My little girl

See that little girl toddling around in the ladybug bathing suit?





She's getting to be pretty definitively a little girl these days, but kissable hints of babyishness still remain; those (long!) chubby legs, the cuddly way she lays her head in my lap when she's tired, her enduring love for her "ba ba." But she can say "ba ba" now, when she wants one. That's new.

She has an all-encompassing passion for cats. She chases her cat friends around and around the house, grabbing onto their tails with a little vise grip. She has learned to make the "tsk tsk" sound to call them over to her. She greets them when she sees them: "Hi, Cat!"

She can identify every cat in every one of her books. She has also learned the sound a pig makes and tries to imitate it, making a kind of coughing sound because she doesn't know yet how to snort the way mama does. She loves books with peekaboo flaps and lifts them so enthusiastically that she accidentally tears them off and we find them stuck to our feet days later.

She waves wildly to everybody she meets and isn't content if they don't wave back. I have a secret love in my heart for everybody who does. She has learned about babies, and she loves to see them. "Bee bee!" she cries, when she sees one in its mother's arms at the splashground, or in a picture, or on TV.

She loves to watch videos of herself as a baby on the laptop. She kneels and puts her face close to the screen to watch, scrutinizing every detail, as though there is going to be a test.

She is good at giving kisses. Sometimes she will lay them on thick in a string of five or six open-mouthed busses: "A-WAH! A-WAH! A-WAH!" Sometimes she shakes her head no, smiling because she knows she's teasing and she likes being in on the joke. Some people only warrant a blown kiss, a little chubby hand that flies to her mouth and lingers there, because, yes, hands are still delicious.

She's a funny little girl, who loves to laugh, who gets angry because the ice cubes from my drink are too cold to hold but she doesn't want to put them down, who finds a soft pillow on the floor and lays down to drink her bottle in peace and comfort. She points to things that she finds novel or interesting, and the list grows longer every day. Every day she takes a few more steps on her own...but she still looks back over her should to break into a grin when she sees we're watching.

She's my little girl, and I love her so.

Six More Weeks of What?

According to Punxsutawney Phil, we have six more weeks of winter.

To which I say HA! And ha again.

What winter?

The littles have been asking every day to go build a snowman.

Dudes, we don't even have a dusting of snow. It rains at least once a week. The rest of the time it is either mild and sunny or mild and cloudy or - just to keep us from getting too comfortable - it suddenly turns to bitter cold. But still no snow.

It's been a disappointment to us. We are finally living in a house with a yard, first time ever. We finally have a place where we could drag the littles around in their small sled (the last year Joy will fit into it, the way she's growing - Gracie might squeeze in another year, but not Joy), where we could build a snowman, snow fort, snow angels, have a blast.

And instead, winter is soggy.

This was last January:

At the park where, I swear, they were having more fun than it looks

And this is last month:

We had to go all the way to the mountains of Massachusetts to find even this much snow!

At this rate, spring will come before we've even noticed there was a winter.

Waltzing Matilda (or Grace)

These are the sorts of conversations that go on at our house every day. Tell me we're not alone in this?

Mamma: Gracie, please finish your food before you get down from the table.

Grace (already down): Well, I can't finish eating right now.

Mamma: Why not?

Gracie: Well, I just have to dance for a little while.

And so she danced. What, like I'm going to stifle that impulse?

Gotta Dance!

Reading

Taking a break from Christmas baking to read a few chapter in Betsy-Tacy, one of my very favorite stories (and series) ever. Thrilled to be introducing such beloved friends to my girls now.

On a related note, if I ever suggest homemade baked goods for Christmas presents again, you all have my permission to come hit me with something solid until I come to my senses. I am sick to death of my kitchen and everything in it, and last night I dumped the boiling pasta water without putting the pasta in, and put the peas on the stove without adding water ... my brain, she is fried.

As were the peas.

Winter morning

I love waking up to a baby full of smiles...


And to a sky making all sorts of beautiful things happen outside my window.


