tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44927411819419344192024-02-21T01:41:49.962-05:00Project L.E.O.<strike>What to Expect When You're Expecting</strike> Raising <strike>a</strike> <i>Two</i> Little Evil OverlordsErichttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09614249048048902131noreply@blogger.comBlogger425125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-71139924515326879162016-09-12T13:08:00.001-04:002016-09-12T13:08:42.581-04:00A new eraMaia is off to kindergarten! When she woke up this morning she said, "I'm not going to school today." Then she dressed herself with care and brushed her hair and her teeth, and came down to breakfast, and watched her daddy pack her lunchbox. "I might say I like it," she said when we crossed the street in front of her school. We were early to her classroom (apparently we were supposed to line up with everyone else under the covered area), and she waited more or less patiently. When everyone else got there, she hung up her backpack and lunch with her classmates, we hugged her goodbye, and she ran off to the circle where everyone was meeting. No tears, no frowns, no hesitations. She's going to do so well.<br />
<br />
And Eric and I came home to a childless house. I will get lots of work done today, and he's going to be starting his tutoring work as well (also possibly doing more of the porch-painting that took up our yesterday). It'll be nice to have the quiet house. But...but...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-47641334379923473342016-05-17T18:07:00.001-04:002016-05-17T18:07:17.901-04:00My kind of girlMaia is currently reading an Elephant & Piggie book in the living room, mostly by herself except where Eric supplies sound effects. (Note: why are Dr. Seuss books considered good for learning to read, when they're filled with nonsense words?) She's been working so hard on learning to sound things out, and she's doing it. She's not doing it by recognition yet, except for some sight words, but she's so close and she's doing so well and I'm so proud. Also slightly concerned that I'm going to have to watch what's on my computer screen when she's around, now, too.<br />
<br />
What are we going to do with her in kindergarten? I'm genuinely concerned about this. I think she's going to be more polite about being bored than Chloe has been, but I think she's going to be bored. She can add, too, and do very simple subtraction, and she's at least trying to count on (this is where, when a child adds four and four, she stops counting to four on one hand and then adds the other four; she can just start at four and go up from there). We've been kind of assuming she'll follow in Chloe's footsteps (and ours) and go into the accelerated program, but that's not until second grade. I want to go tell the school that she needs to be in first grade next year, not kindergarten. That's not my call, and I don't want to be a pushy parent, but I wonder if it would be the best thing for her. There's an open house for the accelerated program next month, and I'm going to try to ask questions then.<br />
<br />
And in the meantime, more books, more workbooks, and more doing math and spelling in the car when the girls ask for it. We went to the library recently, where Chloe got a Minecraft instruction manual that she wouldn't stop reading until we made her and Maia got some chapter books she can't actually read but likes to look at (and I read to her). On the way home they were both uncharacteristically silent in the backseat because they were both intent on their books, and I looked at Eric and said, "I have the family I always wanted."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-28658266144425674632016-05-04T13:25:00.001-04:002016-05-04T13:25:11.145-04:00TiredChloe's been on a gluten-free diet this week. Her chronic stomachache hasn't responded to any other treatment, and it isn't responding to this one, either; we're giving it another day or two and then calling up the pediatrician again and demanding that they fix our child. I made a worse mess than I've made in quite a few years, baking-wise, trying to make gluten-free bread. I look forward to this being over too. But Chloe's been quite depressed about it--though much happier when she heard there was gluten-free pasta in the cupboard, and then in her bowl.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yesterday, after school, the girls decided to take a picnic "lunch" out to the middle area of the apartment complex. This led to about three hours of play with the other kids, including, I was told afterward, the older boys coming to play school with them, plus some sort of parading and chasing game, plus a making-soup game with regular snack refills. When they came in for dinner I served up leftovers, including the last of the gluten-free pasta. "This is all there is?" Chloe said when I warned her that was all the leftovers we had, and she started to cry. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It wasn't a tantrumy sort of crying; it was the crying of a tired girl who was very disappointed. I offered her rice and seaweed and tomatoes, which helped. "Can we snuggle on the couch and read before baths?" she said wistfully, and of course I said yes. We've been reading The Rescue Princesses, a series of books about princesses (well, girls who are <i>called </i>princesses; other than wearing tiaras all the time their lives are not actually different from the standard American chapter-book reader) who like to rescue animals in trouble with the aid of sparkly gems. And ninja moves. Don't ask. I only read a chapter, because it was getting late and I wanted to get her to bed on time. When we'd done baths and tooth-brushing and were snuggled in bed (after another chapter), I tucked her blanket around her and said, "You're tired, aren't you?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every other time I've asked this (of either girl), the response has been "I'm not tired!!!!" But this time she nodded and sighed. I kissed her good-night, and Maia as well, and she was asleep within a few minutes. My poor little growing-up girl.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-31406591288654187332016-04-22T14:06:00.001-04:002016-04-22T14:06:13.843-04:00On being RarityChloe gets up early in the mornings now. For the past few years--ever since she's been able to read a clock--I've enforced wake-up time at 7 AM. But she's been waking up earlier than that most days lately (probably her bedtime could use some moving back, but that would cause problems because Maia needs more sleep and they're in the same bed at the moment) and now I get up at six for work anyway. So, I've allowed her to get up at six. She can do it on the weekends too; but she's still not allowed to wake me until seven.<br />
