Showing posts with label Belly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Belly. Show all posts
Hello?
Is this thing still on? Check one.... Check one....
[Feedback.... then silence.]
Hi. My name is Rachael and I'm a terrible blogger. I make apparently-empty promises about writing more and say "yes, yes - I will!" when friends tell me then beg me to blog. It's not even that there's a lack of desire - I've just been busy. Really busy. Crazy-stressful-but-oddly-I-mostly-like-it busy. I think. So I'm not making any promises. But I'm here right now and this is what I got....
My lovelies - Belly and The Bug - turned four in October. They are more like me every day, which is both fascinating and horrifying, but each is like a different side of me. Buggy is the linear me. She's very organized and by-the-book and a straight-A student. Belly is the abstract artist me. She's free-form in thinking and behavior and lives for love. I mean, they are uniquely themselves for sure, but more and more, I'm seeing myself reflected back. It's a total trip. I remember a friend saying that having a kid was the most selfish thing he'd ever done. I didn't really understand that at the time, but now I do. I've recreated whole facets of myself, from looks right down to personality. Sometimes they even swear like me. That part is pretty funny (to me, not Dude). It's like I've said to the world, "Isn't it fun I'm here? Well guess what - here are two more of me! Wheeeeeeee!!!!!" The arrogance is astounding.
They're pretty dang cute, though. This was them on Christmas looking very Buggy (left) and very Belly and not very me at all (okay, that's a lie - they look like me)....
The girls started preschool in September and are totally loving it. It's six blocks away, so we can walk the commute easily. They have made new friends and bring home new art projects every day (it's an arts-focused school). They go Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings - plus we still have our super Nanni come over two afternoons a week - and have begged me to go more. If only money was no object....
So I know you're wondering what I'm doing with all that free time. And I'm guessing that you're guessing cooking. And I'm not. I was totally tricked into a job. Like, a job-job. A real job. Back in early September, my mom invited me to come with her to a meeting that she had with some people who were starting a nonprofit (she does freelance grant writing). The scope and mission of the organization seemed very aligned with my interests (the arts and diversity) and Mom said that I could come with her to hear more about what they were planning in case I wanted to volunteer with them at some point or get involved in some other way. We were driving to the meeting and I said, "Do they even know I'm coming?" Mom said yes. Flash forward twenty minutes and we're all introducing ourselves to each other. Mom says, "And I should mention that Rachael is my daughter." The two (whom I will call K and L) said, "Oh! Well thanks for telling us. That would've been awkward to discover later." Um, what? Why would that be awkward? They continued, "So to whom should we direct most of our questions - you or Rachael?" To which Mom replied, "Rachael." And at that very moment, I realized that I'd been totally, completely, 100% set-up on a this-is-happening-right-now job interview to be the executive director of this fledgling organization. Excuse me, but WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! I wasn't looking for a job and didn't care if they liked me or not, but the project was certainly compelling, so I decided to be perfectly honest and frank and give the best advice I could and they could think whatever they wanted of me. It was supposed to be a 45 minute meeting and it lasted nearly two hours. About an hour and a half into it, K said, "Look, you are the first person we've interviewed and we agreed that we weren't going to care whether or not we liked you personally so much as did we think you could do the job.... but we REALLY like you AND think you can do the job. What will it take for you to work with us?" All the color probably left my face. Inside I screamed, "NOOOOOO! I DON'T WANT TO WORK AGAIN.... EVER!" And then inside I whispered, "Um, are they asking me to be the executive director of this really fucking cool organization that I can mold and shape and grow into my own?" And then outside I said calmly, "Let me think about it and I'll get back to you by Monday."
I was totally scared. I didn't want to make any commitments. I loved my life of leisure. The last thing I ever wanted to do was go back to the nonprofit world. I had to think about if not spending all my time with the girls was really what I wanted to do. And what about the private chef gig? Right about this same time, a woman who owns a restaurant four blocks from here offered me free use of her kitchen Monday through Friday - an incredibly, incredibly generous offer. I had to decide: path A, path B, or run away. Then my one cooking client told me that they needed to cancel my services. They loved it, but they needed to save money for one of their kids to take a class trip to Spain and my dinners seemed to be the easiest way to do it. Soooo..... be the executive director of something new and exciting or be a private chef who didn't have any clients.... I know that sounds like a no-brainer, but I was really torn. I'm not kidding. I finally decided that the private chef thing could be resurrected at any time, but the executive director gig wouldn't wait. So I did it. I accepted. And here I am, four months later, working like a crazy woman - while the girls are at school, nanny afternoons, late at night a few nights a week, a little on the weekends - squeezing in about 40 hours a week when I don't have 40 hours to give. That makes it stressful. And it's a start-up, which is stressful. And we're constantly trying to raise money to make the next move, which is stressful. But I love our mission and think that ultimately it will be more fun.
And then there are my bosses - K and L. L is a therapist and K is an actor/director and they are a couple and they co-own a corporate coaching consulting company. And they are wonderful. We click in a way that is crazy cool. I told K once that I very much appreciate that he swears as much as me and he said, "Please. I swear as much as you and three motherfuckers combined." Plus they coach executives (like at Nike and Intel) to be effective leaders and communicators. Do you have any idea how much I'm learning from them in that regard? They're basically training me to be a better leader while I lead them. We have a very open communication style and I think that, no matter what happens with this thing we're doing, we'll be great friends for a long time. They're flat-out awesome.
And on top of all of that, I'm feeling almost overwhelmingly creative lately. I know I don't really post them here (hell - I haven't been posting ANYTHING here), but I take a ton of iPhone photos and then do cool things with them - editing and such. I'm sort of really good with the iphonography sort of.... It would be fun to DO something with the thousands of pictures I have. I just don't know what. I've had a fair number of people (5ish) tell me that I should publish a book. That seems so.... foreign. And Dude has said forever that I should make prints and get a coffee house to display them for me (with those cute little price tags next to them). I don't know. I gotta think about this some more.
And that's it for now. Whew. Okay. That felt good. I kind of forgot that I like this whole blogging thing and that's why I started doing it in the first place. Maybe I'll be back here again soon.... In fact, I can pretty much guarantee it because nowhere in here did I mention my big trip to AFRICA coming up. Oh, and that I have twenty-four hours in PARIS on the way home. I'm so not even kidding. I'm so excited, I almost puke every time I think about it. And thanks for hanging with me. You really are fab. Peace out.