Spring and summer mornings have warmth and birdsong and light. But these winter mornings bring the snuggles like whoa.

A run of luck

This has just been an exhausting week. It seems like every water-bearing appliance in my house is conspiring against me; the condo board raised their monthly fee by $50; Lulu had a cold, which she kindly passed to me. And then my managers at work asked me today, very nicely, if I would consider working my full 20 hours next week to make deadline, despite the fact that I haven't taken one lick of PTO all year and was really looking forward to it, despite the fact that from Tuesday through Saturday, I am going to be visiting family 200 miles away from my computer.

This afternoon, I pattered around the house in desultory kind of way, folding random sweaters and seeking pairs for tiny, solitary baby socks, blinking past the aura of an impending migraine. Feeling sorry for myself. Allowing a few tears to squeeze past my eyelids and drop down onto my shirtfront.

And then I found it, at the back of a desk drawer: a Christmas present from last year that I had forgotten about, a voucher from J.D. to a local spa. I had planned to use it for some pre-baby beautifying, but then I was put on bed rest and then Lulu was born, and then in the hassle of NICU and swaddlers and leaking boobs, I forgot.

I turned it over in my hands, which were suddenly shaking with hope. Please don't be expired. Please don't be expired.

It hadn't expired. I picked up the phone then and there and called to book myself a massage, a facial, a haircut and manicure. We have a lot of packing to do, a long car ride ahead of us next week, all the tantrums and nursing strikes that go along with being in a strange place, far away from home ahead of us yet...but the week after next, I have some SERIOUS pampering to look forward to.

And there was suddenly a spring in my step that hadn't been there before.

Then my mother called. J.D. and I are driving down in a few days, but she can't wait to see Lu, and wants to drive up this weekend. If I have anything to do this weekend, she'll be willing to watch the baby and give me a few hours for myself.

Suddenly, I see a way out from underneath my mounting workload. Feeling greedy, I asked my mom if she'd be willing to babysit tomorrow night so that I can go to see J.D.'s band play a show downtown.

"Are you serious?" she said. "I'd love to."

The migraine began to lift.

And now I'm cuddled up on the couch with a steaming bowl of pho to help my stuffy nose, and some illegal episodes of Downton Abbey sent to me by a friend queued up on the TiVo.

There's a saying in these here parts: if you don't like the weather, wait five minutes.

There's a saying rattling around in my head after my run of luck: if you don't like your mood, wait half a day.


Because everything just might turn out all right.

Gracie Days

I love this picture of Gracie, even in all its blurriness. 

It captures so much of her, her enthusiasm for everything, the speed with which she attacks life, even the open mouth as she takes it all in.

She's getting to be a lot of fun. She's always had a decided personality, but these days we're actually starting to understand it. 

For example: the other day, I asked her if she wanted carrots with her lunch.

"Nope!"

"Peas?" I asked.

"Nope! Just hummus and chips."

Note - hummus and chips were not on the lunch menu at all.

A few months ago, that would have translated into tears and frustration instead of her actually being able to share what she wanted.

She ended up with carrots and peas, but at least we were able to talk about why chips and hummus are better for a snack, not lunch.

She can pronounce her sister's name, or at least the nickname, now. I kind of miss the baby babble, but it is sweet to hear her holler, "Hey Joy, what you doin'?" from the other end of the house.

Yesterday I picked her up to take her upstairs for her nap, and she snuggled down into my arms and said with a contented sigh,

"I sleepin' now, Mom."

Babies are darling, but I enjoy kids so much more from age two up. These days are still as full of work and frustration as the baby days, but the rewards, for me and my personality at least, are so much greater. From answering Joy as she asks about all the different definitions for the word "mean," to listening to Grace shriek with laughter as I chase her through the house, or tell me exactly what she wants for breakfast, there's always something each day to make me laugh in delight.

Just a Happy Day

I half suspect we are going to have a very nasty and long winter. What other explanation is there for this glorious weather we've been having - in November of all months?