<br />
We got out my beading things recently to make barefoot sandals, because a show they watch, Winx Club, features fairies who wear them and the girls admire the look. In the course of making this and that, Chloe made herself a little bracelet out of some long glass tube beads, and Wednesday she wore it to school. "A lot of people really liked my bracelet," Chloe said yesterday morning, when it was just her and me, "and they want one for themselves. So I'm going to. But I don't have to make them all right now."<br />
<br />
"How many are you making?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"Some for my friends, and one for the new girl." I thought that was lovely. We took the beading stuff out and sat until Maia woke up, me working, she beading. She made three or four bracelets and brought them to school and passed them out--apparently somewhat on the sly. When I asked her about it, she said, "Well, I gave Fiona's to her when we were in line. And I gave the new girl hers when I was going to the door to go to the bathroom. Because she sits on a line between me and the door."<br />
<br />
This morning she sat down to the bead box again. "Lots more people told me they want bracelets," she reported. "Even some boys! Two Davids and two Stevens. Lots of people want them in Seahawks colors. And some people want the exact thing that someone else had."<br />
<br />
This last was a grumble--I'm not sure whether it's because she didn't want her creativity stifled or because she couldn't actually remember what the desired pattern was. We have a decent variety of beads, and she mostly wasn't following any easily-remembered patterns as she made her bracelets.<br />
<br />
I told her that sometimes people admire things they see and don't think about how they might want it changed for themselves, and she didn't seem discouraged. As she plugged along I had to keep stopping myself from saying, "You don't have to make things for people just because they ask." She wasn't treating this as a drudgery, or something she had to do or fear reprisal; people had told her they liked her work and she wanted to share it with them. It was a beautiful thing. But I kept thinking I should tell her not to do it.<br />
<br />
Earlier in the week she made tiny paper fans for everyone in her class, because it had been hot and was going to be hot again, and she thought they would like them. I loved that so much. I might have thought of doing such a thing when I was in school (though I didn't) but I certainly would never have decided to pass them out to everyone. I was too shy. Chloe is not, and that makes me happy. Chloe is a generous girl, too, and that also makes me happy. That's one of the top few things I would like my children to be: compassionate; confident; generous. I have a hard time with it myself, and I don't like that about me. Though I do at least share the desire to share things I've made, but I think that's more connected with my fear that if I don't produce something useful, I'm not useful. I hope that's not what motivates Chloe. I don't think it is.<br />
<br />
(I do wonder if that's that motivates Rarity in My Little Pony, though. I find her interesting because she embodies the spirit of generosity, but she also seems to feel the opposite pull a lot of the time, which the others don't. Would you like to discuss characterization and themes in My Little Pony and other kids' shows? I'm your mama.)<br />
<br />
She made as many bracelets as she could, asking me to tie each knot. Then she noticed a set of four big blue beads in the box that I distinctly remember buying from the bead shop in U-District when I first got interested in beading, when I was fourteen or so (luckily beads have no expiration date). "I'm going to make matching necklaces for Fiona and Lily and me!" she said, naming her two best friends. "Because those beads are all the same!" And so she made three necklaces, too, and put one on, and scooped the rest of the jewelry she'd made into her hands to put into her backpack for school.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-39915048975432957762016-03-21T17:39:00.000-04:002016-03-21T17:39:57.257-04:00I can't hear you, la la la la laChloe came home a couple of weeks ago with a notice that she had failed the school hearing test in one ear. Eric was taking her to the doctor anyway not long after, for a mild but chronic stomachache (which we haven't yet gotten to the bottom of; the doctor suggested constipation but we've taken steps on that and the stomachache hasn't gone away. Eric and I thought we were done with close encounters with other people's poop once our children could wipe themselves reliably, but lo, we were wrong). While there, he asked them about the hearing test, and they did another and agreed that she totally had trouble with the lower frequencies in her left ear and that there was nothing in the ear canal to explain it. She went to the audiologist a few days ago and the audiologist concluded that the damage is in the nerves or the processing centers of the brain, which means it's permanent.<br />
<br />
She's already started using it as an excuse.<br />
<br />
It's mild to moderate, and only in the lower frequencies. Since none of us really suspected it* until the school report came home, it's obviously not very significant. I feel bad for her nonetheless, but it's comforting that it's not a very big deal--at least, not right now. She's getting an appointment with an ENT and we'll be following up to make sure that whatever caused it is not still causing it and making things worse.<br />
<br />
She mentioned the other day that she was having trouble hearing one of her friends in the lunchroom. "But the doctor said I would have the worst trouble in that kind of situation, where it's loud everywhere," she said, very matter-of-factly.<br />
<br />
Eric believes that this explains why we've never succeeded in getting her to achieve any sort of "car voice." Possibly she's also just a loud child, but it's true that we've always had to shush her more than we have Maia. We've told her that we're going to work on it so she understands what the right volume is, but we're going to work on being more understanding when she misjudges, too.<br />