Quelles des vacances! And, um, sleeping with my husband just isn't working out.
A week ago, I packed a hanging bag with only items belonging to me, drove my fast car to the airport, handed my passport to the appropriate TSA people, and boarded a plane to Montreal. How grown up! How fancy free! How.... needed.
My brother-in-law, Billy, had a film, The Suicide Tapes, in the Fantasia Film Festival (the largest genre festival of its kind in North America, I might add) and I went to support him. And to hang out with my sister, Erika, because we like each other and we like to eat a shit-ton of good food when we see each other. Always fun. Always.
Let me back up a minute, though, and make something perfectly clear: I hate being scared. I can't understand the logic in wanting to be scared. I don't do haunted houses or scary books or, worst of all, horror films. I have the scare-factor of a little kid so I just avoid that stuff altogether. I'm 36 years old and I have done a pretty good job at this avoidance.... until now. This "genre" film festival was all scary movies. I mean, everything from psychological thriller to slasher to whatever other kinds there are (I don't know because, again, I avoid them). I figured that I would watch Billy's film (it was my understanding that it was creepy, but not really scary, per se) and that would be it. Well, the first night in Montreal, we attended a "filmmaker dinner" before the screening with the guys who made the movie to which Billy's was attached, Absentia. Billy's film is a short and theirs is a feature. Everyone was excited because the screening was one of the few at the festival that had sold out in advance. The Absentia guys were really nice and as we got to know each other a bit, I blurted out, "Hey, listen. I hate scary movies. I get scared really easily - like, REALLY easily. I was planning to cut out on yours, but now I feel a little guilty about that. I'll try to watch it, but I might need to leave. It's nothing personal. But tell me about the movie. Is it gory? Bloody? Are there ghosts? What?" They couldn't believe I was at a horror film festival and hated horror films. But you know, whatever. Technicalities. They assured me that they wouldn't take it personally if I left halfway through the movie. And if I had nightmares, I had permission to slap the filmmaker (there was a second screening of the movies together the following afternoon, so I'd be sure to see him again). It all sounded reasonable to me, but I was still nervous.
We got to the theatre and the crowd was awesome. Packed! The seven of us attached to the films sat on the steps, along the wall - Erika in front, then Billy, me, and the four Absentia guys. It was terrible. And by that, I mean terrifying. I was so tense. I had to keep my eyes covered for a lot of it, but I couldn't block the sound. Ugh. About halfway through the movie, I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. Good thing I'd slipped my heels off, because I jumped up and practically flew over the others behind me as I bolted out of the theatre doors.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the cold floor with two security people standing over me, freaking out. Everything was spinning. I hadn't puked, but I'd most assuredly fainted. They told me not to move. They called paramedics. I insisted on sitting up. The paramedics were there quickly and at first they thought I was drunk; then they thought I was on drugs; and then maybe crazy. As time (minutes) went by and I felt better and better, and let them take my blood pressure, etc., they decided that I'd been so stressed out by the movie that I must've been holding my breath, blocking the flow of oxygen to my brain or something like that. Yeah. Great. Because THAT wasn't embarrassing! Once I drank some water and felt fine again, I went back in the theatre. I sat next to Erika and told her what happened. "What?!" She whispered to Billy what had happened, who whispered to the Absentia guys what happened. Erika also mentioned something about me smacking the shit out of those guys. Again, that sounded reasonable. I kept my eyes averted for most of the rest of the movie.
Finally both movies were done and we went out for drinks as a group. The Absentia guys felt bad, but when they realized that I really was fine, they thought it was super cool that I fainted from fright. I guess that's a pretty good compliment. I guess. I don't know. I can't imagine I'll be watching another scary movie for a long, long time. If ever.
The rest of the vacation was pretty great. We had amazing Japanese food for dinner one night at a teeny, teeny, tiny restaurant named Kazu. The next night we had incredible French at L'Express. We walked all over from downtown to the old city and up to Mont Royal. We went back to Kazu for ramen (only served at lunch). We had poutine. We had crepes - twice. We found a place that made the best iced lattes in the entire world. We ate and ate and ate and ate. It was four full days of being tourists and it was glorious. It was also the longest I'd ever been away from my peeps. I missed them. I was ready to come home and cover them with kisses. Which I did.
Oh! I almost forgot! The second night we were there, our hotel phone rang around 3am. I don't remember it, but Erika says I jumped up in bed but didn't answer it. The next morning, our message light was flashing. Someone had left us an obscene message. It's not totally, totally nasty, but it's pretty bizarre - almost clinical. Here it is, if you're interested (but consider yourself warned that you shouldn't play this at work or in the presence of children):
Changing subjects abruptly, because there is both a) nothing more that can be said about that, and b) there's not an easy way to open this next part (although I realize this is not the most appropriate way, either, for which I'm truly sorry).....
Two nights ago, right after dinner, my husband received a call informing him that his uncle had died in a car accident. Naturally, it was very upsetting. I wanted to be there for Dude. I wanted to offer as much comfort as I could. We put the girls to bed. Dude washed the dishes and went to bed. I stayed up and watched tv, falling asleep in the family room and waking up at 3am. I started to do the usual routine of taking Belly out of my bed (she goes in there sometime around midnight every single night) and putting her back in her own. I then climb in between her and her sister and Dude gets our bed all to himself. That night, though, I thought Dude needed my snuggles more than the girls, so I slipped in next to him. The miracle was that neither girl woke up until 7am, at which time the Bug bounded in demanding to know what was going on - "Why are you in this bed??" The very, very unfortunate turn of events was that neither Dude nor I could sleep. It was fairly uncomfortable sleeping in our bed together. He was hot next to me. And I guess I was a hot lump next to him, too. We're not used to it anymore. There was once a time when I couldn't sleep if he wasn't lying next to me. Now? Forget it. I need two girls who toss and turn throughout the night or no one. What a difference four years make, huh? Dude said it was a nice idea, but maybe next time we try it, we should wait for a weekend when he doesn't have to work the next day. Sigh. This whole situation honestly has me thinking, "What the fuck?"
