my neck.

You hugged me for at least twenty minutes, with your warm little head nestled under my chin. If I moved my cheek away from yours you would quickly pull it back with your pudgy little hand. It was one of the sweetest things I can ever remember.

And you didn't nurse. Not all the rest of the day, not even at night before you went to sleep. You didn't try, and I didn't try. Amazing! This is what I wanted, isn't it? I think it was, I mean is...I guess I'm having a little trouble adjusting.

When you were born, you were a part of me. Your tiny toes were my toes, your hungry mouth was my mouth, your tummy, your bum, your great big eyes: all mine. Everything you did was my accomplishment. I knew this was not to last forever. Your sister is her own person already, and she is only three. But for some reason she is different. She is the first child, she is so sharp, so clever, so independent. Also, she is a girl, and she will always be my daughter.

Daughters cannot ever really leave their mothers. At least not in my family. Daughters are tied by invisible strings to their mothers. Braids really, made up of one part guilt, one part loyalty and one part biology. Boys are not bound by these braids. Boys may pick them up occasionally. They may twirl one around in their hands, they might even tie one to their wrist for a while. But they can always let them go again.

You let go of your first tie to me yesterday. As much as I want to have my body back as sovereign ground, it still comes as a shock that you did this without my consent. But how can I be sad when you still hug me like that, like you're coming home?

I love you forever
Mama

She's nothing if not logical

2008-02-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

"I'd like to be a cow someday".
"A cow? Why?"
"So I can jump over the moon. You could sit on the moon, and I would jump over it."
"But how would I get all the way up there?"
"You could use a ladder."
"Where would I find a ladder that tall? The moon is very, very high up."
"Well, you could find one at a store."
"What kind of store would sell a ladder that big?"
"Hm....I guess we'd better look on ebay".

Bursting my Bubble

2008-01-22T11:57:00.002-08:00

We had Nadia and Everett and Mara over for dinner the other night, and things were just winding down. We were sitting at the dining room table, tea in hand, chatting. Charlie crawled under the table to play, and Lua soon followed. After a few seconds of big-sister-style torture, Charlie'd had enough.

"Lua", I said, peeking under the table, "how about this: Pretend there is a bubble around you and a bubble around Charlie. Don't break the bubble!"

I'd just poked my head back up to continue chatting with our guests when I heard a small but clear voice.

"POP"

Nadia looked at me. "I think she's smarter than you, Lib" she said.

"I know".

Loco Loco Loco

2008-01-22T11:46:00.000-08:00

Let's be honest here: winter sucks. The reason I have not been keeping up with my blog, in case anyone reading this in not in smelling distance of our apartment, is because I have been very busy cleaning up poop and vomit. For the past month and a half. Non-stop. First, Charlie got sick. His diapers were exploding all over every surface of our bed, floors, crib, car, couch, clothes, etc. Then Lua got sick. She was throwing up all over said items. Now, the cat is sick. That makes an extra batch of puke and drool I have to clean off the floor and carpets. $500 later, we found out that Pepe probably has pneumonia and has to be on antibiotics. To kick it all off, Charlie's poopy diapers are still volatile, SIX WEEKS later, and yesterday I spent a half hour cleaning diarrhea off of the highchair of the restaraunt we were eating at and all of Charlie's clothes. When I had him stripped down to nothing on the bathroom floor of the restaraunt, he proceeded to stand up and pee on his shoes.

I'd been patting myself on the back lately for regaining some of my former patience level. I felt calmer, less likely to burn an ulcer in my stomach when I was trying to get the kids out of the house in the morning. Sadly, that little gem of sanity has been lost again, and I find myself heading back down the long, long road to crazy.

Happy 3rd Birthday Lua!

2007-12-12T10:22:00.000-08:00

My darling Lua Grace,

Three years ago you were born into this world, a writhing, screaming baby with a shock of thick black hair and a voracious appetite. Three years ago my life and your father's life changed forever in a single instant, the moment the nurse laid you on my breast. You were perfect. I can't help but remember the feeling of relief that swept over me in that moment. You were safe, I was alive, we were together. I felt a warm tear land on my arm as your father grinned over you with a look of absolute adoration on his face. Lua, God must have really known what He was doing when he gave you to us.

We have learned so much from you in the three years since you were born. For example, I know now that pink is not only a color, but also a food group, a music genre and a personality type (as in, "how are you feeling today Lua?" "Pink."). Also, I have learned that dead leaves really can be as lovely as fresh flowers when chosen with care by a grinning toddler, and that absolutely anything tastes better with sprinkles.

I have a theory that you and your brother take turns playing angel and devil. Right now, and for the last few weeks, you have been the angel. Perhaps you're just falling out of your terrible twos, but you are suddenly a terrific pleasure to be around. You wake up with a smile on your face, you no longer pummel your little brother every time he gets on your nerves, you ask for things in a polite manner, and sometimes you even cooperate with me when I'm trying to get everyone out the door. Although there is still a long way to go on that last one.

I am fascinated by your thoughts and insights into how the world works. You have the cutest little voice and man, do you know how to use it. Your current favorite activity is to act out scenes from books. You lead me through Winnie the Pooh and Some Bees all the time, which is great because you have begun to use words like "perhaps" and "would you be so kind as to..." in every day conversation. You also love to dance and you especially love music. Because your answer to "what kind of music do you want to listen to?" is usually "pink", we listen to the singer Pink a lot. You also like Fergie, Gwen Stefanie, and Kanye West. It cracks me up to hear you muttering the Fergie lyrics "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses it's blanket" while spinning around the living room in your ballet slippers.

There are so many times lately when I look at you and am completely overwhealmed by love. I want to pick you up and sqeeze you and kiss you all the time, but I have to restrain myself because you are much too dignified for that sort of behaviour. The other day you did something naughty and I was going to send you to your room for a time out when your father stepped in. "Lua", he said, "if you come here and cuddle with your daddy you don't have to have a time out". You froze. You thought over his offer for two full minutes and I could practically see the fight going on in your brain: which would be more torturous - time out, or cuddling? Finally, you let out a deep breath. "Okay", you said, resigned. "I guess I could cuddle with you". While you're obviously not crazy about physical affection, I have come to count on you saying "Mommy? I love you" and "I think you're wonderful" and "you're the best mommy EVER" every day.

Lua, you're a good toad.

Love always,
Mama

Those Days

2007-12-03T12:37:00.000-08:00

Oh my. Today is one of those days. One of the days that Lua, Charlie and I spent an entire morning in tears. One of the days that I briefly considered leaving them both in the apartment and driving to the Canadian wilderness to start a new life as a hermit. One of the days after which I will have to tell Riaz, "Remember that bag of mini peanut butter cups we got at Target? Yeah, it's gone. All of it. Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom".

Ghetto

2007-10-24T13:01:00.001-07:00

Riaz, Mara and I took the kids to walk in the woods a few weeks ago. I completely forgot to post this hilarious conversation that took place as we hiked along the river.

LUA: (picking up a long stick from the ground) Okay Mom, let's battle.
ME: (dumbstruck) Battle? Where did you learn about battles?
LUA: (gives world weary sigh-shrug) From the city.

How NOT to approach a stranger

2007-10-24T12:55:00.000-07:00

I was looking at coats in Marshalls today when this woman approaches me. "Excuse me, Ma'am?", she asks, "Does this stink?"

"Um...excuse me?" is my reply.

"Does this stink?" she repeats. Then she starts waving her wrist in front of my face. It occured to me that she must be attempting to get my opinion on her perfume, so I pretend to smell it.

"No" I say.

"It's the new scent from the Desperate Housewives!" the woman exclaims, as if I care. Then she walks away.

Wierd.

Happy First Birthday, Charles!

2007-10-03T09:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Charlie,

Today you are one year old. You are so beautiful. I have never seen another baby with such a sweet, quiet charm. Your smile is small and shy, and you look out at the world with big hazel eyes framed by long, dark lashes. More often than not, your head is leaning against my chest and your little fingers are curled into my shirt. You look so sweet that I can frequently be found nibbling on you: your pudgy arms and legs and cheeks are a baby smorgusboard. Although your belly is disappearing quickly now that you're more mobile, Lua still believes that "chubby" is the ultimate compliment because you have been called that (lovingly) more times than I can count. The other day she smiled sweetly at me and proclaimed "Mommy, you have such chubby legs!" Unfortunately for me, the chubby legs are far better suited to you than to me.

Being the second baby isn't always easy. You often get shuffled around from library to play date with no regard for your naps and no semblance of the kind of strict schedule that your sister had. I don't have hours upon hours to lavish on you alone, reading books with large photos of babies and very little words. You have no toys that Lua doesn't come along and claim, you have very little undivided attention. But I refuse to feel guilty for this, because you're turning out perfectly. At one year old, you are still held in someone's arms (usually mine) almost constantly - at your insistence. When you're not being held, you are usually following your sister and her friends around trying to get in on the big kid action. This does not go over very well with the big kids, but don't worry. If you keep growing as you have been, pretty soon you will be bigger than the big kids.

Charlie, I love everything about you. I love the way your face smooshes against your arm when you are sleeping (all twenty minutes of your nap), I love the blush on your cheeks when you wake up. I love your excitement and adoration of your big sister, the way she and only she can make you disolve into giggles. I love your gentle nature and your curiosity. I love that you're a mama's boy. I love that you don't mind that I kiss you a thousand times a day.

This year has flown by so fast. You are crawling now, but within a couple months you will be walking and running. I can tell already how agile you are. We took a trip to the St. Croix State Park last weekend and no matter where I set you down, you would turn your little bum around and crawl backwards all the way down the hill and straight to the river. You are very deliberate in your actions. Not at all what I expected from a little boy. You are an observer and you will watch and watch until you can do something perfectly. You rarely slip and fall, because you are so conscientious about what you are doing. It gives me hope that there is some combination of my and your father's genes that is at least a little bit athletic.

My darling little man, thank you for brightening our family with your presence. This first year of your life has been challenging and wonderful beyond all belief. The coming year terrifies me with these taunting words: Two Toddlers. We will get through it, though we might all come out the other end being a little bit crazier. Just promise me one thing - you can walk and run and play all you like, but please come back sometimes to lay your head on my shoulder and let me kiss your soft round cheeks.

Love,
Mama

Varqa

2007-09-26T10:00:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot of Dr. Varqa, the dear Hand of the Cause of God who passed away a few days ago. (A Hand of the Cause is a very special station and Dr. Varqa was the last surviving member of that institution appointed by Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Baha'i Faith). When I was in Haifa I had the incredible blessing to serve Dr. Varqa directly, by cleaning his apartment every week. I thought I would jot down the following story, one of my favorite memories from my time in the Holy Land.

A few weeks into my service in the Holy Land, I was given a very important assignment. I was to come every week to Dr. Varqa's flat and clean it thoroughly without disturbing him. Dr. Varqa was quite old at the time, and his health was not the best. Still, every day he would get up and go to work at the Seat of the Universal House of Justice. Some days he would stay there late into the evening but others he needed to return home soon after he'd left. Every time I went to his flat, I rang the bell several times and waited before letting myself in, just in case he'd come home early. For the first few weeks, I was always alone. I was new at this cleaning lady thing, but I tried my best to make everything sparkle. Despite my general hatred of cleaning, it was a joy doing this small service for a man I admired so much.