<br />
*I have in the past thought that we ought to see if she had wax impacted in her ears or something. But it never occurred to me as something to seriously pursue. Should it have? Children are notorious for reputedly having selective hearing. The audiologist said that one of the possible causes was her jaundice. We don't know, and we may never. Are there other things that may develop into problems, or be worsened, because it does't occur to me to act?<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-84826280986875568592016-03-11T17:33:00.002-05:002016-03-11T17:33:27.098-05:00The closest we've ever gotten to Spider-ManThe girls are at this moment trying to climb the walls using loops of duct tape. I told them it wouldn't work but I didn't tell them they couldn't try. "We need plunger-shoes!" Chloe told me. "Oh, really?" I said politely. I think they're better off with the wall-climbing they've already proven they can achieve.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTWoO-e9R2iZKFJZWAmI9Q1XFczfTQUt826PGygQqmwyUlXWFH9qYxK4B-on9BehUmUFd-QOLpRzDQSgohrPLUJkYup3tQCmBwEx2SlllodNjYla485OTOzRKDBDi8o6BuBUCWgZlSWg/s1600/2016-02-03+15.46.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBTWoO-e9R2iZKFJZWAmI9Q1XFczfTQUt826PGygQqmwyUlXWFH9qYxK4B-on9BehUmUFd-QOLpRzDQSgohrPLUJkYup3tQCmBwEx2SlllodNjYla485OTOzRKDBDi8o6BuBUCWgZlSWg/s320/2016-02-03+15.46.19.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-16963471266786924242016-02-11T18:09:00.001-05:002016-02-11T18:09:35.077-05:00Dress-up girlsMaia wears tights most of the time. It's not a comfort issue like Chloe's socks; if there aren't any clean ones, she's disappointed but not distraught. But she really loves them. She tries to convince us that they can be substituted for pants. (In fairness, Chloe tries to convince us of the same thing, but only when she's changing from her dance outfit to her Girl Scouts outfit when she's just come out of class and is still warm from dancing.) She can put them on herself, which is better than Chloe can do, and she's done her best to get us to let her wear tights and a skirt all winter.<br />
<br />
(She's succeeded surprisingly often. This is because winter here is not like winter in Ohio, and she can do that without freezing...sometimes. I do so wish she liked to be warm.)<br />
<br />
She's also quite preoccupied with her hair. There was a time when she seemed to dislike it because it was curly. It's settled down some now, possibly because it's longer, possibly because she's older, and now her joy is hairstyles. I even got her a hairstyles book for Christmas. If you need a hairtie, look no further than the floor of any room in our apartment. The girls use them for their dolls and ponies, and for making tiny purses and monster traps, but quite a few go into Maia's hair. She can put her own hair up, sort of, but what she loves is when Eric or I give her a ponytail, or pigtails (always "piggie-tails"), or braided piggie-tails, or pull half her hair back, or put in clips, or do little twisty braids. Sometimes she asks for a hairstyle after her bath, and wears it all night, waking up in the morning with little wisps of hair framing her face.<br />
<br />
Chloe, on the other hand, likes to put together outfits. She particularly likes an outfit that Omi sent over, a dark tank top with a black sweater and some dark leggings (both girls love their leggings; I'm still the only one in the family who will wear jeans). She beamed when I said it looked grown-up. She likes her hair long and down. We cut four inches off recently because the fights about keeping it brushed, and her screaming during brushing, got to be too much.<br />
<br />
I love watching them play and run. I love seeing Chloe curled up with a book on the couch, like I do (...or hanging upside down off it, like I did when I was her age). I love being Maia's audience when she gets a running start and leaps down the steps that go toward the apartment complex clubhouse. I can't say I love it when they howl in despair, "Why haven't you done the laundry??" when they have drawers full of clothes but they're looking for one particular shirt or pants, but it does highlight how particular they are about their appearances now, and while it's less convenient, it's a lot of fun.<br />
<br />
Now if only I could convince them that clothes shopping isn't the deadliest of chores. I know their opinion will be radically different in eight years, but right now I can't get them into a clothing store without threats and/or bribery. Which makes supplying their individual styles harder, and is my excuse for why both girls are wearing too-short leggings half the time. Of course, they also howl in despair when I say it's time to get rid of them. "They're not too short!" Maia says. "We love those pants!" Chloe says. And I say, oh, all right, if your ankles don't freeze. They haven't yet.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-84362507261515201312015-12-08T17:12:00.002-05:002015-12-08T17:12:54.604-05:00AlwaysWe interrupt this blog silence to bring you the news that Maia is simply spectacular at this age. For the first time I'm having a real sense of wishing she wouldn't change. Chloe was great at four, but I had the feeling better things were ahead (also I think her whining was already a force to be reckoned with?). Maia will probably be even better as she gets older, but I can't imagine how. She's still baby-cute and small enough to pick up and laughs like a toddler, but she's learning to do gymnastics and math and she's started drawing people with eyeballs and five fingers and she's doing her determined best to learn how to sound out words (she can spell "the," "love," and "in," and recently wrote a card "To Mom and Dad frum Maia"). I suppose the occasional tantrum could be improved, and I can't wait to see how she does in real school, so it won't be so bad as time goes on, but I still want to keep her like this always.<br />
<br />