It's 8:27am
And these are a few of the funny little things my daughters have said already this morning:
"Mama, you have the prettiest, skinniest, best wrists I've never seen." Gee. Thanks.
"Ask me how many children I have." How many children do you have? "Five. I've been busy." Damn! I'd say!
Belly to Buggy: "Please call me Little Rachael. If you call me Michael again, I'm not going to be your brother anymore."
"Excuse me, but I can't help you because I have to nurse my baby. Sorry, Mom. You can clean up by yourself, though."
"I'm on the phone. Please shhhh. Thanks." No response from me. "I said be quiet." Silence on my part. "For real, Mommy. If you can't be quiet than I'm going to have to put you in your room." Blank stare from me. "If you'd be quiet, than you'd hear me." We just looked at each other. "Fine. I'll take it in the other room."
Who are these people?
Camping: Rachael-style
You know, I loved camping when I was growing up. My family never had any money, so camping trips were our family vacations. I loved the ride in the family vehicle - making a nest in the back with blankets and pillows and listening to cassette tapes in my walkman. I loved the tent and the being outside and the lack of rules and the fact that my dad had a penchant for packing a gallon of salsa and giant bags of tortilla chips. I really, really loved all of it. As I've gotten older, the shine has worn off a bit. And since I've had kids, I downright dislike it. I don't like all of the logistics involved and the bugs and never being warm enough. I always wish that I was in a hotel or back at home. I've decided that I loved it when I was a kid because I didn't have to do anything but show up (and really, I didn't even have a choice in the matter). Adult camping is laden with responsibility and that just doesn't seem like a vacation to me.
Dude and the girls, on the other hand, absolutely adore camping. They have gone on several daddy-daughters trips and I always manage to beg out of it. We spent a night camping on a friend's farm about a month ago and that was mostly fun, but I still found myself annoyed with Dude's needing to have the girls' feet clean before they crawled into the sleeping bag. So petty. So trivial. But really, it was a reminder that there are rules and just because you're camping doesn't mean that you can overlook them, not even for a night. Sigh.
Fast forward to a few days ago. Dude really wanted to take the girls camping at some place he'd read about that was supposed to be super cool - up on one of the mountains in the coastal range. He said that I didn't need to feel obligated to go but was welcome to if I so desired. I didn't desire. Not one bit. But I'm going to Montreal on Wednesday for a long weekend and I felt guilty that I would be skipping out on this family outing. So I said I wanted to go. I even smiled when I said it. I just couldn't live with the guilt if I didn't go. Besides, there was the promise that we were going to go to the beach, too. THAT I love.
Dude took Friday off work and we set out midday toward the Pacific. The girls napped in the truck and all was well when we made the turn-off up to Saddle Mountain State Park. It was beautiful. Except the road was seriously twisty-twervy and I started to feel like I was going to puke. And the temperature was dropping at an alarming rate. And it looked like it had just rained. Uh oh. Cold, wet, and pukey - this was starting to be a recipe for me being a complete bitch, try as I might to reel it in. We finally got to the parking lot and Dude got out to see if there was a campsite available. The girls woke up and had to pee. I got them out of the truck and headed to the bathroom, both girls whining and crying that they were freezing cold. Such fun this was gonna be! Dude was walking up when we got back to the truck and I said, trying not to sound hopeful, "Are the campsites full? Or is there one for us?" He sort of laughed as we loaded up the little crabapples back into their car seats. "Let's head down toward the beach and to another campsite down there. This is obviously too cold." YES!!!! I mean, that sounded like a solid plan. It was 1pm. The temperature was 55 degrees on that mountain. Dude, being a smart man, knew staying was asking for trouble.
Back down in warmer weather and on a less windy road, I called the other campground. They were full for the weekend. We looked on the map. Dude called another place or two. Everywhere was full. So fine. It would be a day trip to the beach. I was pleased. The girls were aching to play in the sand. Dude was happy that we were happy. We found a cool beach north of Seaside where you can drive right out on it, meaning we didn't have to be pack mules and could have our snacks and towels and toys and EVERYTHING right there. Golden! And we had a ton of fun. Belly and Buggy would happily spend all day every day making sand castles, so they were filled with pure joy. I got nicely sunburned, which means I will be nicely tanned by tomorrow. Dude frolicked in the freezing ocean a bit, which made him happy. In fact, we were having so much fun, that Dude suggested we see if we could find some cheap lodging for the night. Um, no argument from me!
We ended up staying in a one-bedroom condo just over the grassy sand dune from the beach we were at. And had dinner at the restaurant across the street. The condo complex had a pool and a hot tub, so we played around in those before bed. It was all just.... perfect. And this morning we got up, ate breakfast (so convenient that we had all that food packed for camping), and made our way back down to the beach for several more hours in the sunshine and sand and surf. We packed it in at lunchtime and headed back to Portland.
When we got home, there was a box waiting on the porch: two Le Creuset baking dishes that I'd forgotten I'd ordered. This was the best camping trip ever. EVER! But Dude says I'm not invited on the next camping excursion because suddenly it becomes expensive. And really, that's fine with me.
Now for the onslaught of pictures.....
Buggy and Belly in sand heaven
Making a sand angel
And then auditioning for Chris Isaacs' Wicked Game video
Basking in the sun
Dude being a beach stud
Happy me
Beach family portrait
The dunes
The sky reflected in the water
I have kids two at a time; I can whip out a fancy dinner like nothing; and I am a model mother. Okay, that last one is a lie.
One of the things I tend to dislike about "mommy" blogs is that there is a whole cadre of women who try really hard to fit into some look-how-badly-i'm-parenting-but-isn't-it-funny-and-I-hope-I don't-fuck-them-up stereotype. I sincerely hope I don't come across like that. I want nothing but the best for my little darlings. I try really, really hard to be a good mother while readily admitting that I'm not as good at it as I thought I would be. I thought I'd be that super-mom with infinite patience who bakes cookies and has a every kind art supply known to mankind. But I'm just.... not.