Dr. Varqa was very tidy. I remember clearly that he always had his slippers - black with embroidered red lobsters - lined up perfectly beside his bed. I would carefully pick them up and vacuum under them, then return them exactly as they were. I scrubbed and swept and mopped every surface I could see. I tried to make it seem like I had never even been there, to leave no distinguishing mark except the lack of pistacio shells next to his chair.

About three weeks into my new job, my supervisor met me outside Dr. Varqa's door. She explained very sternly that one of the House members wives had inspected Dr. Varqa's flat with a checklist, and my cleaning job had been woefully lacking. My supervisor told me that she was going to take me through the flat and point out all of the spots that I'd neglected, but we'd have to be very quiet because Dr. Varqa was at home today.

I was crushed. My heart felt so heavy I thought it might fall right through my chest and land on my stomach. Not only did I feel terrible about failing so miserably, but now Dr. Varqa would be there to see my face. He would know who it was that was leaving his house in such a derelict state. A lump formed in my throat and I struggled to hold back tears as my supervisor led me through the kitchen, quietly berating me for ignoring a sticky spot on the inside of a bottom cabinet. She took me through the sunroom next, which was separated from the living room by a window. When my supervisor took me over to that window, I wanted to die from embarassment. Dr. Varqa was sitting on the other side of it, reading a letter. The supervisor pointed out several partial fingerprints on the glass that I'd missed, and my head hung low as I wiped them off and struggled not to sniffle. When I glanced up again, Dr. Varqa was looking straight at me.

"Why are you doing that?" he asked. I froze. Should I apologize for my poor cleaning technique? I was sure he'd spoken to the House member's wife and they'd both agreed it was best to find someone else. Perhaps he was wondering why I was still in his flat, especially since he was at home. I expected him to ask me very politely to leave. Instead, he smiled and waved his arm. "That is not important!" he exclaimed. Then he waved me and my supervisor over. "Look at this, this is important."

The letter was important. It was from the President of the United States, a letter of condolence to the Universal House of Justice on the passing of Ruhiyyih Khanum. We all read the letter and remarked over it's accurate dipiction of the life and astounding character of the wife of Shoghi Effendi. But I for one could barely concentrate on this remarkable piece of correspondence. Dr. Varqa had warmed my heart and brought joy to a dark day. He'd understood my yearning for his acceptance. I remember thinking that this must have been why he had been appointed Hand of the Cause, because a piece of 'Abdu'l-Baha's perfect love resided in him.

Dancing With the Star

2007-09-26T09:28:00.000-07:00

Those of you who read this blog regularly will find it unbelievably ironic that Lua's newest passion is none other than ballerinas. She reads ballerina books, watches ballerina movies, and wears ballerina costumes all day long. And I have been feeding this obsession (Although the ballet slippers that Lua loves so much that she sleeps in them? All Riaz's idea). You might be wondering why, after ranting and raving about all the sexist products out on the market for children, I would allow this ballerina craze to continue. The truth? It's just really cute. She looks so adorable spinning around the apartment in her sparkly leotard and pink slippers that I really cannot help myself. The best part is that Lua's innate uncoordination - the ostrich-like gate and nonexistent hand-eye-foot coordination of all Johnston girls (yes, I am tracing this back to you, Mom)- just makes her ballet dancing all the more enjoyable to watch. There is more jumping than prancing in Lua's ballet, more falling on her tutu than plies and curtsies. But that's what makes it so great. Last night my sister was over and she and Lua were practicing their "routine" in the living room. Lua christened herself Little Ballerina and called her auntie Big Ballerina, which made me giggle until Lua began referring to me as Big Mama Ballerina. That is just not a nickname I can get behind.

What it's Like at Grandma Julie's

2007-09-20T07:06:00.000-07:00

"What did you do today Lua?"
"I had tofu with pink sprinkles!!!"

2007-09-19T11:09:00.000-07:00

My Brilliant Star

2007-09-19T10:36:00.002-07:00

Dear Lua,

There is something so vibrant about you. All those prayers you've said before bed to make you a "shining lamp and a brilliant star" have definitely paid off. I have become used to the fact that when you are in a room, you control the attention of everyone in it. Even when you are being an impossible, obstinate two-year-old, you glow with electricity, like a live wire. Sometimes I am in awe that someone like you came out of me, and it terrifies me that I am supposed to be the one to guide you and help you control your impulses. 'Abdu'l-Baha said that mothers can bend their children in any direction they wish, like young green trees. But how can I bend the important things in the right direction when I can't even get you to put your shoes on?

There is a very fine line between guiding your children and bullying them. Finer than you might think. You test me on that boundary every day. You have taught me things about my own personality that I never knew existed, some of which I hoped were not there. But you have also taught me how much love I can have for another human being. So much love and astonishment and adoration that the physical universe cannot contain it: it is boundless, and it is unbreakable.

When you are grown, I will think back on your little toddler self like this: you are the smartest little person I have ever met. You remember everything. You frequently ask me if I remember things that happened many months before, seemingly insignificant things that I never imagined made an impression on you. You speak like an adult, and your brain is usually two steps ahead of mine in any conversation. You are extremely perceptive and compassionate. Several weeks ago, my aunt was diagnosed with cancer and has been undergoing treatment since then. You overheard Grandma and I talking about it and you were very concerned. We said prayers for my aunt several times over the next few days, but I had not mentioned her to you since then. This morning, you came into our bedroom to snuggle me into wakefulness and asked "Mommy, is Joellyn still sick?" "Yes", I replied, surprised that you'd thought to ask. "Oh", you said sadly, "we should bring her some medicine".

Right now your major concern has been wishing you were still a baby. I know it's had for you to share the limelight, not to mention your toys, with your little brother. He gets carried around, coddled, nursed, and kissed. You don't want to be coddled or kissed, but you still want to get everything on demand, just like he does. And he bugs you. I can feel your frustration, and I know how hard you are trying to be good (most of the time). But often his being the baby just doesn't seem fair. The last couple of months have been very, very hard. You have hit him, pushed him, kicked him and screamed at him. You have even gotten to the point where you asked me if we could lose Charlie, or just let him live at Grandma's house. Last week was the hardest of all. All three of us spent a lot of it in tears. On Friday though, you gave me the most wonderful present. We went to story-time at a library near our apartment, and it was a new place so you were both feeling shy. Charlie sat on one of my legs and you sat on the other. I was extremely apprehensive about this seating situation at first, considering the outbursts of violence that have been occurring all too frequently in our house these days. But you two were angels. As the story began, you slid your arm around Charlie's back (not his neck!) and very gently laid your head on his shoulder. Amazingly, he neither wriggled away nor attempted to pull your hair. You sat like this for nearly five minutes, during which time I held my breath and choked back tears. Happy tears. When you give me little glimpses like this, I think I can see you for who you really are, and what your personality will become once you get out of this difficult adjustment period. I can't wait to see you grow. I am so proud to be your mommy.

Love,
Mom

POOF you're a neurosurgeon!

2007-07-16T20:30:00.000-07:00

One of Lua's favorite games to play is Magic Wand. This game can be played with or without the help of an actual wand - the key is to flick your fingers into "jazz hand" position while yelling "POOF! You're a (fill in the blank)!" The game started out with Lua turning me into a baby. I would cry and suck my thumb until she turned me back into a WOMAN. When she tried to turn Daddy back into a woman, I explained to her that Daddy is a man. "When I grow up", she told me, "I'm going to be a man like Daddy". "Actually", I said, "you're going to be a woman like Mommy when you grow up." Suddenly, Lua became very interested in gender distinctions. This forced me to become interested in them too.

Dabbling in gender distinctions has left me feeling creepy. I hate correcting Lua when she says that Charlie is "getting to be such a big girl!," and I had no idea how to explain to her why we couldn't buy a pink dolly for baby Owen when he was born. I mean, why should I need to explain to a two year old that her favorite color is not appropriate for a baby boy? When I walked into the bathroom the other day and Lua was standing in front of the potty chair and attempting to pee into it, I was forced to deliver a crushing age-old gender distinction: girls cannot pee standing up. She was very disappointed.

As if dealing with these things were not hard enough, I would like you to observe the following marketing scheme at a couple of very popular stores. Here is the new fall line for infant girls at the Gap. Here is the one for infant boys. Next, observe Pottery Barn Kids toys for girls and their toys for boys. I mean, how can my lowly assertions of "You can be a fireman when you grow up, Lua!" win out over the constant barrage of ballerinas and pink vacuums? And am I supposed to be surprised when my son becomes a toddler and wants to play with toy guns, after dressing him in hunting and army gear since infancy?

The most disconcerting thing is that I kind of feel like a hypocrite. I mean, I can tell my kids that women aren't made to be barefoot and pregnant until I'm blue in the face, but what am I doing with my life? Being pregnant, mostly. And wait...let me see here...nope. Not wearing any shoes.

It's not that I think I'm setting a bad example for them. Of course not. I totally believe that I am doing the most important job on earth and if any of my grandchildren are not raised by a full-time parent, I will be sad. But how can I rationalize that statement when I just as firmly believe that if Lua wants to be an astrophysicist, she should be. Does that mean she can't also be a mother? Or does it mean that she is going to have to marry someone who wants to be a stay-at-home dad? And what about Charlie? If his wife comes to me one day complaining that my backward son wants her to stay home and raise their baby rather than going to work every day, what will I say?

Luckily, God has control over everything and I have control over nothing (I am learning this more with every day of motherhood). Lua will do whatever it is that she is led to do. Maybe she will be a fireman. Or maybe she will be a ballerina. Or maybe she will be a neurosurgeon. Or maybe she will be a night manager at the Home Depot. Maybe Charlie will stay at home with his kids or maybe he will decide to be an astronaut and live out his days on the space station, as far as possible away from his neurotic mother. I don't know. My job is to present them with the possibilities, and eschew as many of the barriers as possible. I don't think there's much hope for getting girls to pee standing up, but perhaps in the future having a career and being a mother won't need to be so mutually exclusive.

Overheard after dinner

2007-07-16T18:59:00.000-07:00

"You know, Lua, there are children in this world that don't get espresso".

RANT

2007-07-11T11:08:00.000-07:00

Independence Day? Try Independence Month. Possibly (though I'm hoping not) Independence Year. Maybe (though I'm dreading even thinking this) this is just the beginning of Independence Lifetime. Lua is struggling so much to assert her independence from me that I often want nothing more than to leave her to it.

Please, Lua. Go be independent. Over there. See that bus on it's way to Arkansas? I'll buy you a ticket and you can assert your little heart out. You can tell the driver that you want to listen to YOUR music. No, not that tape; the one with Waltzing Matilda on it! What? He can't find it? Well then, you know what to do. SCREAM! WHINE! KICK YOUR BROTHER! Then, you can tell the lady sitting next to you that you're hungry. It doesn't matter that she says she doesn't have any Goldfish crackers. Don't you remember? If you just continue to ask her in a high pitched, nasel whine, they should magically appear in her bag. And that guy accross the isle from you? The one who asked if you could hand him the hat he dropped? Not only can you not give him the hat, but you can spill your juice on the hat and then throw it as far as humanly possible in the other direction. This sounds like a great ride, but I think I'd better stay home. I mean, if I came, who would feed your fish?