She's started worrying about mortality, though, which makes me sad. "I wish we could be reborn," she said the other day. And a few weeks ago she reduced me to tears when we talked about what to put on her tombstone (we were discussing graveyards because of Halloween) and she said it should say "I love my family and my life. I wish I could keep it." I've told her that she has a long, long life ahead of her and death is not a thing to worry about now. Then we talked about things that are good in life, such as juice, pizza, tickling, and being done with work. I hope she won't worry about it. I hope I haven't been influencing her--I've been thinking about it a lot myself, but I don't think I've mentioned it around the girls.<br />
<br />
"Do you love me?" Maia asked the other day when she was interrupting me in the middle of work (I love these interruptions as long as they don't go on too long).<br />
<br />
"I always love you," I told her, while she climbed up in the chair and I twisted her upside down and bounced her gently on her head on my lap. "Even when you're screaming, even when I'm yelling, I love you, love you, love you."<br />
<br />
"Bounce me more!" she said, so I did.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-77933834269419262202015-10-05T01:09:00.002-04:002015-10-05T01:09:44.236-04:00Oh, that purple brushToday's Serious Parent-Child Talk was about long hair and the responsibilities thereof. Chloë was not terribly impressed. Possibly because the parent involved was not the one who's had long hair in the past. Possibly because she has the pain threshold of a cloud. Anyway, it wrapped up, and Eric concluded with, "Now, go get me the other brush, the purple one."<br />
<br />
"What other brush?" Chloë whined, as she does. "I don't know what you mean!"<br />
<br />
In the kitchen, I lost my temper. "The <i>purple</i> one!" I yelled. "You know which one!"<br />
<br />
"Oh, that one," she said, rather startled. "Okay."<br />
<br />
And she ran off to get it. I suppose I should be ashamed that she only started understanding what we wanted when I yelled it.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-37210386613654299832015-09-14T00:58:00.004-04:002015-09-14T00:58:46.618-04:00Determination, of various sortsWe went to Silver Lake on Friday. It was warm enough to swim, so the girls went in their bathing suits and life vests, and they had their first real experience of a western Washington lake. This particular one is really a glorified pond, but there was a beach with sand and a roped-off kids' area, and the girls loved wading and splashing around. They went waist-deep, which was as far as the rope went, but decided not to go further, even though I said they could. (I didn't say I would go with them. I had not worn a bathing suit. I was prepared to get wet going after one of them, but I was not excited about it, and maybe they noticed that.)<br />
<br />
I noticed the distinctive smell of Washington woodland, a sweet woodsy smell, which now that I think of it probably comes partly from overripe blackberries. They noticed the sand and how the underwater plants started growing a few yards out, and the freshwater clamshells, and how in this beach there were no waves and no tide. But mostly, Chloë noticed...wait for it...the ducks. There were a dozen or so mallards and wood ducks floating near shore, and she was absolutely charmed by them, especially when they swam right near her. "I've never seen a duck so close before! Look at its webbed feet!" This flock was very tame; they had obviously decided being chased by small children was worth it for the free food. "That boy is feeding the ducks!" she said, pointing to a boy around eight or so who was tossing chips to the waiting birds nearby. "I wish we had brought food."<br />
<br />
"We brought animal crackers," I said, and then as her face opened with hope, "but it's not good for the ducks to feed them." She asked why, and I told her (there was also a helpful sign not far from where the boy stood). I could see and hear her reluctance, but she said decidedly, "Then we shouldn't." I was proud.<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
We went to the Lynnwood Skate-and-Bowl on Saturday, for the Norwescon kickoff. Chloë has skated three or four times before, but Maia never has. When they got into her skates she had some trouble standing, but she worked at it, and shuffled gamely across the carpet. After some practice she fell down a slight incline--not her first fall, but her first one that hurt. She cried, naturally, and said she didn't want to go on the rink, so Eric took Chloë out, as she was ready to move on. But they hadn't gotten more than a quarter of the way around the rink when Maia said, "I wish we were with Chloë and Daddy," and I said, "We could go out and try to catch them, " and she said, "Okay."<br />
<br />
We stepped into the rink. She was mostly shuffling her feet back and forth, and steadfastly ignoring all my attempts to teach her otherwise, but she clung to my hand and managed some forward movement. She fell a couple of times, but she kept getting back up and shuffling some more, and every once in a while she would exclaim, "I'm doing it!"<br />
<br />
Meanwhile ahead of us, Eric reported later, Chloë was struggling to get better, and crying, as she too often does, "I can't do it." We've noticed that Maia tends to be better at things that require physical agility--I blame jaundice--but I don't know how much of that is her much more positive attitude. Chloë has shown determination to do a few things--such as guitar; she got one for her birthday and has been surprisingly diligent about asking for "guitar lessons" from me and about working on her fingering, even though she finds it difficult. (We're looking for a place for lessons around here with an actual teacher.) But most of the time if she has any sort of difficulty, she dissolves into tears and won't keep working on the problem without a lot of prompting. Maia has that reaction sometimes, but more often she just goes ahead and tries things. We never quite caught up with Chloë on that trip around the rink (though Eric spotted us and visited), but at our closest point I commented to Maia, "We're halfway across the rink," and she looked back and said, "No, Mama. Not halfway. Look!" I looked back and realized that while I'd meant halfway <i>around</i> the rink, we were all the way across, and she was awed at the distance she'd skated. She wanted to stop after we completed our circuit, and not long after that we traded our skates for bowling shoes, but she was so excited and proud of herself, and so was I.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-81040269385822511722015-09-10T00:45:00.002-04:002015-09-10T00:45:27.970-04:00Other friendsI came home from my root canal part 2 (did you know that in endodontics, Asian roots are a thing? Apparently they are. Should I have another root canal, it will be done by an endodontist only. Hopefully the girls inherited Eric's teeth) this afternoon to find Maia quiet and sad. She and Eric had been playing a game when I left, and Eric said he had tried to get her to eat, to snuggle, to talk, but she wouldn't.<br />