As the girls get older and punkier, I recognize in them everyday that they (especially Belly) have inherited my need-to-fly gene. I mean, I think about flying away all the time - getting a little bit of a running start and blasting off into the sky. To where? Away. Somewhere. For awhile. It's how I've been for as long as I can remember. And I've come to realize that it's not an indicator of unhappiness in where I am, it's just that things feel stagnant when I stay in one place too long. Like more than a month. I need to shake it up. I need to forget the things that tether me. I'm restless. Anyway, they're so much like me in both good and bad ways. Seeing their imaginations take flight helps inspire me to try to be more imaginative in my parenting. And since I feel like that doesn't happen nearly often enough, I'm going to brag about the two things we've done so far this summer that have been fun and inventive (on my part, I mean - those two are fun and inventive every day).
First, I actually looked at a kid-craft website and then not only got inspired, but went to the store and bought all the supplies we needed to execute a summer mural. Holy crap! Follow through! I bought three yards of white cotton fabric and nailed it to the fence along our back deck. Then I got some poster paints and turned the girls loose. The idea is that we can just wash it off with the hose and start again whenever we want. Overall, I'd say this has been a success. Except the one time I decided to wash it off, it was utilizing a TON of water. I started to feel bad about the wasting. I started to feel like a Republican or something with my blatant disregard for the environment (oops - did I just let my political views slip in there?). So I stopped. Who cares? They can paint over the old paint. One of the best parts is that they can paint naked and then run through the sprinkler to clean up. And if I was a foot shorter in stature (which would probably technically make me a little person), I could, too - but right now I believe the neighbors can see me over the fence. Too bad.
The other project was totally of my own making. I really wanted to go for a walk one beautiful, sunshiny morning and the girls were being crabby about it. "We want to watch Sesame Street! Don't make me go outside!" But I am the boss around here and I was insistent that we go. I tried to cheer them up. I told them it was a special walk. "What's so special about it?" Buggy wanted to know. "Ummmmm...... it's a rain...bow walk. Yeah. A rainbow walk. We're going to walk around the neighborhood and pick a flower for each color of the rainbow. We'll put them in a basket (which we can each take turns holding) and then we'll put each flower in its own vase when we get home to make a rainbow down the middle of the dining room table." Their little eyes sparkled. I couldn't believe it. I'd come up with a great idea at a moment's notice. I'm not usually that good with the short notice stuff. And so off we went on an hour and a half stroll with our basket in hand. We had a great time looking at everyone's yards and stealing the flowers that were exactly the colors we wanted. I'm thinking once summer fades and fall comes on, we can do variations on this seeing how many different kinds of fall leaves we can find. And in spring, how many different shades of green leaves. Whatever gets them outside and happy....
This evening we flew a kite in the school yard up the street. It's not creative or inventive, but what a joy to see them so happy doing something so simple! Dang, I love summer. I love, love, love, love, lovey it.
A bedtime story
So my last post was about the girls in bed this morning. Here's tonight's story....
Dude informs me that Belly had quite a bit of gas as she was trying to fall asleep tonight (which is a direct result of the broccoli at dinner). He asked her why she was so tooty fruity. She said, "I don't know. I have toots coming out of my bum and going into my Easter basket." Oh lordy I find that hilariously funny!
Twintuition?
Without getting into the sordid details of our terrible sleeping situation (please, baby Jesus and baby Allah, let us have this rectified by the time they're 4), I was lying in bed at 6:30am spooning Belly. She had been awake for an hour at that point and, understanding that she wasn't going to go back to sleep, I was just trying to keep her quiet so Buggy could keep sleeping. It was sort of a farce, though, because the Bug had been stirring and was in the beginning throes of waking up for real. Anyway, I was in the middle of the girls and both Belly and I had our backs to her sister. Belly whispered something I couldn't understand. What? She whispered it again. What? She whispered very clearly, very slowly, "She's. Eating. Her. Boogers." I rolled over and looked at Buggy. Sure enough, the mostly-asleep little punk was digging in her nose and popping it in her mouth. Twintuition? I think it just might be!
There is a distinct difference between a bottom and a bum
Screw the fourth. I didn't have an independence day. I had a whole independence weekend! And my oh my it was glorious. Dude took the girls to my mom's for the weekend - leaving Friday afternoon and coming back Monday around 1pm. That whole time, I was fancy free. I got up when I wanted. I made coffee and toast for breakfast. Nobody yelled at me, was rude to me, made unreasonable demands of me. I set out to accomplish absolutely nothing. And that's exactly what I did. Except..... something inside of me snapped. Something strange. If you know me, you know there is pretty much nothing I hate doing more than cleaning. But my house was crazy messy and the toy tornado twins were nowhere in sight. I cleaned up all their kitchen stuff. Then I tackled this big pile that ended up having the kitchen table underneath it. Then I took a break. Then I decided that I wanted to read in the sunroom, but there was too much crap everywhere. So I cleaned it. And then I read on the floor in there. This is how I meandered throughout the whole house and before I knew it, I'd cleaned the entire thing top to bottom. Let me assure you that this is unlike me to the nth degree. But I was sooooo happy to spend the weekend in a clean house. I even entertained some girlfriends on Sunday evening, just like a real grownup - drinks and snacks on the back deck and I didn't have to say, "Please excuse the kid mess. You know how it goes...."
I missed my people a little, but I enjoyed my alone time more. I knew they were gone for a limited time only. And just like that, they came home. I looked a bit like supermom/wife because the house was clean and I had a pie in the oven. Ha! It was all for me, but let them think that I did it for them....
While I lolled around and shirked real responsibility of any kind, they attended a bluegrass festival, waded in the John Day river, got spoiled by Grandma, and spread misinformation about me to a family friend. Apparently that went like this:
My mom's ex-husband lives in the same small town as her. And, despite the fact that he was my stepdad only during a small portion of my adult years, I love that guy. Dude took the girls to hang out with him. He has chickens and a horse and there's not much more appealing to my peeps than that. It was a hot day and Mike wasn't wearing a shirt. Belly asked, "Hey, Mike - is that your belly button?" Yes. "Are those your nipples?" Yes. "Are they private?" Yes. "Hey, Mike - you know what? My mom has hair on her bum. And she has a vagina." NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! You can not understand the horror I felt upon hearing the retelling of this story. I almost puked. For realz. WHY is she telling people about my vagina?! And for the record, they have bottom-bum confusion. We always called the vagina the bottom and the butt the bum. But then we go places and others will tell them "sit down on your bottom" meaning their bums. Thus the confusion. I thought it was no big deal, but now they're going around saying I have hair on my ass! I don't! I swear!