Sunshine and 60 degrees today, and enough leftovers from last night's supper that I didn't need to cook. What other excuse did I need to spend most of the day outside with the littles?

While Grace napped today, I dragged Joy's table and chair out and we did school outside. HOMESCHOOLING baby, oh yeah! You're not a real homeschooler until you've done school outside. True dat.

I even brought my tea outside. Black dragon pearl tea. The perfect thing to drink on a sunny and crisp November day, outside watching my girls play.

(With handwarmers I knit myself, by the way. And don't you like my nail polish? It sparkles. Oh yeah.)

After Grace woke up from her nap and we all had lunch we came back out - OH.

Wait.

Before I get to that, I have to tell this.

After Joy and I finished school, I came inside to make lunch. Joy wasn't ready yet, so after very carefully pacing out the boundaries in the backyard of where she could and couldn't go, I let her stay outside.

FIRST TIME EVER.

I mean, I've let her play outside on her own at my parents' house before, but they live out in the country, and there are usually other adults around to glance out the windows at her and keep an ear open. This is the first time I've been brave enough to trust her to stay in her limits and not kill herself or get kidnapped by some creeper swooping down out of the sky.

Of course, I compulsively crept from window to window to watch her, but I didn't let her know she was being watched, and she was pretty proud of herself. I was proud of myself, too.

And then, of course, she came to the door and said, "Mamma, I saw a SNAKE! And I said, 'hi, snake,' and watched it go off in the leaves. It was yellow and green and a BIG mama snake."

I gulped, told her she was good to stay back and not try to touch it or follow it, and then came in and Googled snakes native to NY state.

It was a garter snake. Phew.

Anyway, after Grace got up, we all came back outside, and I stood back and watched the girls play together. Lots of giggles.

Joy usually leads the way.

But never think Grace doesn't have a mind of her own.

Most of the time, Joy accepts that. With a few reminders from Mamma, of course (hey, I'm a younger sister, too).

It's been awfully generous of Mother Nature to give us these golden days now. We can pull out the memory of them later, in February, when it seems that the world has always been and will always be cold and grey and bleak.

Thank you, Mother Nature, dear!

ETA: so I wrote this post yesterday; this morning, Carl had to pull a tick out of my back. IF you are going to spend a happy day outside playing in the leaves, please make sure to check you and your kids all over when you're done. I erroneously thought the frosty night would have driven them all into the ground; obviously there are one or two still left in the leaf piles.

One less, now.

But I Get Up Again

I love this series of photos. Not just because it shows my daughter loving something I also love (I dreamed of going to the Olympics for figure skating when I was a girl, but alas - I had no talent and no money) (ok, to be just, I am a decent ice dancer, but I didn't discover that until I was sixteen, too old to try to pursue it seriously), and doing it better than I could dream, but because it shows her persistence. Fall down, try to get up, stagger, keep trying, and then - Up on her feet and ready to go again!

She is determined, my Joy. She doesn't quit. Sometimes, like when she is doing something she oughtn't, this frustrates me, but most of the time, I am thankful for it. I am too prone to give up on things after a while - I get bored, or discouraged (usually discouraged) at lack of progress, or I look around at other people and see how much better they are doing at something, so why should I even try?

Not Joy. She keeps her eyes on the goal, and sticks with it.

And she looks stinkin' cute while doing so.

(Note for anyone concerned - when Joy starts taking skating lessons, i.e. skating on the ice without me or her aunt close nearby to keep an eye on her, she will wear a helmet. Her brains are too precious to me to risk! For right now, though, it's still safe. Especially since the very first thing I taught her after she learned how to move forward on the ice was how to fall safely. So please don't send CPS after me.)

My Sister, My Friend

As I sit here typing this, Joy and Gracie are cuddled on the couch looking at an American Girl doll catalog, and Joy is coaching Gracie in counting. They made it up to twenty-five before Grace lost interest.