Was I the only one under the mistaken impression that kids were supposed to be happy? Isn't childhood meant to be full of joy and awe, experiencing the wonders of life and all that? I am trying, trying, trying not to take this personally. But it's hard, because it's personal. She's my kid, and I'm with her all day, every day. Where have I gone wrong? Why does Lua spend so much more time sighing with contempt than giggling?

P.S. Charlie, you are not off the hook either. You are a baby. You are supposed to sleep.

From the cradle to the crib

2007-06-21T22:07:00.000-07:00

The beautiful times in life are always tinged with agony, because they are gone so soon. My little Charles is growing up so quickly that Riaz claims he can literally watch him get taller over night. He's crawling everywhere these days, taking in life beyond the confines of the blanket I set him on, or the bouncy chair, or my breast (which were the only places he could ever be found previously). Luckily - although quite frustrating at times - he still does not seem to enjoy being far from me for long and if I put him on the floor at 12:00, chances are good he'll be back in my lap and chewing on my chin by 12:01. He also still refuses to eat almost anything, which leaves him nursing a lot and waking up several times a night for midnight snacks. I believe that like me, Charlie is simultaneously excited and horrified at the thought of becoming independent, and this mostly just makes him clingy. Perhaps he senses my desperation to have him remain a little baby. Unfortunately, this is a losing battle, largely because Charlie, who is eight months, fits into the same clothes as the little boy next door who is 20 months. He is anything but little.

Last week the kids and I were at the library when a little girl and her mother walked by. "Aw Mommy," said the little girl, "Look at that cute baby!" "Well he is cute", replied the mother, looking at Charlie, "but he's not exactly a baby anymore". I had an overwhelming urge to grab that woman by the shoulders, shake her, and demand to know what exactly he was, if not a baby. I mean, he's only just getting his first tooth! He is definitely still a baby. Right? RIGHT???

This strange compulsion of mine came to a head this evening when I asked Riaz to take some things to storage in the basement. Charlie has finally outgrown the cradle that my grandpa had made for me when I was a baby, and it was time to move it out of our bedroom. "Isn't there someone else who can use this?", asked Riaz. He was obviously looking for a way to get the cradle, which is admittedly ginormous, out of our apartment. The look on my face must have been devastating because he immediately scooped me up in his arms and tried to comfort me by assuring me, "It's okay Libby! We can have more babies to fill up the cradle! We have good health insurance now". Men.

The thing is, I don't even want more babies. I like our family as it is and I think one more baby might just tip the precarious balance of my psyche into full-blown insanity. But I also can't believe that this is the last time we will have a little baby in our home. I feel like I was just getting started and already that chapter is closed. Where did it go? I can barely remember Charlie as a newborn. Lua is now so mature that I'm pretty sure she'll be running for office soon. President of the Playground. I hate that woman who said that Charlie wasn't a baby anymore, and I hate the stupid Gerber rice cereal box that says that Charlie should be eating Stage 3 foods already, and I hate all of this pressure for me to find a preschool for Lua before she is even three years old. Why can't my babies stay babies? What's the hurry?

I was musing on all of this, with tears streaming down my cheeks, after we successfully heaved the cradle into the basement. Lua came tottering down the hallway, pushing a doll in a stroller, and rolled into the room where I was sitting on the bed. She was wearing a t-shirt, Princess pull-ups, and a crown. she pushed the hair off of her face with the palm of her hand and sat down next to me. "What's wrong, Mommy?", she asked. I told her that I was fine. She pulled me down with her and curled up tight next to me with her head under my chin. And she let me hold her, which she never does. Then she looked at me very seriously and said, "You stay right there. I'm going to get you a lollipop. You wait here, and I am going to go with my baby doll, and I am going to get you a lollipop. And then I'm going to come back here and give it to you." Sigh. Babies are sweet, but kids are pretty cool too.

Lua's Heaven

2007-05-23T13:16:00.000-07:00

"Where is Papa's mama?"
"She's in heaven"
"I've been there."
"I bet you have. What was it like?"
"Pink."

Where is the $%*&ing maid???

2007-05-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

When I decided to be a stay-at-home-mom, I didn't think much about the "home" part. Mostly I was excited about the "mom" part and thought the home would take care of itself. How wrong I was. Sometimes I feel like I spend more time cleaning up after my kids than playing with them. I often hear myself saying things like "I'm sorry honey, I can't read to you right now because I have to scrape last night's dinner off of the dishes". How pathetic is that? Yet it has to be done.

I've been talking to a few of my friends that stay at home with their kids, and the consensus is that none of us is cut out for being a housewife. Sadly, that is exactly what we are. This new generation of women who've decided to be at home to raise their family is quite different from previous generations. We are well traveled, well educated, often older and have experience being part of the workforce. We are used to having intelligent conversations with other educated, working adults on a daily basis. The most important thing that sets us apart is that with us, this being at home thing was a choice, not an expectation. And more often the choice was made without prior knowledge of all of the housework that goes into being a housewife.

Mostly, what I'm wondering is this: What did I do (perhaps in a past life) to deserve the hours upon hours of laundry that I clean every week? Is the food that I am forced to scrape off the floor under the highchair retribution for all of the times I refused to help my mom clean the bathroom when I was twelve? Or did I actually bring this work onto myself by foolishly imagining I was going to be home playing intellectually stimulating games with my offspring all day? The fact that I have a college education, that I spent time in the larger world and have professional goals for myself does not change the fact that the cat puke on the kitchen floor needs to be cleaned up. Imagine that. I actually chose to clean up puke for a living.

It would actually be kind of funny if it wasn't so...true.

a Venti cup of Stress

2007-04-24T07:46:00.000-07:00

Well. I guess I am getting pretty behind on my blogging, but I so rarely have a moment alone to sit at the computer that I literally haven't checked my email in two weeks. Some of you might recall the post I wrote when Lua was about six months. It went something like this: "Lua will not stop crying. She cries 20 out of 24 hours of the day, sleeps for 3 hours, and is very cute and charming for the remaining sixty minutes." That is not a direct quote but I think it gets the sentiment across. I guess it runs in the family, because all of a sudden my darling sweet little boy turns 6 months and becomes a lunatic. I blame the lunacy on two things. First, he is teething. This excuse for a poorly behaved baby is an oldie but a goodie. Second, he is just on the verge of crawling, but so far he can only move backwards. It frustrates him to no end that he cannot go in the direction that he wants, or reach the toy he is aiming for. It frustrates me and Riaz to no end that Charlie will NOT STOP FUSSING!!!! I guess I forgot how hard the year between 6 months and 18 months is. It is the period when babies learn pretty much everything - sitting, crawling, standing, walking, running, talking, biting, hitting - they get teeth, they triple their weight, they grow tall and begin to eat solid foods. All of this learning is very stressful on the baby and even more stressful on the parents. We have to listen to the fussing, try to stop the hitting and biting, and all we have to look forward to at the end of this trying time is a two year old. So...anybody feel like babysitting?

Parental Exchange

2007-04-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

"Wow, how did you get Charles to stop screaming?"
"I didn't. I think he's pooping."

Is This My Beautiful Life?

2007-03-22T11:55:00.000-07:00

This morning I woke up to the twisting and snuffling of the five-month-old baby whose little warm body had been snuggled against mine during the night. I sat him up, pried my eyes open, and returned the huge grin that lit up his face. i was playing with his chubby fingers when a dashing young man crawled into the bed beside us and kissed me squarely on the mouth. "Happy Anniversary!", he announced. Before I could reply, a beautiful little girl ran into our room and jumped on her daddy's legs. She crawled up and planted kisses on both of our cheeks. I had the strangest feeling of seeing all of this from outside of my own skin, and I couldn't help but think of this day four years ago, when my life with Riaz seemed so full of promise, and adventure, and uncertainty. Whatever joy I had hoped for in our first few years of marriage, I certainly didn't imagine it could be so...full.

I couldn't be more blessed than this: to live my life hand in hand with a man that I love and admire more each passing year, and to spend these early years of our marriage nurturing our children and watching them grow. Happy 4th Anniversary, honey! If this year is our plastic anniversary, I can't imagine what it will be like when we strike gold.

Pirates of the Carribathroom

2007-03-01T13:13:00.000-08:00

I can no longer say that I never make the same mistake twice. I have now gone too far with this potty thing with both of my kids and I wish that I had just decided to be moderate from the beginning.

A couple of days ago, I was talking to a woman who I really respect and asked her advice on potty training. She has three little girls who are all lovely and even the youngest of whom seems to be very toilet-independent. She advised me not to mess around with pull-ups and other things, just to announce that she is now a big girl and will no longer be needing diapers. This woman went on to say that the most efficient way of getting the message accross is to take them out in public without a diaper.

This method seemed a tad cold-hearted to me (although the woman is definately not cold), so I decided to try a tamed-down approach. Yesterday I told Lua that she is a big girl now, and that it was time to give her diapers to Charlie and wear panties and use the potty chair. Lua seemed amenable to this, and to this point has not asked for her diapers back. The only problem is that she does not want to use the potty chair, and she doesn't seem to mind going in her pants. She is so resistant to sitting on the potty that the last two days have been a very long, painful, drawn-out battle of wills between Lua and I. I have bribed her, cajoled her, guilted her, praised her, and both of us have cried in frustration. I HATE HATE HATE it.

Maybe she is just not ready to be potty trained yet. All of the signs are there (i.e. she is able to communicate effectively, walk to the potty, pull down her pants, and doesn't like to sit in a dirty diaper), but the most basic fact that I have ignored is that she doesn't want to do it. It has occurred to me more than once in the last two days that I am being a Psychotic Nazi Potty Bitch, and I'm not really sure why I am pushing it so hard. I mean sure, nobody wants to change two sets of diapers, especially when one of them is full of meats and other solid foods - ugh - but it's not really that big of a deal. I don't want a five year old in diapers, but she's not nearly that old yet. Why am I doing this to both of us?

I am going to change tactics. Starting this afternoon, Lua can wear diapers if she wants to. She can go on the potty if she wants to. She can pee all over herself if she wants to, although I'm sure that will get old soon. I am just not cut out for being cut-throat.

Diaper Free Day 2

2007-02-23T12:35:00.000-08:00

So. Remember what I wrote yesterday about beginner's luck? I'm pretty sure that was spot on. I have been peed on several times since that post was written and even pooped on once, which made me begin to reconsider this little experiment. I've come to some conclusions today: 1. The fact that the author lives on an organic farm and is outside/home with her children most of the time makes a huge difference. I am not able to let my babies crawl around naked all day in a Minneapolis apartment in the middle of the winter with ease (Let alone the mall, the Children's Museum, the library, or Target). 2. I didn't realize just HOW MUCH ATTENTION needs to be paid to the diaperless baby in order to avoid accidents, at least at first. I do not notice any overt signs that Charlie is going to go, especially pee. When I wrote the post yesterday, Lua had been napping almost the entire time Charlie had been diaperless. I had simply taken him to the sink or toilet every twenty minutes or so and let him do his business when he needed to. But by the end of the day, Charlie was getting annoyed with me for holding him in that uncomfortable squatting position so often when he didn't need to go, and I was getting peed on because I was paying more attention to Lua than Charlie at times.