I confronted Belly about this so we could discuss appropriate vs. inappropriate conversation. She didn't care that it was inappropriate. She cared that both Daddy and Mike laughed and laughed. That's right..... laughed and laughed. Sigh. So I guess this means I should be bracing myself for a repeat performance at the next big gathering of people. The kid has a brain like a steel trap. And the next time she's at a loss for something to talk about, I just know this is what she'll bust out. I'm already blushing thinking about it.
Help, please! I don't know what to tell my peeps about death.
My second blog post today. I know - I'm overachieving. Anyway....
I have somehow managed to avoid discussing death with the girls until now, just a few months away from their fourth birthday. I don't really know what to say. It's such a sensitive subject with me. I've lost friends and grandparents like everyone else, but I also lost someone much closer. December 1, 1997. My sixteen year old sister died in car accident. It was and is terrible. It changed my life completely. It was a true accident and can only be chalked up to her limited driving experience. There was no one to blame. There was no reason. Sometimes horrible, horrible things happen to wonderful, wonderful people. And since then, I can't let my phone ring in the night without answering it. I tell those I love that I love them because it might be the last time I see them. I sometimes panic irrationally when I'm driving with the girls that someone could hit us and kill one or both of them. I am sort of subconsciously waiting for "the other shoe" to drop all the time. I am petrified at the mere thought of my girls driving someday. It's just a really difficult topic for me to discuss. It's amazingly complex and I don't know how to make it seem like something my girls don't need to stress over.
But my grandma died last week. And I guess the girls overheard me or Dude mention it (neither of us can figure it out, though, because we both made a concerted effort for them to not find out). They've asked me a few times about death, but I've always been able to brush it off. Last night, as the three of us sat down to dinner, the Bug asked me who's daddy Grandpa Richie was. I told her that that was Grandma Lyn's daddy, her great grandpa. "Uh huh. And who was Grandpa Richie's mommy?" That was Grandma Tita, her great-great grandma. "Uh huh. And are they dead? Did they get really old and die?" Yes. Please eat your fish now. "And if someone is dead, are their eyes closed? Can they still talk? What does it mean to die? I don't want to get old and die. I don't want you to die. I don't want Daddy to die..." And with that she started crying. Oh it was so terrible. I froze. I had no idea what to say. I hugged the little sobbing bundle of girl, calmed her down, and told her that we'd talk about it another time. None of us were going to die anytime soon. She should just eat her dinner and maybe we could talk about Mary Poppins (THE favorite topic). She seemed to perk up and the subject was dropped, but clearly I need to have a talk with them about this sooner than later.
Everything I've seen online tells me that kids their age see it as something temporary, that they can't grasp its finality. After that conversation last night, I'm not sure I believe that to be true. Maybe we need to get a goldfish so it can die. But then we'd just get another one and I don't want them to think you can replace someone when they die. Mommy died? Time to get a new mommy. Ack. I'm at a total fucking loss here. Please give me suggestions if you have any.
Please don't take the babies away, but....
I fed them grasshoppers. Really. I did. Delicious, crunchy grasshoppers at a sushi restaurant. And this isn't the first time (I may have even blogged about it then, but I'm too lazy to go back and research and see if I did). We had the initial grasshoppers when the babes were barely two or something and they don't remember, but last night I asked them if they wanted to try some grasshoppers and they said yes. So I ordered up a few. This particular restaurant fries them whole and puts them on top of sushi rice nigiri-style with a little of that sauce they put on eel. They're actually quite good - crunchy and salty and a little nutty with that delicious sweet sauce. Yum. Anyway, Belly ate hers like it was nothing. Just another piece of sushi. Buggy took a bite and said, "Ummm, I like the rice and the sauce, but I don't think I want to eat the crunchy. It has too many parts in my mouth." Fair enough, but she tried it! And then she went back to eating her salmon nigiri, octopus nigiri, and eel and avocado roll. What would I do if I actually had picky eaters? I guess they'd starve. Here's the Bug's face as she took a bite.... Ha!
Dude is currently in Boston for the week. He's been traveling a lot for work lately, which is basically a bummer, but also easier as the girls are getting older. I treat it as a special time for the three of us - I cook much less, we have a lot of special treats, we shake up routines. Sometimes it's great. Sometimes it backfires and they are hellions. This morning, it's fantastic. They helped me make smoothies and popcicles and because they were such good listeners while using the blender, I gave them smoothies, bananas, and biscotti with gobs of nutella on top for breakfast. Normally I go for a more nutritious breakfast but dang I just couldn't be bothered. Now we're watching Sesame Street and no one is arguing. No one is tattling. No one is in anything remotely close to a bad mood. I feel like I've got this parenting thing down. For this five minutes. I'm going to go enjoy it before something ugly happens.....
Twin speak
That so looks like "twin peaks" to my brain. Huh. Anyway....
People have asked me since before the girls could talk if they have their own language. And my answer has always been a pat "no." They don't. They speak English and a smattering of Spanish words. That's it. The end.
Except lately I've noticed as their play has become more and more imaginative that their vocabulary is going down that same path. I chalk it up to the fact that they play together and not that they're twins, but they do have some stuff that is entirely their own language. Four examples immediately come to mind.
The first two are games they play. I don't even know how the games are played (and when I've asked, they refuse to tell me), but they are called rockabolly and podidot. When one says "let's play podidot" to her sister, she knows exactly what that means.
The other two are food names. These seem strange to me because they decided to change the names, knowing full well what the rest of the (English-speaking) world calls them. Shrimp are not shrimp. They're beginnies. And red bell peppers are peescents. I made a shrimp stirfry for dinner the other night and Buggy asked, "Are these beginnies?" I told her no, they were shrimp. She said, "Right. Beginnies. Belly! We're having beginnies for dinner!" Belly was pleased. She loves beginnies.
That's all I can think of at the moment, but I wanted to make sure I got it down somewhere so I won't forget. These are the things with which I will have great fun embarrassing them when they are older.
Mr. Big makes me happy sometimes
Hi. My beloved Packers are heading to the Super Bowl. Yes, that's the first order of business on the docket. It fills me with such a ridiculous joy that I can't even put words to it. I. Am. Thrilled. THRILLED! And we're going because we beat the stinky Bears. And one of the biggest Bears fans I know is currently sporting a Facebook profile picture of me in Packer wear with a sign that says "Packers Rule, Bears Drool." It really doesn't get much better than that.