~

When I found out I was pregnant with Grace, right before Joy hit the ten-month mark, and I realized my children would be just about a year and half apart, I will admit that my heart sank a bit. Not only were my memories of pregnancy and labor all too vivid still (I remember crying on the phone to my mother at one point, telling her I really wasn't at all sure I could do labor again so soon), I was close to overwhelmed with one small child. How would I handle two, so close in age that one would be barely out of one stage when the other entered it?

~

People told me that it would be great, that the first year or so would be really hard, but after that having two children less than two years apart would be wonderful. One amazing mother I know deliberately had four children as close to a year apart as she could - she wanted to have the baby stage all at once and have it over with, as well as wanting her children to grow up close in age. And her kids - all grown and past college now - are awesome, all of them (I have often bemoaned the fact that I have no younger sister I could marry off to one of the boys). But I still wasn't sure.

~

Joy gets frustrated at Grace. A lot. She also tries to boss her. A lot. There have been physical altercations (thankfully, not enough to be called A Lot, but enough). "Joy, don't hit your sister over the head with your plate!" is one of those phrases I never thought to hear come out of my mouth, yet has. Grace is pretty easygoing for the most part, but when she gets mad, she Gets Mad. Joy will need to watch her step in another year or so, because soon little sissy isn't going to be so easy to push over (as a little sister myself, I have to admit this doesn't bother me muchly. Older sisters need younger sisters who won't let them be bulldozers). They are not the picture-perfect loving sisters.

~

They both just came running up to me and handed me imaginary cookies. "We're making cookies!" Joy squealed. "Cookies!" Gracie echoed. Then they raced back off upstairs, where I am sure they are getting into all sort of mischief but at least they are giggling and I haven't heard any crashes yet so I'm not too worried at the moment.

~

They aren't perfect sisters, but they really are, despite the times when they are furious at each other, best friends. Considering that I just emailed my sister, whom I saw on Sunday, to ask if she was going to be available to Skype today because it's been too long since we talked, this fills me with delight.

~

Maybe the stress of of the last few years, being pregnant while having one baby still in the house, of having two toddlers, of barely finishing one kid's potty-training when the other decided she was ready for it, of balancing naps and meals and never getting a moment to breathe because someone always needed me ...

Maybe it really has been worth it, to see these two as they are now, and to know it will get even better as they grow older.

Love You, So Much

I realized the other day that I talk mostly about Joy on here.

This is not because Gracie is a negligible personality. Far from it. It's just that the difference between an almost-four year old and almost-two and a half year old means there are more stories to tell about Joy.

Grace is hysterical, but most of the humor comes from the moment, the facial expressions, the context. Trying to explain the jokes to someone else just falls flat.

She is, as I lovingly call her, my curly-haired imp.

She is quick to love, quick to laugh, quick to anger and sadness, with a scream so piercing the nurses at the birthing center had never heard anything like it from a newborn. And it's only gotten stronger as she's gotten older.

She is the extrovert in a family of introverts.

Another six months to a year, and I am sure the stories about her will pour out, that the roles will be reversed and Joy will get relatively little screen time compared to her vibrant younger sister. Right now Grace still follows big sister's steps in everything, but I've been seeing hints that indicate that state of affairs won't last much longer. As a little sister myself, who went from adoring my big sister to protecting her, I find myself reminding Gracie daily that "you don't have to do that just because Joy is!"

Her other nickname around the house is "Bundle" (anyone else here read Agatha Christie? Remember Bundle Brent?), as in: a bundle of mischief; a bundle of sweetness; a bundle of silliness; a bundle of energy; a bundle of love; a cuddle-bundle (that one gets tricky to say sometimes).

She's fallen down the stairs more times in the last two years than I care to count, and is the child most likely to give her mother a heart attack before she reaches age five. Fearless and adventurous, where her sister is cautious and thoughtful, she provides me with new challenges every day.

This kid? She is fun.

And I can't wait for the day when I can share more of her stories with you.

For now, I need to go double-check to make sure the door to the cellar is locked. She's already fallen down those steps once this month.