To be honest, the price and hassle of changing diapers don't bother me so much. I don't think I would even be considering NIH if Lua did not have so many potty issues. She is so mature and communicative for her age, but the potty is one thing she seems to be regressing with. Most of the time she just refuses to use it. She hates having her diaper changed, but the thought of going without diapers freaks her out. Occasionally she'll sit on the toilet - usually after being bribed with promises of ice cream, gum, or stickers - but she never actually uses it. Twice she has actually gotten off of the toilet and gone directly on the floor instead. I find this behavior really odd and hope that she is not always going to be uncomfortable with her own body/digestive system. I am trying not to push her. I ask her casually several times a day if she would like to use the potty, and when she says no I just say "ok" and go on with what we were doing. Apparently this isn't as nonchalant as I imagine, though, because she definately knows how much we want her to go on the potty and is rebelling against it.

Bearing all this in mind, I don't want to give up on NIH altogether with Charlie. I believe that it is a much more natural approach to elimination than to just go whenever/wherever you want and then sit in it for a while. I hope that using some of the NIH techniques will help Charlie feel more in touch with and in control of his own bodily functions. I've decided to put Charlie on the potty whenever he wakes up, right after nursing, and first thing in the morning. He'll be in diapers, but I'll change them right away if he soils them so that he won't get used to being wet. We'll see how it goes!

Diaper Free Day 1

2007-02-22T14:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday my neighbor lent me a book about "elimination communication" (also known as "Natural Infant Hygiene") which sounded completely ridiculous, in large part because of the rhyming name. The theory behind this book is that the diaper is an unnatural contraption that only serves to make your baby uncomfortable and out of touch with his own body rhythms. According to the author, Natural Infant Hygiene is used in many non-Western cultures all over the world with great success. Babies who use NIH never have diaper rash, never get used to sitting in wet and dirty diapers and then have to be retrained as toddlers, and they don't contribute to disposable diaper waste (which apparently makes up 1/3 of all non-biodegradable waste in landfills).
The first time I heard of this theory - then called "the potty whisperer" because you cue your infant to pee or poop by using certain words or sounds - I thought it was impossible. It seemed like something contrived to make mothers of three month olds in diapers feel guilty and inadequate. The second time I heard of it, I found it annoying. While I agree with most of the principles of Attachment Parenting, I find their delivery often to be rigid and judgmental. NIH seemed right up there in the crazy Attachment Parenting world with the book Robyn lent me that proposed having an "orgasmic birth" (thanks, Robyn - so far I have not had an orgasm during delivery but I definately appreciate the thought). The thing is, I have this great husband who has a much more open and less cynical mind than my own. Riaz is never afraid to try out a new theory or to change his mind about something, and that is one thing I really admire about him. So I decided to take a page from his book and go for it.
Lua is 2 now, and is no closer to being diaper free than she was on the day she was born. We have struggled a lot over what to do for her, but so far have had no luck in getting her excited to use the potty. I believe this is our fault, because we trained her to be comfortable sitting in dirty and wet diapers, so why should she want to change that now? I am hoping that seeing her baby brother beating her to the potty will encourage her to give it a try.
So far this afternoon Charlie has peed three times and pooped once, all in the potty. He's been totally naked all afternoon and has not had one accident (and his diaper rash is already clearing up). It's freaking amazing. Possibly this is beginners luck, I will have to let you know tomorrow.

Oops

2007-02-16T14:05:00.000-08:00

I think I inadvertantly changed my comment settings, so sorry to those that left comments which were not displayed. I have taken care of the problem now, I think.

Morning Conversation

2007-01-25T20:36:00.000-08:00

"You are so lucky to have a brother, Lua. I always wanted a brother."

"You don't have a brother Mommy?"

"No, I don't have any brothers."

"Ohhhh...That's too bad!"

"Yeah, I have a sister though. Auntie Mara is my sister. We grew up together, just like you and Charlie are growing up together."

"When I grow up, I'm going to work."

"Really? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to work with Bambi."

"No kidding. I didn't know Bambi worked. What does he do?"

"Nothing."

"So...when you grow up, you're going to hang out with Bambi and do nothing?"

"Yep."

Never confuse efficiency with a liver complaint

2007-01-24T11:23:00.001-08:00

Perhaps you thought that after my long blogging draught Mary Poppins had left the daily routine at our house. Not so. Not only is Mary Poppins alive and well in our DVD player, she is gaining strength with hourly recitals of "Spoon full of sugar" and "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious". Lua has actually began to say the latter word and although it sounds a little bit like "Cooperalidocioshus", people actually know what she's trying to say. Lua's vocabulary is pretty astounding. When we took her to her two-year check up last week, the doctor asked us if she was stringing two words together yet. Riaz and I looked at eachother with identical incredulous expressions. I can't even remember the last time i heard Lua say only two words at once. Words seem to flow out of Lua like chocolate out of the chocolate fondue fountain that we enjoyed for dessert last night (sweet, but a little too much). She sounds so mature when she's talking to me that sometimes I have to remind myself that she is only two, and that even if she sounds reasonable, that doesn't mean she is reasonable. Take yesterday afternoon, for example. I told Lua it was time to take a nap, and I watched her face contort as her mind tried to work out a way to get out of sleeping. "Weeeeell', she began with her chin propped in both hands, "Well...but I can't take a nap. I'm playing with my sticker book right now, Mommy." Then she shrugged and went back to work on finding a page to stick Dora the Explorer. What am I supposed to say to such a logical argument? On the bright side, I would much rather engage in a battle of wits with Lua than a battle of wills. Our lives are so much happier now that everyone is healthy. Lua's whining is at a minimum (thank the Good Lord) and Charlie only needs to be bounced, spoken to, and tickled 20 - instead of 24 - hours a day. That is not to say we are not having our ups and downs, (I'm sure Lua will remember that time last week when I offered to drive her to the airport to catch a flight to Switzerland for boarding school), but there are definately a lot more ups at present, and I couldn't ask for anything more.

Letter to my Two-Year-Old Princess

2006-12-23T13:14:00.000-08:00

Dear Lua,

One of your favorite books to read is called "The Care Bears and the Terrible Twos". It is about a little girl named Melinda who has to learn to live with her brother and sister, who are two-year-old twins. The twins are terrible. They pour syrup all over Melinda, they give her favorite doll a haircut and her best book a bath. At the end of the story they are still terrible, but they love Melinda so she decides to put up with them. The fact that you like this book so much disturbs me because you tend to commiserate not with the protagonists of stories (in this case, Melinda), but with the characters that give them the most grief. Case in point, no matter how many times you watch Cinderella, you still want to rewind the scenes with Lucifer, the evil cat, in them. So I worry that you are learning to enjoy being in the midst of the terrible twos, just like the twins. You are not terrible, Lua, but sometimes I think you are trying very very hard to be so.

Your whining is the thing that makes your father and I feel that we are being slowly tortured. I remember two things from my own childhood very clearly: 1. My mother's constant refrain "We don't speak Whinese here, Libby", and 2. My mother eventually cursing me with a child who whines as much as I did SO THAT I WOULD KNOW HOW IT FEELS. Lua, next time you see your grandma, don't forget to tell her this: Mission Accomplished.

Luckily, you have many redeeming qualities, not the least of which is eerily similar to the terrible twins in the story, your ability to be incredibly loving. I've been sick for weeks now, but I never tire of hearing your sweet voice ask me, "Feeling nice and better, Mommy?" You have brought me countless tissues and blankets (even when I didn't need them), you've cuddled with me and danced for me and made me laugh.

Yesterday there was one particular moment when it occurred to me that perhaps being two wasn't all that terrible. I was putting you in the car when it began to shower freezing rain down on our exposed necks and faces. You were shocked and yelled out "I don't like frozen rain, Mommy! Ow! Ow!". By the time we got to our destination, the rain had turned into snow but you couldn't tell the difference from inside the car. You looked positively frightened when I opened the door to let you out. "No, no!", you said, "It's owie!" "It's okay, Lua", I replied, "It's not freezing rain anymore. Look! It's snow! Snow is soft and cool." You clung to my neck as I lifted you out of your seat but eventually lifted your head as you realized you were not being pelted with ice. You looked around the soft, white world. You held your palm open to the sky. When my eyes met yours again, you were smiling. "I like snow", you whispered. In that moment, I fervently wished that we both didn't have ear infections, that I didn't have to get Charlie into the house, and that the two of us could just lay down in the silky silence of a snowy afternoon and melt snowflakes on our tongues.

Love,
Mama

Woe

2006-12-19T08:59:00.000-08:00

I feel kind of horrible about not posting anything for Lua's birthday (she turned 2 on Dec. 13th) but I do have a good excuse, if you can call the bubonic plague good in any way. Our household is like a giant petri dish of disease and infestation, with a dash of emotional distress thrown in for good measure. Riaz, Lua and I have all been sick for weeks. Charlie's been congested practically the entire time he's been alive. We even spread our delightful ailments to the entire family next door. I finally took Lua to the doctor yesterday...it turns out that the long weeks of whining and temper tantrums can at least partially be explained by the fact that she's had an ear infection long enough to cause her ear drum to rupture and require a $100 bottle of ear drops that is roughly the size of my thumbnail. Now on top of a sinus infection and infected bits of my nose that have been rubbed off from constant contact with generic tissues, I have a guilty concience because I've lost my temper more than once this month with Lua and her never-ending stream of Whinese. It turns out my baby's had awful ear pain the entire time. I officially suck.

Adoration

2006-12-08T10:53:00.001-08:00

Dear Charlie,

Tomorrow you will be two months old. These months have flown by so fast that I feel like I've missed something important. You are so big now - not a newborn any more. A couple of weeks ago you began fitting into 3-6 month clothes and already some of those are too small. Your belly is so huge that you are almost as wide as you are tall. People comment on this massive belly constantly, especially when you are wearing a two-piece outfit because the shirts are inevitably too short to cover it. When you are done nursing your belly button pops out like the timer on a juicy Thanksgiving turkey. Why am I telling you this? Mostly to embarass you when you are older (and slimmer).

My favorite thing about you is the sweetness of your face. You were born with your eyes wide open, looking absolutely horror stricken at what had just happened to you. This look of of complete shock stayed firmly on your face during all of your waking moments until recently. You seem to have finally accepted being out of the womb now, and you've begun to smile. Your favorite thing to do is look directly into someone's eyes and have a chat. "Agoo", you say. "Mmmmga. Owww?" And when they respond this huge grin spreads accross your face and your dimples work double time.