In non-sporting news....
We survived Christmas in Wisconsin. It was cold and white and the girls had the best time ever. They were SO into the holiday. We had gone over what would happen Christmas morning a zillion times: "When you wake up, wake me up and ask if it's morning. If it is, then we'll get up, walk down the hall, peek around the corner into the living room, and see if Santa came." Oh you shoulda seen their eyes light up when they saw full stockings, a giant pink dollhouse, and a pile of musical instruments. It was the absolute best! And, of course, as we moved into the opening of presents, they ripped the paper off with wild abandon. Between us and Santa, they got everything they asked for and so much more. Way more. Way too much more. Maybe they're too young to fully appreciate that, but I'm not. I'm very thankful that it didn't cause us any hardship to spoil them this year. As they get older and want bigger, more expensive stuff, this will not always be the case. I'm enjoying it while I can.
Then we came home. Back to the routine. But I had a little ace in my pocket - a wedding in California that I could look forward to. A quick trip by myself to see old girlfriends, wear a sexy dress, drink too much, dance and dance and dance and dance. It was all I had hoped it would be and more. I hadn't seen some of the other wedding guests in 10 years or more and there was something very gratifying about a) picking up right where we left off and b) being told that I looked better than ever. Shallow? Why yes! But who cares? It was fun. And a nice little ego boost. But the best part? Just hanging with some of my best girlfriends, including the bride. In the limo on the way to our post-reception-but-continuing-the-party party at the hotel, the bride insisted that everyone should sing "To Be With You" loudly and proudly. It's the corny stuff like that that I love - not only that she wanted to sing it but that we all knew all the words. We're dorks. And we celebrated that.... with a lot of booze. The morning came, um, a bit too quickly. Back to reality.
But you know what? Reality is pretty cool these days. Dude and I are doing well. Belly and Buggy are cool kids who keep me on my toes in more positive ways than negative lately. Could life be better? Well sure, but I'm trying to be focused on finding the joy in the little things. Sometimes thinking too hard about things leads to over-thinking which leads to seeing every last nugget of what's not "right." I'm just rollin' with my homeys for now.
Oh dear
Belly likes to hang on the doors in our house. Well, not every door - just the ones with long handles. She opens the door, grabs the handle on either side, and pulls herself up into pull-up position, knees clamped to both sides of the door. She does this all the time. Her upper body strength is crazy - biceps and triceps like little rocks. And she'll do it until she breaks a sweat. Her poor hands are calloused, but she loves, loves, loves it! Who am I to stop her? Funny kid.
The other night I was cooking dinner and Belly was happily hanging on the kitchen door. I smiled at my silly. "Why do you like hanging on the doors so much, Belly?" She lowered herself and said sweetly, "It makes my bottom tingle."
Oh. Great. Sigh.....
Never fear.... I'm still alive!
Bet you thought you'd lost me, eh? It ain't that easy, friends. Fact is that I've been busy and moody and playing angry birds and you probably wouldn't have wanted to hear all the bitching that's gone on in my head anyway (damn birds). So here's a recap of the last few months in no particular order....
The babes are three
My precious little bundles of joy (and sometimes piss and vinegar) turned three on October 27th. We had a party for them at the place where we take circus classes. We flew on the trapeze, ate cupcakes, partook in general merriment. And just like that - they're not babies in the least. Quite honestly, they seem like they're going on five. Or sixteen. And all that dread I had of three? Somehow it seems easier than two so far. Maybe I'm delusional or hard is about to smack me in the face really, really soundly, but I'm liking three. Belly and Bug seem to be more imaginative, understand right from wrong better (even if they're still doing what they know is "wrong"), play together in a way that is more engaged than before... I don't know. Everything is just amped up a little in a good way. AND.........
Diapers be damned!
About five days before their birthday, I said a crappy thing to my girls. Well, it had the potential to backfire in my face and I said it without thinking and fortunately for me, it all worked out marvelously. I said in a very exasperated tone, "You know... only babies and two year olds wear diapers. Three year olds wear panties." They looked at each other. My mind raced - what if they simply were not ready to give up diaps? Or what if only one of them was? Would the other feel inferior? Did I just plant the seed of a lifetime of not being as quick as the other to grasp things? Fuck me. But then Belly repeated to Bug, "Only babies and two-year-olds wear diapers. Three-year-olds wear panties." And Bug said, "We're almost three." I asked if they wanted to practice wearing panties all afternoon. They said yes. And my darlings, that was the end of diapers (except at nap and bedtime). It has been wonderful. Except for one thing - they've taken to mostly pooping during naptime, which means I'm still changing at least one poopy diaper every day. I've been trying to figure out how to change their poop schedule so they'll poop in the toilet. Prunes before bed? I don't know. Anyone have suggestions?
Goth girls
I told the girls they could be whatever they wanted for Halloween. They were "skeleton faeries." They were soooooo goth and scary to other kids their age. I thought the whole thing was hilarious and felt quite proud that my girls stepped outside the princess box.
Some funny snippets
My girls have been saying and doing soooo many funny things lately. Today, for example, Buggy called me "little lady." I asked her where that came from and she said, "Well, you're little and you're a lady." Or when we were talking about Santa coming and I reminded them that he brings presents, throwing in that last year they thought I said "pretzels" and they got both presents and pretzels; Belly said this year she'd like cheese puffs. Buggy would like a trampoline for her dolls. There are a zillion other examples I'm not thinking of at this late hour, but trust me, they are high-larious kids!
I'm feeling more me
This is probably the real reason I haven't been a good little blogger the last however many months. I haven't been terribly happy. I haven't felt like me in a lot of ways. I sorta hit the bottom of that unhappiness and decided it needed to change or I was going to lose my mind. This is not a fun thing to write about but I feel I should because the purpose of this blog is to be my outlet for my thoughts. And I don't want to paint a picture that life is always rosy if it's not. Having kids takes a toll on a woman, mentally and emotionally. It's hard to stay home with them and not have as much mental stimulation as I once did. Sometimes it's hard to feel like more than roommates with your husband when we don't have time to invest in our relationship. It's a little tricky when my family and my husband and my close friends read this blog, though, because I don't want to share everything with everyone all the time. Some things I need to work out for myself. And this has been one of those things. I started going to a therapist in September and he's been wildly helpful to me. Dude has come with me a few times, as well, and is a fan. So.... things are improving. I'm feeling more like me. That's a good thing. And that's it.