<br />
I sat with her and tickled her back, which is the thing she loves best, and after a while I asked what was wrong. She whispered, "I miss our other friends," and started to cry.<br />
<br />
I felt terrible for her. I held her and told her the things I ought to tell her--that she was starting school next week, and gymnastics class too, that she would find friends there, that we would see our other friends again. I didn't talk right away about the real thing I think was wrong: that Chloë wasn't there. She and Chloë are so close, and they've spent the entire summer playing and fighting and scheming and talking, always together, and today Chloë went away.<br />
<br />
She stopped crying after a little while, partly due to a promise from Eric of another game ("The only good things are watching shows, reading books, and playing games," she said not long ago), and I went off to take ibuprofen and get back to work. "I want to go out there right now!" she declared as soon as we mentioned we'd be meeting Chloë's bus soon, and was playful and happy again as soon as Chloë herself arrived.<br />
<br />
Chloë had a great time at school, and told us all about it: how the desks had been switched from yesterday's orientation, how they went over the calendar, and how the sight words were all ones she already knew from last year, and they had two recesses but they were only five minutes each, and they went to music where they got to <i>play an instrument</i>.<br />
<br />
"Did you miss me?" she asked Maia when one of us mentioned she'd been a little sad during the day.<br />
<br />"No," Maia said. "I missed our <i>other</i> friends. Addie and Raegan and friends like that. Back in Toledo."<br />
<br />
Neither of them have ever said, "I wish we hadn't moved." They've said, "I wish we still had a house so we had a yard," and "I wish we could see Addie and Raegan/Malcolm/Hannah and Noah." But they seem to have accepted the move. And maybe it's because of the same thing I've noticed: that our home is defined by our stuff more than our location or living structure, and more than that by being together. I missed Chloë today, too--though of course having needles and bleach in and out of my mouth distracted me from that. But Maia had no such distractions, and her big sister and best friend was gone all day.<br />
<br />
They've taken to sleeping together in the full-size bed (nominally Maia's) lately, even though Maia has also taken to whimpering about bedtime being too scary when we leave them and Chloë's complained that it keeps her awake. They slept together tonight, snuggling under separate blankets so they wouldn't fight, and there was no protest from Maia. They lay together and quietly drifted off to sleep.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-29307130357157085102015-09-09T10:50:00.000-04:002015-09-09T10:50:18.499-04:00Dancing into the new yearAnd today is the first day of first grade! "My stomach is still hurting," Chloe reported this morning. She's been anxious. Excited, but anxious. We went to orientation yesterday, since it was a new school--yeah, so we moved across the country, from our house into an apartment without sufficient parking but with a pool--and she was excited by the nice playground and the fact that the cafeteria is a separate building from the gym, and confused by the fact that gym is called PE here, and excited and anxious by turns about the fact that she's riding the bus this year. She likes the idea, but she wants us to come along. On the positive side, as we told her, all the kids from the apartment building who go to this school will be at the stop, so she'll be able to meet lots of kids at once this way.<br />
<br />
"I wish I went to the same school as Chloe," Maia says. She's in preschool, but it doesn't start until next week. Gymnastics (for her) and jazz (for Chloe) also start next week. I've always loved September because it felt like the start of the year, and it's certainly starting a lot of things for us.<br />
<br />
Eric's found a game...store, rather than group, and I've at least identified a knitting group to try. We're not settling into our new lives as well as we could since we don't like the place. We want to move, but we can't afford a house until approximately February and it doesn't make sense to move to another rental. I'm battling discontent. Also a tendency to not get started on things I want, like getting the house in order and getting to a good schedule for some goals I want to pursue, because I don't feel truly settled. But I'm trying to reconcile myself to what we have for now, and act as if we're settled and happy. The girls don't seem to be acting; other than occasionally wishing for a yard, they've seemed happy with our new arrangements, and I'm sure that getting them into school and classes will make that even better. Maybe I should go take a dance class.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-50707219470714018072015-06-24T00:06:00.000-04:002015-06-24T00:06:03.833-04:00I wanna hold your handChloe often takes my hand when we're on a walk or out at a store. It's very sweet, her small-but-growing hand in mine, and the fact that she still likes to be in physical contact with me.<br />
<br />
Except that sometimes she clings too long, and I wonder if it's because the sidewalk only admits two across and Maia is behind or ahead of us. Maia likes to hold my hand, too, but not as much. She's more independent. But she's more comfortable when she does snuggle. Chloe likes to wriggle and gesture, to stick her foot in my ribs (labor and delivery were supposed to put an end to that!) and demand to be tickled, to throw her limbs everywhere. She's affectionate, but her affection hurts sometimes.<br />
<br />