You love being held and cuddled. Being put down anywhere, for any reason, is a big no-no. This is quite difficult as I am usually on my own with you and your sister, and Lua is not yet willing to give up her mama's arms. Sometimes she will ask to hold you, and I will set Lua in my lap and you in her lap, and Lua will point out everything she loves about you. "Look at that nose!," she'll say. "Charlie has a mouth! I like Charlie's belly button". You tolerate her exploration for a little bit, then you begin to wail. "Charlie crying, Mommy," Lua will say in a panicked voice, "You take him!" This is always followed by shoving you off of her lap. Luckily I'm a good catcher.

I love everything about you, my little Charlie Bear, from top of your little baby combover to the bottom of your long, chubby toes. I love it when you fall asleep in my arms, and when you look at me as if you are the most innocent, trusting creature in the world (which you probably are). I want to freeze you at this age because you are growing too fast. No, scratch that. I want to freeze the whole world so that I can sit and watch you grow.

Love,
Mama

Dinner conversation

2006-11-30T15:04:00.000-08:00

I just had to share this small example of what was, strangely, a typical exchange at Robyn's last night. It began with a discussion about Mormonism...

Baseem: Isn't Salt Lake City where gay people started, too?
Libby: (in an exasperated tone) Where gay people started? That makes absolutely no sense.
Riaz: Yeah, haven't you heard the story of Adam and Adam? They both bit the apple.
Baseem: And the banana

From the lips of Lua lately...

2006-11-20T14:27:00.000-08:00

- "I'll help!" (heard at least every twenty seconds around our house)
- "Mama naked!" (announced very loudly when I jumped out of the shower to answer the phone)
- "I don't like it" (she says this so cute that you just can't be annoyed)
- "Watch Cinderella, Mommy?" (heard almost as much as "I'll help")
- "Yeah, okay. Sure. Okay. Yeah, yeah sure."
- "Ummmmmmmmmmmm...no."
- "Daddy driving crazy, Mommy?" (heard frequently from the back seat when we're in the car)
- "I'm washing my crackers!" (she really was)
- "My dress is pretty too" (her response when someone complimented her hair)
- "You look cute, Mommy. I like your necklace." (my own little self-esteem raiser)
- "Daddy wearing panties!" (she wouldn't listen to Riaz insisting, "No Lua, they're underwear")
- "I putting on Charlie's blankie. I putting on his head" (my cue to pay attention)

Welcome to the world, Your Highness

2006-10-23T13:23:00.000-07:00

When I began writing this post I had noble aspirations of writing a detailed account of Charlie's birth and the resulting bliss/turmoil that has been flooding our household in the last two weeks like a tsunami. I very quickly realized that this was not going to happen. I will write that post, but not today. It is too much to think about and to be frank, I am just too tired. Instead, I will start small. Speaking of which, Charlie is small. He is so small that he makes Lua look like a giant - a grown up giant who walks and talks and has complex emotions. He is gorgeous, perfect even, although he looks completely different from Lua who I also believe was a perfectly gorgeous newborn. Where Lua looked like a mini Sumo wrestler, or an Eskimo baby raised on seal fat, Charlie looks like a little aristocrat. Prince Charles indeed (although he is much cuter than Prince Charles, of course). Everyone has a different idea of who he looks like, but I for one can't see much resemblence to anyone yet. He is very mellow. He loves cuddling and will go to anyone without any fuss - unless he's hungry, in which case he will let out a yowl that could curdle my breast milk. Lua is very interested in her little brother. As predicted, she keeps tabs on him religiously. She looks for him when he's not around and narrates what he's doing at any given moment ("Charlie sleeping! Charlie wake! Charlie need diaper change?"). She had a hard first couple of weeks as a big sister because she was sick and there were so many people around, not to mention she was being shuttled back and forth between our house and my mom's. She's had quite a few massive temper tantrums and MOMMY attacks (when no one but Mommy will do and even Mommy can't qwell the depths of her despair over something as trivial and losing a sock). But now she seems to be getting the hang of things and her cold is finally starting to dissappear - only to show up again in myself and poor little Charlie. Lua is so interesting these days, you just never know what she will do or say, or how she will react to something. This is generally fun to watch, although at times it can be disastrous. Riaz and I definately have to keep one eye on Lua at all times when she's around the baby because her idea of tucking her brother in is not the same as ours. All in all though, she has adjusted beautifully to having her life turned upside down. I am so pround of my little Lulu.
I am proud of Charlie too, and so thrilled that he was born perfectly healthy without any complications. His delivery and my subsequent recovery have been so much easier than with Lua that I almost feel like I am cheating (wow, do I LOVE cheating!). Although I said earlier that I am not going into details about his birth here, I just want to say that all my fears and anxiety about labor and its aftermath were for naught (and by the way, I also LOVE epidurals). Thank God that everything went alright. Now the biggest challenge looming before me is getting two babies through the grocery store without one of the three of us breaking down, and believe me, that is quite a task.

The Final Countdown

2006-10-04T07:53:00.000-07:00

Well I have to apologize for not writing sooner about what's been going on with the baby. Life has just been flying by so fast and I have been too huge and tired to do almost anything (anything besides eating more than my share of Starbucks blueberry muffins). Last week we went back for another ultrasound and the baby looked completely healthy. The crazy heartbeat was suddenly totally normal. No one can explain exactly what happened, but Riaz and I are just so happy and thankful that he seems to be doing great. Thanks to all of you for your good wishes and prayers for our family. I know that's made a big difference!

I am now 39 weeks pregnant. I'm having a lot of contractions, some quite painful, but they haven't been going anywhere. Last night I woke up at 2am thinking "This is it" as I felt like I was being kicked in the stomach by a couple of ruthless contractions. But over a couple of hours they petered away and I was left with another sleepless night. The good (I hope) news is that I am three cm dilated and seem like I could go any minute. I am keeping my fingers and eyes crossed that it will be sooner rather than later.

Yesterday evening I was feeling pretty crappy. Just before Riaz came home from work I crawled into bed and read to Lua while we waited for Riaz's car to pull up. When he arrived, he asked Lua to come into the kitchen with him to help him make dinner. Lua stuck around my bed for a while, asking "Mama get up please?" and pulling on my sleeve. I told Lua "I'm not feeling very well. I'm going to lay down for a while". Later, I joined the two of them in the kitchen. I sat down next to Lua and she began patting me gently on the back. "Feel better, Mama?" she asked, looking up at me very seriously. Oh so this is why I'm having more kids!

FYI

2006-09-25T13:13:00.000-07:00

Just a quick update to let everyone know how we're doing...As far as I know nothing has changed either way with the baby, but we did get a bit of reassurance this afternoon. The doctor's office called to tell me that the blood tests they took last week came back negative. This means that there is not an antibody in my blood that is negatively effecting the baby. Next up, we have a regular checkup with the midwife on Wednesday (during which they will monitor the baby's heartbeat again), and another ultrasound and heart monitor on Thursday. Please keep us in your prayers! Hopefully by the end of the week, Baby Brother Sagi will be given a clean bill of health.

I'm in Love With a Boy

2006-09-21T21:34:00.000-07:00

Perhaps God is trying to punish me for whining about the gift of life (see previous post) by giving me something to legitimately whine about. Could there be anything more terrifying to a mother than hearing that there is something wrong with her child’s heart? Tuesday I had my normal appointment with the midwife and everything seemed fine. We went through the routine that has by now become a weekly occurrence: pee in a cup, step on the scales, take my blood pressure, listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and debate about my remaining on Ambien. I chatted with my midwife for a while and then left to make the next week’s appointment at the front desk. As I was standing in line, trying to keep my restless toddler from pumping all of the hand sanitizer on the counter into the palm of her little hand, my midwife came back out into the waiting room. “Libby, could you just step over here with me for a minute?” she asked, making my stomach flop a little bit. “I don’t know, but I think I may have heard an abnormal heartbeat. I just want to hook you up to the monitor and make sure”. Okay, I could deal with this. She was probably imagining it. After all, I am almost full term now and wouldn’t someone have noticed before if there was an irregularity in the baby’s heartbeat? Lua and I made our way into the room with the heart monitor and I got strapped in. I didn’t know what I was listening for, and I was fairly distracted by trying to keep Lua entertained while I sat in the chair for twenty minutes. We said our ABCs and sang Old McDonald and How Much is that Doggy in the Window – although Lua insists on changing it to be about kitty cats – and I enjoyed the sound of the beating heart of my son in the background.

When the midwife came back, she took a look at the readout on the monitor and informed me that there was indeed an abnormality in the baby’s heartbeat. She told me that arrhythmias are a common problem in pregnancy and usually clear up after the baby is born. She said not to worry, but that she wanted to schedule a level II ultrasound to examine the baby’s heart. Not to worry? Alright, that’s not going to happen. But I was fairly convinced that the problem was benign and that the ultrasound was scheduled just to be on the safe side.

Today we went to the clinic attached to the hospital for the ultrasound. I was feeling fairly confident that we would leave there reassured that nothing was really wrong with the baby, that this was all a condition that would clear up during delivery and leave no effects on our beautiful little son. And, after a long ultrasound session and a series of other tests, this is probably the case. Structurally, the baby’s heart looks fine. He seems perfectly healthy and we even got to see remarkable images of his sweet chubby face and a tuft of floating hair on his head. He is six pounds, ten ounces, and measuring in the normal range for his age. Even his heart rate is consistently 120-150 beats per minute, which is average for a fetus his age. So what could possibly be the problem? The truth is, we don’t really know. The arrhythmia that he has is not the common type that occurs in 1-2 percent of all pregnancies; instead of an irregular beat, his heart is actually dropping beats quite frequently and for no apparent reason. The doctor decided to test my blood for some kind of antibody that could be affecting the fetus negatively and that test takes a week to come back so we won’t know the results for a while. Meanwhile, I am supposed to be monitoring fetal movements a couple of times a day to detect any problem with the baby. (So far he seems to be moving around at a healthy pace).

The scary part for me occurred when Riaz and I were left alone for another twenty minute monitoring of the baby’s heart beat on one of those Doppler machines. His little heart sounded like it was working so hard just to keep up that I wanted to rip the straps off of my belly so I didn’t have to listen. The arrhythmia was so pronounced that the monitor was having trouble keeping track of the beats and continually stopped recording anything. I don’t know how I could have missed it on Tuesday, this horribly unnerving irregular beating of my child’s heart. I swear I could feel my own heart stop when his did, waiting in agony for the next thump to come over the monitor. I couldn’t explain how this felt at the time, not even to Riaz. He had the bad luck of being in the car with me on the way to pick Lua up from my mom’s when all of the stress came flowing out of me in a flood of shuddering hysteria. I know that I shouldn’t worry, that the baby will be perfectly fine, and that this arrhythmia will clear itself up in no time at all. Unfortunately being a mother seems to be synonymous with worrywart much of the time and I cannot entirely remove the sound of my son’s ragged heartbeat from my mind. Yesterday I was reading a long letter I wrote to Lua describing the day she was born, and part of it came back to me today:

On the day you were born, I gave away the fiercest, purest piece of my heart; and here you are now walking around the cruel world with it pinned to your sleeve. ‘Abdu’l-Baha said that “In the world of existence there is no greater power than the power of Love.” The promise of meeting you gave me the strength to endure your birth, and the promise of seeing you become who you will be keeps me ever eager to meet the new day…

Now I know that all of that is perfectly true, except that it extends even further than the day of birth– all the way back the moment my babies were conceived and just the idea of them warmed me in a way that nothing else ever has.