More posts coming sooner than later. Promise. Cross my heart and all that stuff.
The talk
I am the child of hippies. And as such, I grew up with a working knowledge of all kinds of things that straighter parents didn't pass on to their kids. Oh I'm sure that Dude's parents explained the physical differences between boys and girls to him at a very young age, but was he privy to a book that explained the differences and showed nude photographic examples of boys and men/girls and women at varying ages? I'm guessing no. Of course, I also thought smoking pot was no different than smoking cigarettes - just something that some adults do. And I'd seen those special cigarettes rolled and felt confident that I could successfully roll one should the opportunity arise. No biggie. It was all cool. Groovy even. But let's get back to the naked thing. I've always thought that I'd be a pro at explaining these sorts of things to my girls. Yesterday, I got my first crack at it.
I've mentioned casually to Belly and the Bug on several occasions that boys and girls are anatomically different. They didn't seem to express any interest in the subject, so it was left at that. But lately? Buggy is veeeerrrrrrrrrry interested in the fact that her daddy has a little something extra going on that's different from what she's got. And since the three of them take a shower together every night, I decided it was time to sit down and have a formal conversation about it.
I set up the bowl of tortilla chips and the juice and invited the girls to sit with me. I asked if anyone wanted to have a talk. Belly's eyes lit up and she said, "YES, Mama!" Buggy said, "Sure! Do you want to talk about Sesame Street?" I suggested that we talk about how boys and girls have different body parts. Buggy gave me a total "whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis" look and Belly crammed about forty chips in her mouth. And so began their first "talk" about this sort of thing. They listened intently (amidst the chip crunching) and interjected thoughts here and there. I felt like it went as well as can be expected when having this discussion with two nearly-three-year-olds.
When all was said and done, I asked, "Any questions?"
Belly: "What letter does penis start with?"
Me: "Penis? It starts with a pa-pa-pa sound. What letter makes that sound?"
Belly: "P."
Me: "That's right."
Buggy: "Okaaaaay. But then, what does hippopotamus start with?"
Yes. Those questions instilled the confidence that I explained things perfectly. They clearly understood and processed their new knowledge immediately. I anticipate that this immediate changing of the subject will be par for the course when we have conversations such as these over the years. Ugh. And there will be so many. I'm dreading the teen years so fiercely already. Assuming we all make it through three....
"Hi. I took some poop out of my diaper...."
Words cannot express how I feel about hearing that statement and dealing with its aftermath. Oh no. Words do not contain enough power for that. If you could see how tightly my teeth have been clenched, then maybe you'd understand.
I can smell three
The girls turn three in just under two months. I can smell it and it sorta stinks. Oh wait - maybe somebody pooped in her diaper because YES THEY ARE STILL WEARING DIAPERS. God help me if they're not potty-trained soon. Over it? Why yes. I am.
Anyway - there has been such a shift in behavior lately that it has to be the prelude to three. I heard all throughout the trenches of two that three was worse and I thought, "HOW? How is that possible?" Now I realize. It's possible because they are so much better at articulating their thoughts, emotions, pissiness, defiance, dislikes and general malaise. They can say stuff like, "I'm just being rude. I like rude. If you don't like rude, I'm sorry." Or... "No, thank you. I don't want to get off my sister. Yes. I hear her screaming but I'm having fun."
On the other hand, I don't feel as guilty about doling out punishments because they clearly understand that there are consequences for their misdoings. This morning we didn't get to go to musical storytime because Belly wouldn't eat breakfast. Buggy was pretty pissed at her, too. Come to think of it, I was pretty pissed at her. I wanted to see our friends. Instead we watched Sesame Street so I didn't have to come up with a project or something to otherwise fill the time we would've been out. I'm good like that (read: lazy like that).
God I sound whiny. And of course I am - this is where I get to vent that shit. But can I give you an example of what I'm dealing with?
Today, 5:14pm - we're all in the kitchen
Belly: "Mommy! I have to go to the bathroom!"
Me: "Great! Let's go upstairs!"
Buggy: "I'm taking my hairbrush."
Belly: "I need my special baby. Where's my special baby?" Starting to whine and cry. "I can't go to the bathroom without Charlotte!"
Me: "Skip Charlotte. If you have to use the bathroom, let's go now."
Belly: "NOOOOOOOO!"
Me: "Fine. Then I guess you don't really have to use the bathroom. We'll stay down here and you can play with Charlotte."
Belly: "NO! I have to go!"
Buggy: "Mommy! I'm upstairs already!"
Ugh. So not cool. I grabbed Belly and we ran upstairs, without Charlotte.
Today, 5:18pm - Belly is on the toilet. Buggy is trying to brush her hair.
Belly: "Bug! Give me some privacy!"
Buggy: "Let me brush your hair."
Belly: "Buggy! Give me some space!"
Buggy: "No. I'm brushing your hair."
Me: "Buggy. Move away from your sister. Go out in the hall or play in your room until she's done in the bathroom."
Buggy: "No thanks, Mom. I'm fine brushing her hair."
Belly: blood curdling scream out of frustration
I remove the Bug from the bathroom and yell at Belly not to scream.
Today, 5:20pm - Belly is still on the toilet. Buggy is throwing diapers all over the hallway.
Me: "Buggy. Don't do that with the diapers. Stack them up where they were, please."
Buggy: "No. I don't have to." And she dances down the hall to her room, a diaper wake behind her.
Today, 5:23pm - Belly has successfully peed in the toilet and is washing her hands. I have convinced the Bug to try to pee, too, and she is now perched on the toilet.
Buggy: "Belly, stop washing your hands. I want privacy."
Belly: "No. I'm not done yet."
Buggy: "Yes. Stop washing your hands. You have to."
Belly: "No! I'm not done yet!"
Both girls start whining and repeating their lines until I tell everyone to knock it off.