I feel bad about not wanting her close all the time. She's five years old, almost six, and I imagine that before long she's not going to want to hold hands with her mom anymore. I love to hold her hand, and to snuggle with her at bedtime. But she doesn't want to be still the way a baby does; she's big and wild and intent on her own agenda, her own interests, and they involve flailing against me, literally as well as figuratively. And it makes me uncomfortable. And that makes me anxious. Am I too uptight about little things? Am I wrong in sacrificing my comfort to maintaining that connection? Am I wrong in even worrying about my own comfort?<br />
<br />
"When people say you have to cherish your children when they're small," I said to Eric today, "are they right, or are they assholes?" I don't enjoy all the small moments with my girls the way society says I should. I do enjoy a lot of them, but I'm also honestly bored or frustrated or immunized some of the time. Maia draws me pictures every day. They're sweet and I'm proud, but I have dozens of them. Current society tells me I should be treasuring each one, valuing each moment. But I don't think that's reasonable. Society is an asshole. I think.<br />
<br />
It would be nice to know. But there's no good way. So I keep holding Chloe's hand while we run along the sidewalk to catch Maia, and I keep pushing her off my lap when she's keeping me from getting up to do something, and I hang up some of Maia's pictures and I throw some of them away. I want to ask my mom if she ever learned to be content with her own compromises as a mother, but I'm afraid I know the answer.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-48264017345463819482015-05-26T21:46:00.001-04:002015-05-26T21:46:28.870-04:00Our sweet girlEric went up to his gaming group tonight. Not long after he left he called me. We were in the middle of dinner, but since it was him I answered the phone. "There's a severe thunderstorm headed basically from Sylvania to Ann Arbor," he said, naming his route. "It should be an interesting drive." He said he'd text when he had safely finished riding the whirlwind and the storm.<br />
<br />
"Come back, storm!" Chloë said when I relayed this. "It would be better to make the lights go out here than follow my dad!"<br />
<br />
Not long after she finished eating, and I sent her upstairs to wash her hands. As she often does, she stopped at the window on the stairs, looking out into the gloaming. "It's raining," she said. "It's pouring."<br />
<br />"Is the old man snoring?" I said.<br />
<br />
"No. He's driving."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-46119478131974946282015-04-20T13:39:00.000-04:002015-04-20T13:39:17.305-04:00Chloe momentsChloe: I was a <i>big</i> sister today! I helped Maia with cleaning up, and when she needed a cup, and...<br />
<br />
Maia: Mama, when we get home--<br />
<br />
Chloe: Ma-IA! I'm TRYING to count all the times I helped you today! Please don't interrupt!<br />
<br />
* * *<br />
<br />
Chloe: Can I read you some books with a little help?<br />
<br />
Me: Sure!<br />
<br />
Chloe: I want to do it on my bed. With no clothes. Under the blanket. It just feels so good that way.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-46193943206418188862015-03-23T19:25:00.000-04:002015-03-23T19:25:02.608-04:00In sessionAt this moment, the girls are playing kindergarten: Chloe teaching Maia how to subtract. "What is ten minus one, Maia?" Chloe says, and when Maia hesitates, "What is before ten?"<br />
<br />
"Nine," Maia says. She has three "badges" (stickers from kind cashiers at Kroger) on her shirt because she did great, every time, according to Mrs. Snyder.<br />
<br />
(Maia is Rosa. Upstairs, she has a baby doll named Rosetta and two wooden dogs named Rosie and Rose.)<br />
<br />
"So," Mrs. Snyder says. "Seven minus six equals. I'm going to draw some dots, okay?" She draws. "So how many does that leave?"<br />
<br />
"One!"<br />
<br />
"So write one there. You're going to get another badge. I think we have time for one more and then school is probably going to have to end."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-30566151983868259752015-03-18T21:40:00.002-04:002015-03-18T21:40:51.529-04:00Oh, honestlyKindergarteners are crazy social butterflies. I'm not sure I can take this. Chloë came back to school after a week away (in Seattle) to an invitation to a party on Saturday. She already had one on Sunday, plus we signed both girls up for a Little Scientist workshop at Imagination Station. Then she got a form for Girl Scouts During the Day, a during-school (gym, in her case) six-week program for areas with few troops. (I knew that. When she got interested in Girl Scouts a few months ago, I tried contacting the local regional group on their website, since I couldn't find anything strictly local. No response.) <i>And</i> a new-to-Girl-Scouts day camp for spring break. And then there's ballet tomorrow and a playdate Friday afternoon. How are we ever going to catch our breaths when both of them are at it?<br />
<br />
Chloë came home today and said, "Guess what? Sa'Mya has a loose tooth!" Sa'Mya is one of her closest school friends, due to their sitting across from each other the first half of the year. (Now she sits next to two boys, one of whom is nice, the other of whom is "uh." I'm interested to see who she calls her best friends come June.) She seemed genuinely excited about this news as a piece of news, but Eric and I both wonder if there's a level of when-is-this-going-to-happen-to-me going on as well. She doesn't seem upset about it. I hope she's not. She's one of the few of her friends and classmates who haven't had a loose tooth, but she's also the youngest in her year.<br />
<br />
We bought birthday presents for those two parties yesterday (three presents in all, since Maia was invited to one of them too--the birthday girl's mother is one of Maia's preschool teachers) and I left the bag on the landing by the stairs. Today, while I was finishing up my work upstairs, I heard a commotion and Eric demanding to know which girl had taken out one of the presents and left it out. Both girls denied it. "Well, nobody's playing outside until one of you admits it," Eric said. Both girls denied it again. I told them to go clean the living room while whoever did it decided to confess. I sat in the office and worried.<br />
<br />