I Want Morphine

2006-09-20T20:58:00.000-07:00

The very long lapse in my blogging has been due to a wonderful visit from my sister, who came all the way home from Israel for two short weeks. I don’t think I can describe how great it was to see her, or how bittersweet since she had to return so soon. Lua absolutely loved having her auntie here. We did fairly mundane things but they were all so much more exciting with Auntie Mara to play with! I think Mara was a little worried about bonding with Lua since she hasn’t seen her in about nine months, but as soon as she gave Lua the pink ball she’d brought with her in her suitcase, Lua was in love. It makes me a little sad now when the doorbell rings and Lua asks “Auntie?” in an excited voice. “No”, I tell her. “Auntie had to go back to Haifa, remember?” “Oh”, she replies, looking crestfallen. It’s so pathetic it makes a lump in my throat.

In other news, I am now 37 weeks pregnant and feeling about 89 weeks. On the one hand, I am very excited to have the baby and 1) be done with pregnancy, and 2) meet our newest little family member. Maybe those numbers should be turned around? On the other hand, I am terrified of going through labor again. This terror is especially acute at night when I am so tired and worn out and uncomfortable that the thought of getting up and driving to St. Louis Park with a nine pound infant pushing his way out of my body sounds more awful than the lowest depths of hell. I try to think of things that are worse than the pain I felt when giving birth to Lua: A bungee cord snapping you in the eye? (this happened to Mara’s friend a couple of weeks ago). No, it’s still over way sooner, plus you get morphine at the hospital. Getting all of your fingernails pulled out by terrorists like George Clooney in that movie “Syriana”? Okay, that would suck. But fingernails, once damaged, grow back normally. Vaginas on the other hand? Not so much. The only thing I can imagine coming close to the horror of labor would be sitting through a three day dissertation on the Importance of Modeling by Tyra Banks while Hanson’s “Mmmm Bop” played on repeat in the background and those intolerable kids from Barney performed an interpretive dance about booting my car.

Lithe Mama: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Breast?

2006-08-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

Lithe Mama: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Breast?

Farewell Sweet Liberation

2006-08-28T08:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend Riaz and I were supposed to go to Wisconsin, for the Green Lake Baháí Conference. It was to be our two and a half days of Freedom: my mom and her husband were going to watch Lua at their house for the entire time we were gone, probably the last chance for us to get away before nursing a baby prevented it permanently. In theory, this seemed like a brilliant idea. Riaz and I would be able to attend the talks, visit with friends we haven't seen in a long time (sans toddler pulling on our pant legs), and do other normal adult things like sitting down to eat calmly for more than thirty seconds at a time. Unfortunately, none of this was destined to come about. Friday morning, Lua woke with a cold that seemed to spread aches and pains from the tippy top of her congested head to the bottom of her wiggly, pea-sized toes. It was all she could do not to tear the hair from my head in her desperation to be sitting on Mama at ALL TIMES, and how could I possibly leave such a sweet, dependent little thing? After all, I am 25 and married and I still want my mommy when I am sick. I was torn to shreds at the possibility of deserting my sniffling daughter for the sweet luxury of a weekend in which I might be able to pee in solitude.

I called Riaz in tears that morning, relating a conversation in which I asked Lua if she wanted to go see Grandma and Grandpa (two of her very favorite people) and she replied, "No, stay Mama! Stay Mama!" I think Riaz realized the futility of arguing with my mama bear instinct immediately, but he gave it a valiant effort. "Libby, she'll be fine. She just has a cold. She'll be feeling good by tomorrow" I knew his words were true but I also knew his pragmatism could not win over my baby's imploring voice. "I can't go", I sobbed. "How could I leave her like this?" Truth be told, I was having cold feet a long time before this cold reared up. I have never left my daughter for longer than one night, and that happened only once - when she stayed with my mom over our 3rd wedding anniversary. At about 10:30 that night Riaz looked at me with nervous eyes and asked, "Do you think we would ever live it down if we went over to your mom's now to bring her home?" (So there, I am not the only one!)

We ended up staying home this weekend, of course. Maybe I am a sucker but from the moment I heard the first cough issuing from Lua's mouth I knew there was no way I could leave. As predicted Lua felt better the next day, and on Sunday Riaz and I even got to spend a day alone together while my mom and Patrick babysat - going to the movies, touring the roof of the TCF building downtown, and visiting the sculpture gardens. I may be a bit overzealous, but I am not one of those parents who cannot even think of leaving their baby for an hour in the afternoon. It's a strange contradiction of desires: how desperate I am for someone else to take over child-rearing by five o'clock every week day, yet how panicked I feel at the thought of not waking Lua up in the morning or putting her to sleep at night. Does this get any better as time goes on, or am I going to be following Lua to her dorm room to make sure she's brushed her teeth and tuck her in sixteen years from now? Only time will tell. For now, though, I'm pretty sure it will be a long time before I get a chance to experience potty privacy.

Self-diagnosis

2006-08-24T21:41:00.000-07:00

Recently, Riaz and I decided that we would spend Thursday nights trading spaces: I would go off to work and he would try to entertain the kid for a few hours. In my case, going off to work entails trying to write something. Anything, really, since writing is what I want to do and just writing something down is supposed to be the best way to start. Tonight I wrote about a page and half of what I believed was a story, but what Riaz later pointed out was simply plot-less character development. He said this in the nicest way possible. Not because he is mean or disheartening, but because it was true. He has been the only audience for most of my “stories” over the past few years and is always extremely supportive and complementary, while remaining a helpful constructive critic. Tonight he seemed to finally tire of seeing my writing end before it began.

He is not the only one bothered by this occurrence. I wonder why I never finish the stories that I start, why I never like the characters or the plot well enough to add to them the next day. Am I simply afraid of putting my heart and my time into something that isn’t any good? Maybe. Probably. I am definitely in awe of people who think that they have something original and interesting enough to write 300 pages about and sell it to the public for twenty-five dollars a book. I love writing, and usually I like what I write. But I don’t believe that it is good enough. I suppose that makes me a classic case of something…low self-esteem? Self-sabotage? Laziness? Perhaps I should visit a therapist, or call one of those shrinks on the radio to get a proper diagnosis. The strange thing is, I do not typically sabotage myself, I am only occasionally lazy, and low self-esteem doesn’t appear in any other arena of my life.

I don’t know what else to say about this other than to express my frustration. Maybe one day I will hit the perfect combination of character and plot, and everything will just fall into place. Or perhaps I will simply work very hard to perfect a flawed beginning and continue to rewrite every page until I have something that I love. I hope I won’t give up on writing just because I might only be mediocre at it. While the reading public might appreciate this turn of events, I know I would never forgive myself. Telling stories is not just cathartic for me. It is a passion, and I am terrified to indulge in it.

Letter to my little Big Girl

2006-08-22T11:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Lua,
At twenty months, there are so many things about you that seem to have come out of nowhere and implanted themselves in your fascinating brain. For instance, how did you become such a...girl? I swear I have never actively nurtured a love of horses, or shoes, or babies, or kittens, or chocolate in you. Where did these obsessions come from? Whenever your father or I turn on the computer, we hear this refrain: "Picture horsey? Picture horsey?" After some pestering, we will search google images again for photos of horses running, eating, and jumping and you will happily sit with us looking at these for twenty minutes at a time. This thoroughly annoys your father who believes that horses are the stupidest animals on earth and probably wishes you'd ask "Picture DNA strand?" or "Picture hard drive?" instead.
On top of the love of cute animals and clothes you are also very maternal. When we are with a group of people, you always have to check to make sure everyone is accounted for. If someone is missing you get very upset and won't rest until we find them. It's actually quite helpful when we're out with friends and you are looking after the other kids. I am hoping that this continues with your baby brother when he begins to wander away from the crowd on his own.
Speaking of your baby brother, I can't believe how much you already love him. When we say prayers together in the morning, you always want to say one for your brother. You love to look at his little baby clothes and to kiss my tummy when it's wiggling around. Your father and I decided not to tell people the name of the baby until he's born, and people are always trying to get it out of you. When they ask you "What's your baby brother's name?" You reply "Baby Brother Missaghi", which actually sounds more like, "Baby Buh Sagi". Yay, good one! Keep 'em guessing!
I was thinking the other day about what it will be like to have another little one to look after, and what it will mean to my special relationship with you. At first it made me a little sad to imagine sharing our time together with someone else, but the more I think of it the more I know it will be an asset to you. You were made to be a big sister - you're already so helpful and caring and bossy. I can't wait for you to meet your brother, to kiss and cuddle him. I know you will always love him and protect him, and I hope you will be friends for the rest of your lives. Even though it probably won't seem like it sometimes, having a sibling is the best kind of present that Daddy and I could imagine giving you.

Love,
Mama

I Like...

2006-08-18T13:21:00.000-07:00

1. Body Pillow - Like this one from Amazon.com. It has been a total lifesaver for me during pregnancy, since I can't sleep on my back or my stomach and it helps me get comfortable on my side. It's great for non-pregnant people too. I know this because Riaz steals it from me whenever possible. If you're going to invest in one, get something down-filled.

2. Bubble Gum Ice Cream - The search for this flavor has been on in our house for months now, and unless you've tried looking for it yourself lately you would not believe how hard it is to find. At long last, we have discovered a source: Nelson's Cheese Shop at the intersection of Como & Snelling in St. Paul. Not only is this the original yummy bubble gummy ice cream with pieces of fruit-flavored Chiclets in it, but it's even better tasting than I remembered. A word of warning, though, Nelson's is only open until 6pm and it's closed on Sundays. www.nelsoncheese.net

3. ERGO Baby Products - Kami inspired me to buy one of ERGO's baby carriers when Lua was about 9 months old, and I've just purchased the infant insert so that I can use it with Parasitic Angel #2. Compared to others I've tried, this carrier is much more sturdy and comfortable to wear, and it's able to support children up to 40lbs. I have also seen studies that suggest that the way in which it supports the child's back is better on his/her spine than Baby Bjorns and others. Finally, the company is very concious about good treatment of factory workers and uses Fair Trade cotton for all of its products. If you have a baby that likes to be carried all the time (and what baby doesn't) or if you're looking for a super useful baby shower gift, check out www.ergobabycarrier.com.

We've Lasted 3.5 Years Already!

2006-08-16T20:28:00.000-07:00

This conversation, which took place between my husband and I on the way home from watching Rent at the Ordway, sums up all of our difficulties in communication. Being that Riaz is completely left-brained and I am completely right-brained, I am hoping that our children will each get one whole brain.