Ooh! I do have a funny story I can share. I just took a break from this to put Gracie down for her nap. As usual, I said: "Love you!" as I tucked her in, and she looked back up at me with twinkling eyes and added: "So much!"

The Talking, It Never Stops

"Oh, she's so quiet. I've never met a four-year-old who is so quiet. How do you do it?"

I grin sheepishly and mumble something about "she's not this quiet at home, she's just quiet when we're out," and they shake their heads in disbelief and then we escape.

~

This morning, I woke up to one child climbing into bed with me, and the sound of the other one downstairs. Despite the fact that Mamma was in bed with Gracie, and Papa was in the shower, Joy was chattering away already, having a nice little conversation with her imaginary friends and the small plastic animals that are scattered through our entire house. I groaned and pulled the covers back over my head.

~

Joy still has yet to give us the constant "why" questions, but she never stops talking, just the same. Most of her questions are "what." "What are you doing, Mamma? What is that? What did you say? What's this picture? What time is it? What are we having for supper? Where's Papa? What's he doing? Where's Grace? Is she napping? Am I not napping? I don't take naps, do I? What's that? What did you say, Mamma? What does that mean?"

All. The. Time.

Except when we're in public, of course, when she turns meek and quiet and barely squeaks out two words if pressed.

~

I am an introvert, as is Carl. Oddly enough, Joy is too, for the most part, except for this perfectly-normal phase every child goes through as their eyes are opening to the world and their understanding takes off by leaps and bounds - the stage of questioning and wondering and wanting to share their excitement over life with the people they love best. And it sounds wonderful, and it is, but Oh. My. Goodness. I just want some peace and quiet once in a while. I can be a chatterbox when I'm around my closest friends, occasionally, but most of the time I crave silence. Unlike my sister, who gets mopey when things are too quiet, I like the calm, the steady, the silence.

~

Yesterday, I sent Carl and the littles to run some of their own errands while I went to Joann's and Target all by myself. It was heaven, wandering through the aisles by myself, no little person constantly asking what every single item was (and no husband anxiously asking if every item going into the cart was really absolutely necessary.

And yet, ironically enough, after forty minutes of that, I pulled out my cell phone and found myself calling my sister to chat through the rest of my shopping. The alone-ness was too much, and I needed contact with someone.

Joy, she is training me well.

Mamma, I'm sitting on a pumpkin! What color is this pumpkin? Is it orange? Mamma, is the sky blue today? Isn't it a nice day? Do we like pumpkins? Am I going to paint a pumpkin sometime? Are you taking a picture? Mamma, what is that face you're making?

Hair-Raising Tales

This weekend, Joy and I had a special mother-daughter day at the salon. We both got our hair cut, she trimmed back up to her usual stacked bob, and me with a brand-new look (Carl and Grace, btw, were whoopin' it up at Panera Bread and the pet store, celebrating the fact that Grace never, ever poops in her underwear anymore, something her year-and-a-half older sister has yet to master).

Hair is hard, as a mom. Harder even than it was before kids, when I had time and no talent for it. Now I have no time and still no talent, but the last thing I want is to end up with the dread "Mom hair." So about every six months to a year, I get a new style, just to make sure I'm not falling into a hair slump.

This time, I took in a picture of Scarlett Johansson, and told my hairdresser: "Make it so."

Now, not even my wildly talented hairdresser could make me look like ScarJo. But she did an awesome job on my hair. Don't you think?





















My hair drags my face down if it gets too long, but the one pixie cut I had, even though I loved it, was not very flattering to my face. So something betwixt and between is perfect. And this one is great, because I can either scrunch some mousse in, blow-dry it, and leave it (like the above picture) for a casual everyday look, or I can straighten it, even pin it back, if I want to go more elegant. And it's long enough in the front that I can pull it back partway to keep it out of my face while cooking or playing with littles.

So, it meets all my criteria - easy to maintain, not too short but not too long, looks stylish, and totally works for my writer's image.