I was sure Maia had done it. She got a Cinderella Barbie doll for Christmas, and while she loves it in general, she didn't like the two long locks of hair coming off the front of the doll's head (I thought it looked cute, since she's dressed up for a night of dancing, but my taste does not agree with Miss Purple-Shirt-With-Green-Pants-and-Magenta-Skirt-With-Stars's.) One day, I noticed that Cinderella's locks had been shorn off. "Did you cut off her hair?" I asked Maia. She denied it for quite a while, though she said "I saw her hair in the garbage," until Eric and I both explained that it's her doll, she can do what she likes with it, but it's more important that she tell us the truth. Eventually she admitted she had done it, and we talked quite a bit about lies and trust.<br />
<br />
But obviously not enough. At length Eric came up and we talked about it, and at greater length Chloë came up and announced, "I heard from Maia that she did it." We explained that that was nice but Maia needed to tell us herself, which didn't happen until Eric sat down with her for a while and I took Chloë to the next room so she wouldn't keep butting in on their conversation. Eventually, she agreed that she had done it, and she got a room-time and no treat after dinner--not because of leaving the book out, but because she had lied.<br />
<br />
I'm not very pleased about this. Is it normal for a three-year-old to go through a lying phase? I've already known she's in a can't-be-wrong phase: if she asks for bubbles in her bath and I say it isn't bath day, she says "I meant tomorrow!" If I say that no, she can't have marbled cheese (her new favorite thing) because there isn't any but she can have a string cheese, she says "I <i>wanted</i> string cheese!" And, of course, I know that a small child wants to avoid trouble, and knows that lying can avoid trouble. I just hope we're doing the right things to keep it from lasting. If we're raising an evil overlord, I at least want her to be an honest one.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-16285204616883845702015-01-27T16:54:00.000-05:002015-01-27T16:54:18.785-05:00These are the days to remember<div class="MsoNormal">
One of the things I regret about not keeping up this blog is
that I’m losing more of my memories of the girls. For example: Maia is so sweet
right now. She’s three, almost four, and she plays really well with her big
sister, pretending with the My Little Ponies and building coaches and castles
with the Legos and imitating Chloe’s drawings, much more sophisticated than
Chloe herself was doing at this age. But her laugh is still her baby laugh, and
it thrills me to hear it because every time might be the last. And I remember
that Chloe’s laugh was never quite like Maia’s, but I don’t remember how it
was. When did she transition from her baby laugh to the smarter, fuller,
sometimes-slightly-raucous laugh she has now? I don’t remember her first year
of preschool, except for some highlights. I don’t remember exactly when Maia
became potty-trained. I want to write it down, so I don’t forget it. I spend so
much of my time exasperated or anxious or bored with the girls, and I hate
that. I want to remember how good they are, even when I can’t feel that way in
the moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of Maia moments:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maia dresses up as Elsa almost every day. She and Chloe were
Elsa and Anna for Halloween—the warm versions, Elsa at coronation and Anna in
her winter dress. Chloe already had an Anna dress-up dress, so I bought Maia an
Elsa dress from China off eBay and made them cloaks and headgear (Anna’s hat
for Chloe and a yarn wig for Maia). I figured they would enjoy them at
Halloween (which they did—they had three or four different Halloween dress-up
events and rocked them) and maybe dress up again once or twice and they’d be
done. If I’d known Maia would be living in her costume I would have sprung for
a handmade dress from Etsy rather than the cheap eBay version. I would also
have actually finished the edges of the cloak instead of just cutting them and
leaving them. (It’s made of fleece, with some flannel edging fused on, so this
was permissible for something that wasn’t going to get a lot of wear.) It was
fine through Halloween and a bit beyond, but the edging is suffering now. The
dress is holding up very well, however.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Can I have my snowflake necklace?" she asked one day while in this getup. "It gives me ice powers!" Then, "But only pretend. I don't really have ice powers."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm working from home now, and the girls have yet to internalize that shouting upstairs at me when they want something is no longer going to work. (This isn't so bad when Eric's home; but he teaches one afternoon a week.) Today I got on the phone with someone and heard Chloe yelling "Mom! Mom! <i>Mom!</i>" I slammed the door (which the phone on mute) to respond. Pretty soon came a persistent knocking. I used mute again and yelled, "Go away, I'm on the phone!" I'm a charming mother. When the call was done I went down and explained that they cannot shout at me because I will not answer, and if I don't it is appropriate to <i>silently</i> open the door to see whether I'm on the phone or in a rage-induced seizure. (I didn't say that last part.) Chloe nodded. I returned to work. Sometime later Maia came up and crept to my side. "I came up to ask you something because I knew I wasn't supposed to shout," she said humbly. Then she asked me to take out Twilight Sparkle's ponytail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-59662335990141928492014-12-31T08:28:00.000-05:002014-12-31T08:28:58.942-05:00Barbie talk"I didn't know Merida was up here all night!"<br />
"She was supposed to get a salon, like the other Barbies, because of all the weddings."<br />
"Elsa and Cinderella got married. Because their names both end in -a. And they're both in blue."<br />
"Merida wants to marry Anna."<br />"But Anna is already married."<br />"Then I'll marry Merida."<br />
"But Anna is married to you."<br />
* * *<br />
"Yes, her feet are high-heeled. But they <i>can</i> be flat."<br />
* * *<br />
"Let's compare skins!"<br />
* * *<br />
"Psst! Elsa!"<br />"Go back to sleep."<br />
"The sky's awake, so I'm awake. So I have to play."<br />
"Go play by yourself."<br />
<i>Thump.</i><br />
"Do you want to build a snowman?"<br />