"Well, Riaz, now you will never forget how many minutes are in a year"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, the song? (singing) 525,600 minutes?"
"Oh. Right. I will never remember that."
"Why not?"
"I can't remember anything in a song."
"Are you kidding?"
"No"
"I can't remember anything that's not in a song"
"What is that number again?"
"(spoken) Five-hundred-twenty-five-thousand-six-hundred minutes"
"As in 5-2-5-6-double-zero? I can remember that! That's a code!"

Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Breast?

2006-08-15T12:17:00.000-07:00

Which of these two images would you consider more controversial? If you are like much of the American public, the nursing child would offend your sensibilities and violate your moral fiber more. I mention this because the seemingly benign magazine "Baby Talk" received around 15,000 complaints about the cover of their magazine this month. In general, I try to avoid getting involved in these big, ridiculous, politicized issues (and the breast vs. bottle feeding war is definitely in that category) but when I gave some thought to the complaints against this magazine I could practically feel steam coming out of my ears.

When I first started thinking about the controversy I chalked it up to Janet Jackson at the Superbowl hysteria and simply rolled my eyes. But the more I contemplate our society's obsession/revulsion with the female breast the more curious it becomes. It seems to me that breasts and the female body in general are fine - no, terrific - as long as they are serving a sexual yet mysterious purpose. Meaning, no one cared that Janet's breasts were 3/4 exposed all the way through the show until that little devilish nipple appeared.

Upon seeing the cover of Baby Talk one woman wrote in, "I'm totally supportive of it (breastfeeding) — I just don't like the flashing. I don't want my son or husband to accidentally see a breast they didn't want to see." I wonder if this woman ever considered that breastfeeding has nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with nurturing the life of an infant - something that everyone's husband and son should support and be comfortable with. Contrary to public opinion, breasts were not created for grown men; their attractiveness is simply a happy side effect (or a perk, so to speak). When being used for nursing a child, there is nothing sexual about them at all. Why does the fact that breasts are functional freak people out so much, particularly women themselves?

I breastfed my daughter for thirteen months and I plan to breastfeed my son for at least that long. I am not part of some kind of crazy Lactation Gestapo - I covered myself with a blanket whenever possible while nursing Lua and I would never put down another woman for choosing not to breastfeed - but I also couldn't care less if someone else didn't want to cover herself up while nursing in public. Frankly, I find shutting yourself in a bathroom stall to feed your baby more disturbing than whipping your boob out in the middle of the mall to calm a crying child.

So, to the lady who is afraid of her husband and son seeing the cover of "Baby Talk" this month, and to all the other people who wrote in to the magazine calling the photo "gross" and "sexual", I hope you stay away from public areas in the Twin Cities starting in October because I and my evil breasts will be appearing all over the place. Oh, and if seeing me nurse in a restaurant sickens you, you can always eat your lunch in the bathroom.

Feeling Blonde

2006-08-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

I just want to take this opportunity to let everyone know that my ditziness has not diminished at all recently, even though I have not been writing about it much. Although I have to admit that it has manifested itself in different ways (meaning I haven't locked the keys in my car in about six months!) A couple days ago I had an experience that was just so utterly me that I feel the need to share it. Lua and I had gone to the mall to get some photos developed and after I'd gotten them I wheeled the stroller over to Herberger's to pick out a frame. I found a couple I liked and I couldn't decide between them, so I took one of the photos out of it's pack and tried to stick it in the back of a frame. The photo had other ideas. It went flying out of my hands and hydroplaned over the tile floor and under a big display case. When I tried to retrieve it, I realized that there was only about half an inch of space under the case and the photo was in the middle, completely out of reach. As Lua looked on with a bewildered stare, I bent down, put my face to the floor, and began blowing under the display case. I blew and blew at that photo, but in five minutes of pregnant belly-to-the-floor action, I only got it to move a couple of inches. When I went around to the other side, the photo was still just out of reach. I looked at Lua. "What am I going to do?", I asked her. "Know?" she replied, shrugging her little shoulders. I sighed and leaned against the display case, which promptly rolled out from under me. The damn thing was on wheels.

Where is Dyoz?

2006-08-09T08:46:00.000-07:00

For days on end now, I have heard a strange sound coming out of my daughter's mouth. At random times during the day - maybe when we're sitting down to eat lunch or when we're getting ready to go to the park - Lua will look frantically from side to side and yell, "DYOZ!" At first I had no idea what she was saying, but thought it was odd that she was using the same tone of voice that my mother used to use when she was calling, "ELISABETH!" (it still makes me want to hide). Yesterday when I asked her "where did Daddy go?" and she responded by peeking her head around the corner and yelling "DYOZ!" I realized that she was actually calling for Riaz and I had a fit of hysterical laughter. Is she mimicking me? Do I actually sound like that when I'm calling my husband? Sorry honey. But it's still pretty funny.

Poor Me

2006-07-27T12:36:00.000-07:00

I know no one likes to sit and listen to someone else complain, but reading someone else's complaints is entirely different, right? RIGHT? I just feel the need to vent about how it is the hottest summer since dinosaurs walked the planet and I am hugely pregnant. Not only am I huge, but I am not sleeping, and my heart is beating over 100 times a minute at all hours of the day. Last night I managed to catch a few Z's, but only after I had made up the pullout couch in the livingroom, turned the AC unit on and directed the standing fan precisely in the direction of my hot, swollen feet.

That being said, I must admit that I am at least in a better position than I was the summer that I was pregnant with Lua. We were living in the downstairs apartment of a house belonging to the daughter of the upstairs resident. The woman upstairs refused to turn on the air conditioning and as a result, I was constantly in the HEAT of battle (haha). As soon as she would leave, I would run upstairs and turn the AC on. Just as the place would cool down, she would come home and promptly shut it off again. Even when we would go up and ask (read: beg) her to turn the air on, she would sullenly agree to turn it on but seemed to be under the false impression that if you turned it on just long enough to feel like your head was out of the oven, you could then shut it off again for the rest of the night. It made me feel angry, miserable, and powerless to be in that sort of situation. I would take window AC units over that any day.

What is my point here? Nothing really. Just thinking out loud. Please send me some good sleep vibes, I could really use them. I am getting a prescription for a sleep aid but I am sort of nervous about taking it. I think I will have to though, mostly for Lua's sake because it is incredibly hard to keep up with her on no sleep. Insomnia makes me super emotional and if I never hear my daughter ask in a quiet voice "Mama cry?" again, it will be too soon.

Please Come Again

2006-07-14T11:59:00.000-07:00

Oh how I wish I'd brought my camera with me when I went out this morning. Since I didn't, I will just have to describe our lunch date. Lua and I had gone out to the park with our friends Sarah and Carson. Carson is Lua's age and usually the two of them get along pretty well but they do tend to feed off of eachother's chaos. Sarah and I decided to go to India Palace for the lunch buffet (the best buffet ever, by the way). We sat in a small booth and both of the kids had high chairs next to eachother at the end of the table. When we arrived, our table was set with a white paper tablecloth, two large glasses of water, and two smaller plastic cups of water. We got our food from the buffet and returned to the table. Within seconds, Lua looked like she'd been rolling around in a mud bath. she had food all over her shirt and covering her face. Carson kept reaching over to grab the bill of Lua's hat, so she even had food all over her hat. Carson's cup was immediately tipped over, soaking half of the table in water. Not long afterward, Lua's cup was tipped over - onto the table and into my lap - and the entire table looked like it had been involved in a shipwreck. Carson, fascinated by the soggy, transparent table cloth, began pulling chunks of it off and handing them to Lua, who threw them on the ground. Lua thought it looked like fun so in no time at all one half of our table cloth was no longer on our table, but under our feet. Meanwhile, Carson was getting fussy. He has been teething for a while now and Sarah usually gives him Motrin to help his mouth pain but she has been trying to wean him off of it for fear of liver damage. This makes a usually easygoing kid into one hurting, cranky baby in withdrawl. Carson began screaming so loudly that the old people at the table accross from us looked like they wanted to throw their curry at our heads. I brought Carson a bowl of the sweet rice pudding from the buffet to cheer him up. As Sarah fed him spoonfuls, Carson swallowed some and dug the rest out of his mouth with his sticky fingers. He then reached over and offered the remnants to Lua. Lua gladly licked the pudding off of his fingers as Sarah and I looked on, frozen in disgust. Unfortunately, this distraction technique wore off quickly and before we could even go back for seconds, Carson was throwing such a fit that other patrons started leaving the room. Lua thought all the ruckus was pretty amusing, and she chuckled as she ground rice and chicken into the uncovered table. I wanted to leave but was too embarassed to get up from the table with the entire crotch of my pants soaking wet from Lua's water. Eventually, though, it seemed we had no choice. We paid for our meal as the kids ran crazily through the restaurant and the waiters smiled stiffly. Both Sarah and I left big tips.

Before I had a child, I used to see kids running wild through places and think sanctimoniously, how awful that they can't even control their own children! Now I am eating humble pie, or humble samoosa I suppose.

Scary Ice Monster

2006-07-12T19:35:00.000-07:00

Recently, Lua started saying the cutest thing ever. I must admit, it was not without some parental prompting. Whenever I would say "I love you, Lua", I would also add, "Can you say 'I love you too Mama'"? After a while, when I would tell her I love her, she would respond "Mama too". I looked so delighted with this response that Lua's face just lit up every time she said it. Today we were in the hallway getting her shoes on when suddenly Lua stood up and faced me. "Mama too", she announced out of nowhere, and put her arms around me in a big hug. I almost melted into a puddle. I mean, how cool is that? My 19-month-old spontaneously announcing she loves me and giving me a hug (usually I have to cajole a hug out of her by promising her food). I thought I would have to wait much longer to get any kind of appreciation out of this parenting thing!

In other news, Riaz and I finally got the curtains up in our bedroom! It's been almost a year since we bought them, but better really late than never, right? It's very relaxing to be in a clean, mini-blind-free room so I've been enjoying it maybe a little too much. Last night I lit a candle on the bedside table despite the 90-degree weather and read until my eyes were too tired to stay open. Luckily I was able to sleep last night so that made it even better. You never really hear about all of the lovely side-effects of pregnancy, such as (in my case) insomnia, restless legs, and tachicardia. My ice craving from Lua's pregnancy has also returned with a vengance: I probably go through a dozen glasses of ice a day. My poor teeth. At least it has the added benefit of keeping me hydrated (and cool).

Wow, all this talk of ice has made me want another cupfull. IIIIIIIIIIIIICE! IIIIIIIIIIIICE! IIIIIIIIIIICE! (sorry, that was my belly talking)

The Essence of Parenthood

2006-06-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

Overheard at the park today, as a little girl was preparing to go down the slide...

Little Girl: Look for me at the bottom of the slide, Mom.
Mom: Okay
Little Girl: Watch the bottom of the slide!
Mom: I am watching the bottom.
Little Girl: (whining) Then how will you see me here at the top of the slide?

If the term "vaginal secretion" disgusts you, please avoid reading this.