As for the littles - Joy's stacked bob is perfect for her pixie-ish personality and penchant for preppy style.

Grace's head is a mass of curls, and it's all I can do to keep them from a frizz-fest. I've started conditioning almost every day, and only shampooing twice a week, and that helps. Mostly, I'm looking forward to when they are long enough to pull back in a ponytail. Thank goodness, her hair is still fine enough that combing it isn't difficult. If that changes, it's back to the hairdresser with you, kid, for short hair!

Whew. Being stylish - keeping three of us neat and easy AND stylish - is a lot of work. Good thing Carl takes care of his own hair.

Girl Power!

"Need help," Gracie said, tugging me over to the toy box and pointing inside. "Need tac-tor."

Since the tractor was already in her hand, I deduced she wanted a driver for it. I asked, she confirmed, and I scooped two little people out of the box without paying much attention. Only after the driver was settled in the seat, and the extra person sitting happily in the wagon, did I look more closely to see that I had given my daughter two females.

Boo-Yah, that's right, girls can drive tractors too!

Wait, did I really just say boo-yah?


Growing up in farming land, it was never really that unusual for me to see girls on tractors. So it surprised me, this instinctive and vehement reaction. It had to be, I surmised, in response to having daughters, rather than being female myself. After all, I worked eight years shoulder-to-shoulder with the guys in the local hardware store, hauling freight and unloading trucks with the best of them. Dad taught my sister and me both to fish, to shoot a gun, to throw and catch a baseball (I hate softballs - they are so much bigger; it's nearly impossible to throw them well) ... at my grandparents' summer camp, all the grandkids would chip in with Gram and Grampie to haul brush away, all seven girls and the one lone boy cousin. My family moved to a fixer-upper house when I was nine, and since Dad worked all day, it was Mom, Lis and I who would tear down walls and help put up new sheetrock.

In other words, when you grow up without people throwing stupid ideas at your head about what girls (and boys) can and can't do, it's not too likely to feel violent feminist emotions on your own account.

But when people start making assumptions about my daughters, and trying to impress on them from birth that there are some things off-limits or unacceptable just because they are girls ... well, Mamma gets pissed.

"Be gentle!" one mom of boys chirped to her sons as they were playing with Joy. "Girls are fragile flowers."

"Oh, she's all girl," someone else will say about Joy, for no reason but that she's tiny with delicate features.

"Oh, girls run and scream and act crazy too?" a friend asked as we tried to talk on the phone, as her boys ran wild on her end, and my girls did the same on mine. (Another time, it was, "Girls put their underwear on their head too?")

"They like to play with trucks?" people will ask blankly, staring at their toy collection.

And it drives. me. nuts.

Why shouldn't they play with trucks? Who was the idiot who decided vehicles had to be for boys alone? Joy's latest fascination is with trains, while Grace, as mentioned above, is showing a bit of interest in tractors. And do people really expect that they are going to sit quietly and play softly all day long, simply by virtue of being girls? Aren't all kids supposed to run and shout and act free and crazy, isn't that just part of being a kid?

(This works the opposite direction, too, as I realized with something of a sad shock when I heard one mother worrying about the fact that her son would rather spend time cooking in the kitchen than playing war outside with his brothers.)

And yes, Joy also likes baby dolls and the color pink, and Grace is a darling snuggler who showers affection on everyone and everything in her vicinity, but that's awesome, too, that they are already so diverse, that Joy can like trains and dolls all at once, that Grace can be my crazy wild child and my sweet darling in the span of ten seconds. I want them to pursue anything and everything that interests them, to not succumb to societal pressures, to not be ashamed of "non-girly" interests, or even, on the other end, not to feel like they have to be embarrassed if they really do like pink or purple or sparkles. I want them to be their own person, regardless of what others think.

So yes, boo-yah to girls who drive tractors! As for their driving abilities ...

Well, the less said about that, perhaps, the better.