Today, 5:29pm - Buggy is washing her hands even though she didn't pee and I'm now going about my business on the toilet. Belly is throwing diapers as high as she can in the hallway.
Me: "Buggy. You have enough soap. You have enough soap. YOU HAVE ENOUGH SOAP."
Buggy: "Okay. Now I need more water." And she turns the water up all the way, splashing it all over the counter and floor and squealing because she knows I'm wiping as fast as I can to yank her away. Which I do.
And then she says, "Sorry. Don't be angry. I love you. Clean up my mess."
That, my friends, is a random 15-minute snapshot of my day. Nothing too terrible. Nothing too great. Just average. And relentless - so motherfucking relentless. Ugh.
There's something a little off here
I like to think that the girls and I are fun and sorta cool. But lately? It's becoming clear that we might be more weird than cool. I'll blame Portland since it's nice to have a scapegoat (and there are bumper stickers on every other car that say "Keep Portland Weird"). Regardless, several indicators have been flashing the strange sign lately and I can't ignore them:
1) You know those little rings that you pull out of the nozzle of the half 'n half (or juice or whatever carton)? We wash and save them in our house because Belly and Buggy like to wear them as rings. The other day we went to the park and they both had four on a hand, like brass knuckles except white plastic. Cool? No. Weird.
2) A few nights ago when it was time to get out of the tub, naked Bug climbed into naked Belly's lap and the two of them started giggling. Belly proudly announced, "I'm holding Bug like a baby!" And with that, Buggy tried to nurse on Belly. We had to pull them off each other. Weirdos.
3) We have a tickle basket. You know those big Moses baskets that are given to you when you have a newborn and you maybe use it once or twice until you realize that it's wholly impractical? Yeah, we've got one, too. Except anyone who climbs in ours gets tickled mercilessly. I've only been in it once because I really do not like to be tickled, but the girls give it a whirl about once a day. As they've gotten older, they tickle each other now. I thought it was cool, but I've had several adults comment, "A tickle basket? Huh." So I guess that means... weird.
4) The weird straw that broke the camel's back? The other morning, the girls ate pesto eggs and a banana for breakfast. The Bug said she was still hungry. She wanted a donut. Um, yeah. There are no donuts here. I offered a breakfast bar. She said no. I offered an English muffin. She said no. I opened the cupboard. I pulled out a big box of Joe's O's and asked if she wanted cereal. She looked at me funny. Oh. My. God. My girls can identify capers in a piccata sauce. They ask to be taken out for sushi. But they haven't had cereal (not counting that baby cereal gruel stuff). I poured them each a small bowl. I asked if they wanted to eat it dry without milk or with milk and a spoon. Again, the quizzical looks. As I watched, they gobbled down two bowls of dry cereal like it was a handmade sweet corn agnolotti with shaved truffles. Sigh. I have to take on all the weird in this instance. What kind of mother never gave her toddlers cereal? Yep. That's right. You got it.
A day of no importance whatsoever
Today was not a day that will be especially noted in the history books. It wasn't a family birthday or anniversary. The girls did not become potty trained overnight (in fact, I changed FOUR poopers between the two of them - ugh). No crazy inheritance came our way. No winning lottery numbers. I didn't even make a fabulous dinner. It was just a day. But I was struck over and over by what big girls I have. They kept saying stuff that made me smile.
Belly: "I love you very much, Mom. No really."
Bug: Noticing that I was making dinner, "What are we having?"
"Taco salad."
"Taco salad? Yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Yes or no?"
"No."
"Yes. Taco salad."
Belly: "No, Mama. I'm not a solid little kid. I'm a girl."
Bug: "Oops. Sorry. I pooped. Change my diaper. I'll say 'oooooh stinky!' when you change it."
Belly: After helping me put away four bags of groceries, "There, Mom. Now go take a break."
Oh for real, friends. They are funny and fun. They make me insane and proud. I love them more than cheese pups.
I drive a Delorean
Not really, but can I blame my flakiness on time travel? That seems like it would be a good excuse. Better, at least, than I'm freaking lazy and tired and uninspired. Sooooo.... yeah. Hi. Here I am.
What's gone down in the last month? Well. Tons, natch. We went to Wisconsin to visit Dude's family at their cottage way up nort der hey. The girls got their fill of cousins and grandparents and aunts and uncles. Dude was, as always, the returning hero. I smiled a lot. I also took a little mini Rachael vacay of my own in the middle of that trip and trucked down to Milwaukee to visit some friends. Woot! I loved every second of it, although I admit to feeling slightly past-my-prime as I walked around the old college neighborhood and realized that it's still filled with college-age babies. There was even a raging party in my former apartment (the building remains so inappropriately named The Chateau) that I considered crashing. Oh, but then I remembered that everyone would think I was someone's mom and nixed that idea pretty quickly.
Belly and Buggy have aged about five years in the last month. Belly literally informs me daily that she's going to be seven on her next birthday. Their linguistic skills have gone crazy bananas. They form complex sentences that incorporate deep thoughts and spot-on slang. They're funny people! They're also punks. Both girls are extremely polite as they say "no thank you" when I tell them to "pick up your mess/eat your lunch/leave your sister alone/come wash your hands/etc." Good times.
Not so good times: Sissy joined up with the AmeriCorps VISTA program and moved to Bozeman, MT. Um, can I tell you how much this sucks? Thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much. Truly! I have no sisters left in Portland now. It's weird. I don't like it.
Good times light at the end of the tunnel: We've had two naked afternoons wherein the girls informed me each and every time they needed to go to the bathroom and they used that potty like the throne it is. I found it incredibly nerve wracking when they sat on the couch, but they showed excellent understanding of that "I gotta go" feeling and no accidents occurred. Of course, they both pooped as soon as I put diapers back on them. But I'm happy with some baby steps on the potty training front 'cause it was looking grim for awhile.
I know I'm missing a zillion and three other highlights of the past month, but in an effort to hit "publish post," I'm ending this now. Before I go, though, I'd like to say that I so appreciate your continued interest in my lately-non-existent little blog here. My site meter numbers remain consistent, even though I'm the slackiest slacker this side of the Mississippi (maybe even both sides). That means that you peeps keep checking to see if I've posted. Awwww. Thanks. It warms the heart. I'll try to keep my Delorean in the garage for awhile so that I can write.
xoxo, R.
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