"Now let's do it with ourselves!"Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-51387293176869993942014-12-15T11:48:00.000-05:002014-12-15T11:48:20.971-05:00A girl on fireIt is so amazing watching Chloe learn to read. She's acquired sounds and blends and several rules, and the world is blooming around her. We drove home from the mall the other day and she called out "'Stop'!" and "'Market'!" and "Is that 'Dillards'?" She spelled "splendid" for me in bed when she kept telling me she had a "splendid" idea for my Christmas present (though not what it is). Spelling words to keep her from knowing what we're talking about isn't safe anymore. It's wonderful.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-80965497319694334982014-09-02T12:09:00.000-04:002014-09-02T12:09:00.867-04:00The big dayToday is Chloe's first day of kindergarten. She's been so excited about it. We went school shopping last week, and school-clothes-shopping a couple of weeks before that, and she was eager to help pack her lunch and make sure everything was in order in her backpack. She had three nosebleeds yesterday, so last night we discussed writing a note to her teacher to keep her informed, and the first thing she asked me this morning was "Did you do that note?"<br />
<br />
She was all smiles when we left her at her classroom door this morning. All three of us walked her in, since I'm working from home on Tuesdays and it wasn't terribly busy. Her teacher met her at the door and told her to put away her backpack and play with the Play-Doh at her seat; and she gave us quick good-bye hugs and was off. There was a "Boo-Hoo Breakfast" for kindergarten parents in the school library afterward. We didn't go, but I did feel slightly boo-hoo-ey as Eric, Maia, and I walked back to the car.<br />
<br />
So did Maia; she wanted to be picked up and buried her face in my shoulder. But she's also anxious about going to meet her preschool teachers today, and she recovered quickly--though the house is very, very quiet without her favorite playmate to assist in making the usual ruckus, or demand the usual shows. Change, it is here.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-34061828130135748292013-10-26T00:19:00.001-04:002013-10-26T00:19:40.818-04:00NaptimeI suppose I might as well make this official: I am on hiatus. Life is sort of difficult to live once at the moment, let alone over again for the blog (though the girls are mostly not the difficult parts. And certainly not the dull ones). Therefore, instead of our last post (Maia's doing much better), I leave you with this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezKu42BDa0lSRFKafybNTL_AOBJ3j_5ax8Ijcd9h20WBMC27c7DFrLbyDHIyo_Z-qNFkVYFaudE0PGBb3fJvteegC0O9GS4j8ezDtnzo-6JcBsJu545WS0wctXX-V8LY0LGxR2gvH6_M/s1600/2013-09-22+11.53.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgezKu42BDa0lSRFKafybNTL_AOBJ3j_5ax8Ijcd9h20WBMC27c7DFrLbyDHIyo_Z-qNFkVYFaudE0PGBb3fJvteegC0O9GS4j8ezDtnzo-6JcBsJu545WS0wctXX-V8LY0LGxR2gvH6_M/s400/2013-09-22+11.53.14.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Pirate sisters Chloë and Maia, best friends for ever!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-59993441410538446752013-09-21T00:57:00.001-04:002013-09-21T00:57:29.455-04:00On the poop deck(Warning: discussion of gastrointestinal function ahead.)<br />
<br />
"I don't need 'positories any more!" Maia said brightly yesterday. Then she took a wipe and tried to stuff it up her ducky's butt.<br />
<br />
We went to Seattle last week. While we had a good time overall, travel didn't agree with Maia's digestive system. There were no poops for the first two days, and when she was straining but getting nothing out, we decided to use suppositories, which we've used for her once before. They were highly effective then, but she was ambivalent about them--she knew they worked, but she didn't like how they went in, which I really can't blame her for--and refused these. Of course, being two, her refusal didn't mean as much as she might have wished. We administered several of them, as well as tons of fruit and juice and gummy fiber pills (Chloë also had a couple since they tasted yummy, she said, but since she didn't need any of that sort of help and we're the ones who wipe her butt, she went off them), and eventually a vegetable laxative pill.<br />
<br />
She didn't do terribly well the remainder of the trip, but it wasn't so bad we wanted to take her to a doctor. She did start crossing her legs when she was straining, presumably because it hurt--she mentioned this a couple of times when I was changing her, so I took extra care cleaning her, and when I forgot once told me, "Wipe <i>gentwy</i>!" We discouraged the leg-crossing, and by a couple days after we got back, she had gotten back to normal consistency and frequency. She got milk today for the first time in a week.<br />
<br />
We're not sure how much each remedy helped, but I'm fairly confident that getting back to her normal schedule was a part of it. Funny how travel can affect something like digestion and excretion. She didn't have this problem our last trip out, admittedly. But it certainly wasn't the change in diet, since Mom and Dad pushed fruit and vegetables even more than we do.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-60433414506924628132013-09-09T10:09:00.001-04:002013-09-09T10:09:13.611-04:00Unassailable logic"I want that," Maia said, pointing up to Chloë's solar system mobile this morning.<br /><br />"Which one?" Chloë asked her. "Jupiter?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah."<br />
<br />
"She wants Jupiter," Chloë told me. "But not the <i>real</i> Jupiter."<br />
<br />
"Why not?" I inquired.<br />
<br />
"Because one, she couldn't carry it. And two, it wouldn't be in orbit any more. And three, it would be bigger than a room."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4492741181941934419.post-11209245876681260412013-09-01T21:52:00.003-04:002013-09-01T21:52:55.997-04:00Rip-off"Where's your ow?" Chloë inquired of Maia in the bath the other day.<br />
<br />
"On my chest," Maia decided, and together they applied a wet washcloth onto her chest.<br />
<br />
"Now, it's time to take off your Band-Aid, Maia," Chloë said kindly. "It's not going to hurt. Ready? One--" She yanked off the washcloth. "That didn't hurt, did it?"<br />
<br />
The removal of Band-Aids is Chloë's hangup, not Maia's, of course. I thought it was interesting she chose to channel her experiences in that way. (The "I'll count to three...one [rip]" technique is Eric's; I just reach over and pull it off quickly when she's not prepared.)Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15531711794185041057noreply@blogger.com1