Tragedies, And How We Deal With Them

There was a lot of talk, around the eleventh of this month, about how to talk to your kids about tragedy, and when to start. I didn't pay that much attention to it, partially because I rather prefer to go case-by-case and deal with each thing separately and personally, instead of having one over-arching "method" for dealing with tragedy. And it was partially because my littles are so little that there hasn't seemed much need for preparing myself for this particular stage of motherhood yet.

Or so I thought, until last Sunday morning, when we were out to breakfast with my parents before church, and the older gentleman at the table behind us had a stroke.

It was a quiet stroke - since I was sitting with my back to their table, at first I thought it was just a gentleman with Alzheimer's out with his family. The daughter kept saying "Dad, it's time to go home now." Then there would be a pause, then she'd say again, "Dad, are you ready to go home?" Then the staff brought out a wheelchair, then my own father went over to ask if he could help (he knew the gentleman personally), and it slowly dawned on me that this was more than just Alzheimer's stubbornness.

(On a side note, "just" Alzheimer's stubbornness sounds ridiculous, when you think about what that entails. Which I do, all the time, thanks to my grandmother's condition.)

Eventually, they had to call 911, and the paramedics came and loaded him up on a gurney and carried him out to the ambulance. By that point, he was responding physically, squeezing their hands when they asked and even attempting to smile, though he wasn't speaking.

And my girls sat there through it all. By God's grace, Joy, who would have paid exquisitely close attention to it all and been very disturbed by it, was sitting next to me, and could only see bits and pieces out of the corner of her eye (thanks to our persistent reminders that turning one's head to stare at anyone is not polite). Grace could see it all, but she was more interested in the pond out the window than anything else. She pays attention to everything, too much of everything, to be affected much by any one thing.

So all I really had to do was explain to Joy that the funny-looking bed was for when people weren't feeling well enough to walk on their own, and they were taking the nice gentleman to a place where they would help him feel better. And she accepted that, and Grace was persuaded to not run over to try to climb on the gurney, and then the paramedics and the family left, and that was that.

Not a huge deal, not like someone died behind us, but still enough of a poignant reminder to me of the fragility of life, and the ever-hovering presence of tragedy. What would I have told them if it had been more dramatic, if it had been so noticeable even Grace couldn't remain oblivious? What will I tell them, in a year or two years or however much longer she holds on, when we have to go to Great-Grandma's funeral? How do you explain death, and sickness, and tragedies, and the cruelty of some aspects of life, to children who, thank God, have only ever known the beautiful side of this world?

Even more, how to explain the deliberate cruelty of some people, whether it be a schoolyard bully or a terrorist?

I'm not sure, yet. But I think I need to start figuring it out, at least how to break things down into a basic explanation that can be adapted to specific circumstances, lest the next time we confront the harsher realities of life, my children turn to me for answers, and I am left with nothing to say.

Storytime

These pictures make me so happy.

That's all.

(Pre) School Daze

I was so proud of myself for figuring out a school schedule for doing preschool with Joy this year - I felt like a real homeschooling mom, with a schedule on the refrigerator and everything.

Until we started this morning, and I realized that I did not take into account my child's devouring interest in all things school related. She tore through the planned materials in less than half the time I had anticipated, leading me to sprint upstairs and dig out Thursday's workbook for her to do as well. Not only is she doing more books each day than I had expected, she is going to end up going through them in a shorter amount of time than I had expected, which means I am already ordering more workbooks for her, and looking at the very real possibility that we'll be finished in what I thought was a half-year's curriculum in two months.

Yay! And also: what have I gotten myself into?

I am so very much not a natural teacher. I know preschool workbooks and curriculum aren't necessary for this age, but I am terrible at trying to come up with fun ways to teach these basic pre-kindergarten skills. So the curriculum saves me from frustrations and headaches, and gives my girls a great way to learn. Having a kid this smart already, pushing me beyond what I was expecting (and I'm her mother, so you know I obviously think Joy's a genius) (Grace is a genius too, only hers is more the creative kind, not so much the academic kind. Also, I think she's a musical prodigy, because she already has an opera singer's range - just ask anyone who's ever listened to her cry), is both exciting and kind of freaking me out.