2006-06-22T19:07:00.000-07:00

Well our family had an adventure last night. It's pretty amazing how quickly life can turn, and I have been thanking God all day that we are all safe and happy, if just a little sleepy. At about quarter to two in the morning I felt a gush of fluid between my legs. It soaked through my underwear, the comforter, the sheet and the mattress pad. It was clear, watery, odorless fluid and I was terrified that my amniotic sac had ruptured. I called the midwife and she told us to go to the emergency room. I am only 24 weeks pregnant, which is basically the youngest a baby can possibly be born and survive. Unfortunately, those that do survive often have severe complications, particularly with their lungs. I was so scared but luckily Riaz was very calm and reassuring and we made it to the hospital with no further problems. To make a long story short, the baby and I are perfectly fine and not about to deliver any time soon. The fluid was not my water breaking, as determined by a bunch of tests and a SCAPULA (even the word is gross). Apparently pregnant women often have increased vaginal secretions and although I would never have guessed it possible from the amount and the appearance, I guess that's what it was.

After we left the hospital, Riaz asked me who we were going to tell about this. My response was, "How about no one?". I cannot get it out of my head today though, I just feel so lucky that we had the best possible outcome of a really scary situation. It's really brought into focus for me how fragile life is.

Midwestern Mindset

2006-06-19T12:52:00.000-07:00

One of my struggles as a parent is learning to become more encouraging. Maybe it's my culture, or my family's way of doing things, or society's constraints, or whatever....but I find that encouragement is not necessarily something that comes naturally to me. I mean, I'm fine about telling her when she's done a good job with something extraordinary, but I'm not sure if Lua feels like I appreciate her for who she is, all the time. I know that all parents struggle with the balance between wanting their children to have healthy self-esteem and not wanting to raise little spoiled monsters. Unfortunately, this struggle only seems to get more profound as time goes on.

A challenge that I often face with Lua is how to respond to other people's comments about her. For instance, while we were out this afternoon a woman came up to me and began complimenting Lua, saying how cute she is and how well behaved she was being. I found myself saying something like "Oh thanks, she is pretty good, most of the time". As in, you haven't seen her when she's being a terror. After I'd said this, I silently berated myself for the comment. Why couldn't I have just graciously accepted this woman's compliment and left it at that? Why did I assume that I had to be modest about how wonderful my daughter is, especially when said daughter was sitting right there, hearing our conversation? I don't know the answer to these questions, but I certainly have a lot of guesses. I heard someone being interviewed the other day who was from Ohio. He said that people in the midwest have a motto, that is often the creed we raise our kids by: Don't get a big head about it. Have I subconciously picked up this creed and incorporated it into my attitude about raising children? What does this say to Lua about what her mommy thinks of her?

For now I think the best thing to do is to be more concientious about the way that I speak of Lua to other people. The more I think about it, the less benefits I see in downplaying her good qualities in front of other people. God knows there will be plenty of opportunities to keep her humble and grounded when we're alone right? All I have to do now is learn to think before I speak...uh oh.

Cereal Island

2006-06-15T08:40:00.000-07:00

This morning when Lua woke up, I sat her in her highchair to eat breakfast. This seemed to make her extrodinarily upset. She leaned as far as she could out of the chair and wailed in despair. "Look Lua", I pointed out excitedly, "you have RAISINS in your cereal! Don't you want some raisins?" My technique must have been lacking some vital element because now tears were streaming down her face. "Do you want some of Mama's cereal?" I asked, getting more desperate. Lua still did not respond, so I popped a mini shredded wheat into her mouth just when it was opening up for the next scream. Surprized, she chewed. Before she could resist, I tossed a raisin in there for good measure. Finally, I got to eat my breakfast in peace. Sort of. When Lua finished my shredded wheat, I watched in fascination as she took spoonful after spoonful of her cereal and dumped it on her tray. She then proceded to root through the soggy rubble like she was mining for gold. When she'd uncovered all of her precious raisiny treasures, she picked up great mushy handfuls of cereal from her tray and smooshed them into her mouth, nose, and neck. By this time, Lua's face, neck, and shirt were coated in cereal mush, her tray was a giant puddle of milk with brown islands of cereal, and the floor under her chair had aquired a cereal mountain range. I looked at Lua and she looked at me. "More?", she asked sweetly, "more cereal?"

Too Much Information

2006-05-24T20:19:00.000-07:00

...wierd. This may be TMI for all of you, but I just cannot remember when I had my last period. This might not be so surprising, since I am around 5 months pregnant. The "around" part of that sentence is where the problem arises. Of course you know that in order to chose a correct due date for a baby, doctors need to know either the first day of the mother's last period or the date of conception. For the life of me, I cannot remember when my last period was. Was it before Christmas vacation or after? Even in January I couldn't recall. The stupidest thing is that I remember the "conception" quite well (again, probably TMI) but I have no idea what the date was. The reason that I'm going into all of this now is not just to gross you out, although that is a pleasing side effect. The reason is that at the ultrasound the baby measured almost two weeks younger than I had originally estimated. Basically this means that he is now 20 weeks old and that the date of conception was about January 15th. Okay, so what? Well, I know for a fact, because I wrote it in my journal, that I took a pregnancy test on the 26th of January that came out positive. Is that even possible to have a positive pregnancy test just 11 days after conception? Particularly with the generic drug store home pregnancy test I was using? Maybe it's possible but I'm pretty sure it's highly unlikely.

ANYWAY, I am getting another ultrasound done next week in order to better estimate the age of the baby. Of course, I am thrilled to get another peek at our little one before he is born, so I am not complaining. Just send some good vibes our way that he is actually measuring 22 weeks as originally thought because that means two less weeks of pregnancy for moi!

Here is an excerpt from that journal entry when I found out I was pregnant:

...This was the third positive pregnancy test I’ve ever had and the third time I’d stood in the bathroom, hovering over a little plastic test stick and muttering “Holy crap” over and over again. It’s not romantic, but it seems to be a tradition now. Lua woke up a little while later and when I picked her up I asked her if she wanted to be a big sister. She shook her head vehemently and made an O shape with her mouth, Lua’s version of NO NO NO NO. Sorry honey, there’s no turning back now. Besides, you’re going to be a great older sister.

So…HOLY CRAP here I am pregnant again, with a 13 month old child. Lua won’t even be two when her brother or sister is born. I can’t believe I am about to go through it all again, and so soon. But when God throws a miracle my way, who am I to say it was too much, too soon? This baby is already a very special, very loved part of our family. And now I get to tell Riaz…

Love Letter

2006-05-15T19:38:00.000-07:00

Dear Lua,

There are times when I look at you and I am completely struck by who you have become. Just last year you were barely a real person – mostly just a little bundle learning to scoot backward on your bum and complaining loudly to be nursed every half an hour. I loved you so much then, and I didn’t have any idea of the breathtaking potential you had inside of that small chubby form. Now you are only 17 months and you are already a complete person. You have likes and dislikes, you express joy, anger, wonder, excitement, and calm. You are already starting to pull away from your parents to join the rest of the great wide world.

Just now we were listening to an album, by Amos Lee, that you and Daddy got me for Mother’s Day. We were playing one of your favorite games, where you sneak up behind me and tickle my neck and I scream and try to reach you and tickle you back. Through your giggling and shrieking, I heard this line, and suddenly my eyes filled with tears:

I’m in love with a girl who’s in love with the world
But I can’t help but follow
I know someday she is bound to fly away
Stay over the rainbow

I looked at you and you were so beautiful that I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes I forget what a miraculous gift you are to me. And how fleeting. I hope that when you are grown up you will understand what it feels like to be a mommy.

Love,
Mama

WARNING: Reading This Could Be Contageous

2006-05-14T09:36:00.000-07:00

Last week Lua and I went out with some friends for a picnic. The little boy, Lua's age, had been down with a stomach virus the week before for several days (lots and lots of vomit), but seemed perfectly fine on the day we ventured out. It was a lovely picnic and the kids had a lot of fun chasing every dog they saw and shouting "Arf! Arf! Arf!". Two days later, Lua threw up. She was down all day and threw up five more times that night (mostly on me, since we had her in bed with us out of pity). The very next day, it was my turn. Lua and I slept all day long, curled up on the couch together like a couple of puppies, and that night I puked my guts out. Yesterday I was still a little queasy, but feeling a lot more human. We even managed to get out of the house for a while. This morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and hungry after a full night's vomit-free sleep. Lua also woke up healthy - if a little cranky - so I was looking forward to a fun and relaxing Mother's Day. When I turned to Riaz to express my delight, there he was laying in bed, looking decidedly green. <> the saga continues.

Bugs and Snails and Puppydog tails

2006-05-04T10:20:00.000-07:00

Boy. It's a boy. I have to admit that I have never thought very much about how to raise a boy because I never considered having one. It just didn't seem possible since I know next to nothing about them. If it is true that we raise our children as we ourselves were raised, then I know a lot about bringing up good, strong, self-respecting women, thanks to my mother. But what do I know about turning a wild little boy into the kind of man I would admire? My sister sent me a link to this blog and then I read this blog and they got me thinking. What are the attributes that I would like to see manifested in my little-boy-turned-man? Integrity, for one. A strong sense of justice. A powerful yet gentle nature. Creativity, honesty, and love. I want my little boy to understand how he can be an instrument for positive change in the world. I want him to know that having faith and the willingness to stand up for what he believes in is courageous. I want him to be polite, to be fun, to be curious, and to be delighted more often than not. I want him to look at his father for cues on how he can be loyal, caring, and kind-hearted while still being a "Man" with all that that entails. The more I think about how much this world needs more strong, compassionate men, the more excited I become about the prospect of raising one. I can't wait to meet my little boy.

Quote of the Day

2006-05-04T09:48:00.000-07:00

The mother is the first teacher of the child. For children, at the beginning of life, are fresh and tender as a young twig, and can be trained in any fashion you desire. If you rear the child to be straight, he will grow straight, in perfect symmetry. It is clear that the mother is the first teacher and that is she who establisheth the character and conduct of the child.

Wherefore, O ye loving mothers, know ye that in God's sight, the best of all ways to worship Him is to educate the children and train them in all the perfections of humankind; and no nobler deed than this can be imagined.

Abdu'l-Baha

To hurt, or not to hurt?

2006-04-28T11:21:00.000-07:00

It is lunch time, Lua is napping and I am watching "A Baby Story" on TBS. I don't know why I watch this show...it usually makes my stomach turn in dread of going through labor again. Perhaps I like to see it because there is always a healthy baby born at the end and that never fails to brings a happy lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. It helps to remind me of what I am doing this for - the beautiful, miraculous reward at the end. Today the show made me think about what I am going to do for this delivery. I have been reading about the pros and cons of having an epidural. With Lua, I never had any pain medication and hence no pain relief. Almost everything I have read about the risks of an epidural are outweighed when I imagine going through that pain again. I mean, who wouldn't rather watch their labor progress in relative peace and comfort rather than writhing in agony? But there are a few creepier risks to the epidural (such as long-term back pain and fever in mother and baby) that make me very nervous. As yet I do not have a solution. The other pain medications that my hospital offers just don't seem worth it. Really, why bother if it doesn't completely block the pain? So I will keep thinking about it but I really want to decide before the labor because if I want the epidural I think I'll need to ask for it as soon as I get to the hospital because otherwise it may be too late.