You want to give your kid the best of everything. You want them to have every opportunity to reach their fullest potential. You don't want to push them, or place your goals on them, but you do not want to see them fall short because of your failures.

And so, having a child who is already so academically inclined is a little scary. What if I don't give her the right materials, and end up having her hate school because I didn't teach her properly? What if I push too hard and she gets frustrated? What if I don't push hard enough and she gets bored and loses interest? What if I start assuming she's headed for greatness, but this is really fairly common? What if she is uncommonly gifted, and I miss it because I don't want to be one of those mothers?

And so I tentatively advance one half step at a time, holding my breath at every moment, hoping I'm doing the right thing.

And here I thought the baby stage was hard.

Littles Unboxed

We went to the NY State Fair this weekend with my sister and brother-in-law and our cousin visiting from North Carolina. Unexpectedly for September in upstate NY, it was horrifically hot, and so humid my glasses kept steaming up - kid you not. Even my cousin, who is from Vermont originally but has lived in NC for the last ten years, was wilting.

It was great fun, though, especially since even last year we could not have done something like this - Carl and I and the littles left our house at 7:30 in the morning, and got back at 11:00 that night. The girls were troopers through the entire day - no meltdowns, no tantrums, only a couple times where they needed reminders of the importance of having good attitudes. They had so much fun with everything - from the cow barn (my brother-in-law's cousins were there showing cattle, so we had to stop there to see them first thing), to the pig/goat/llama barn, to ... well, everything. Even Joy, who does not like crowds and noise, held her own quite nicely, even standing right up to the chain separating the crowds from where the six- and eight-horse hitches came thundering by with Mamma and Auntie Lizzie. No fear, just awe and delight at the magnificent horses (she liked the all-black ones the best - Mamma was partial to the Clydesdales, black with white feet, and Auntie Lizzie liked the dapple greys). In fact, she loved the horses so much, that at the end of the day, when I asked what her best favorite part was ("best favorite" is a phrase of her own coining, and I love it), I fully expected her to answer "horses." Especially since that was what she was talking about ever since we told her about the Fair.

If not horses, than I figured she would say the little chick that Papa held while she petted it. Or even say that her best favorite part of the day was drinking half of Auntie Lizzie's maple slushie, or watching Dan Duggan play hammer dulcimer (he is just brilliant with that so-tricky instrument).

Not a bit of it. Joy, my petite, tidy, finicky, dainty little maiden, liked the big black mama pig the best. Even better than the piglets, which at least have the advantage of being little! Nope. No matter how many times she was asked, she answered the same:

"The big black mama pig was my best favorite."

I love that she's almost four, and still surprising me every day. Just as I think I've got her figured out, she comes out with something completely unexpected. I love seeing all these disparate bits come together to make one cohesive Joy.

If I am honest, I have to confess that I really hated the baby stage. I loved them, of course, but the real fun is starting now, when they get to express their personalities and there's a new delightful discovery waiting around every corner. Sometimes it gets frustrating, as when I can't buy clothing for Joy without her along because she already has decided opinions, and won't wear something unless she likes it (thank goodness Grace is still young enough to have to wear Mamma's preferences!), but even that has its fun side, as I get to see her decide, already, what styles she likes and what she doesn't. Although I did put my foot down when she wanted to buy a leopard-print jumper. Mamma will allow a lot, but I do have my limits!

Grace is still little enough that she mostly goes along with whatever Sissy says ("Grace, what was your best favorite part of the day?" "Pigs!" Never mind the fact that she barely paid any attention to them, that's what Sissy said, so that's what she liked, too), but we're starting to see glimpses of her independent personality peeking out here and there.

These kids, they cannot be put in neat and tidy little boxes, ever. And why would anyone want to? Life is so much more fun when it is unexpected.

(Sorry about the lack of pictures in this post - we were a bit too busy experiencing everything to stop and take pictures! Maybe next year.)