I Have Everything Under Control

I am standing by my bed, folding the third load of laundry for the day. I look at the clock. It's 3:10pm.

20 minutes 'til we leave for dance. Big is already dressed for her class. Little is already up from her nap. They are both playing nicely with the Princess Castle in Big's room.

I allow myself to think, "Good. We are in good shape. We've got 20 minutes until we leave. No problem."

I continue to fold my laundry. I finish and glance at the clock. 3:17pm. 13 minutes until we leave for dance.

I decide I have enough time to put away the girls laundry -- which requires me to make a few trips from my bedroom full of nicely folded laundry to their rooms down and across the hall. I put away all of their laundry -- hanging items, too -- because, heck, I have things under control. PLENTY of time.

All done. 3:25 pm. We need to leave for dance in 5 minutes -- but everyone is ready. I have everything under control.

I start to round up the girls to make our way downstairs. But, before we go down, Big declares that she has to go to the bathroom. Even though she just went -- and she's fully dressed in tutu, leotard, and tights.

We get her stripped down, she goes potty (she did have to go, really), and we redress her. I glance at the clock in her room: 3:28 pm. 2 minutes. We will be fine. All we have to do is load up and go.

Again I rally the troops, and this time we go downstairs. I decide to carry Little in an effort to save time -- and I realize she has a poopy pull up. Even though SHE just went potty and was changed just before the laundry was folded. I strip her down, change her (nasty) pull up, redress her.

It's now 3:30. OK, now we have GOT to go.

And nobody has on shoes. And now Big starts asking for a snack to eat on the way to dance -- which means that Little must pipe in with a 'Me Too!', naturally.

Big is asked to get the shoes out of the closet as I frantically grab some Ritz crackers and two cheese sticks from our kitchen. I throw them in little plastic bowls to be eaten in the car. Little is supposed to be on 'snack restriction' in the car because she is beyond messy most of the time -- but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Big has held up her end of our deal -- shoes are out of the closet and on her feet as I return to the hallway. I throw Little's crocs on her, stash the snacks in my purse, and get the kids into the car. It's past 3:30 now.

There are 3 stop lights between our house and the dance studio. I get caught by two of them.

And when we arrive at dance, we are 5 minutes late. The studio door is closed. Big does not have her dance shoes on, and the Ritz crackers have spilled all over my purse.

As I fumble over the buckles on Big's patent leather tap shoes, I laugh at myself. Like I said, I have everything under control.

A Big Question

When it comes to raising the girls, there are some things that I keep telling myself, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it." Or "I'll worry about that when they ASK about that."

Getting a family dog is probably the # 1 item on that mental list I have running of things I'm not yet ready to address with my children. I like dogs (ok, I tolerate dogs), but I won't get one until one of my kids asks -- BEGS -- us to get one. There are other things on the list . . . boy-girl party attendance, wearing make up, shaving legs, etc. Most of the items on the list seem like things I won't have to address until LONG in the future, so I'm happy to keep the list running in the back of my mind, paying no real attention to any of those things as I go about life with my little girls.

Today was the first time that one of those items -- the parenting pitfalls that I'm procrastinating -- came off the list. Big asked about something I thought I would not have to deal with for at least a few more years to come.

"Mommy, I want to go get my ears poked so that I can have holes in them and wear earrings," said Big on our car ride after preschool this morning.

Wow. Where did THAT come from? Out of the blue, no warning, no idea where she had heard of getting her ears 'poked' so she can have earrings. Must have been someone at school.

"You do? Where did you hear about that? Which one of your friends has her ears pierced?" I asked in reply.

"Nobody. I just thought of it myself. I want to wear earrings, so can we get my ears poked?"

After informing her that the word is 'pierced' -- not poked -- Big and I had a serious discussion about what exactly that means. I told her that it would, in fact, hurt -- but not too bad. Like a shot or a finger prick -- which sounded OK to Big. I told her that she can't change her earrings for a LONG time after getting them pierced, and that even when she can, she can't wear 'dangling' earrings for an even longer period of time. We talked about your ears needing special care when they are pierced. We talked again about it hurting. We discussed the entire idea of 'getting your ears pierced' for our entire car ride.

The whole time, I was thinking, "She's ASKING to get her ears pierced. I always said I'd worry about that when she asked for it, and now she IS asking. And she's only 4. Is she too young? I can't believe she is asking me already!! She taking things off my list!"

Simultaneously, I was thinking, "Newly pierced ears are a LOT of maintenance. Will she be able to take the constant cleaning, the constant turning, the occasional pain? Am I willing to deal with all of that? Will Jim mind? Maybe we should wait a while on this one."

And, in the back of my mind I was mulling over, "Maybe we should wait and make this a big event -- like for her 5th birthday or something. And where would I take her? Are those little boutiques in the mall sanitary?"

All of this was racing through my mind, just because my 4 year old asked to get her ears pierced.

In the end, I told her that maybe we should wait until she is older, like for her 5th birthday. And she liked the sound of that. I also told her we should certainly talk about it more and really, truly think about it before we do it. And we should ask Daddy when he thinks. I reminded her that it might hurt a little and that it we will have to take special care of her ears for a while. It's a lot to think about.

"I've already been thinking about it, Mommy. I was thinking about it for a while before I asked you," was how Big ended our discussion.

Well, she really ended the discussion with, "When I get my ears pierced, can I borrow some of your earrings?"

Sure, Big. Just take two items off my list of things I don't want to deal with yet -- getting your ears pierced AND borrowing my stuff. While we are at it, why don't you ask for a dog, too?

Flashbacks

It's sometime in the early 1980s -- I'm about 4 years old. My dad is not home -- he works 'swing shift' for the airline, though at my age I have no idea what that means. All it means to me is that he's not usually home for dinner or bedtime, and he is not usually home on Saturday or Sunday like other dads. He works a lot, takes care of our family, and it's just me and mom lots of the time.

We are in our small, two bedroom apartment in El Segundo, CA. My mom and I. It's night -- time for me to go to bed, but I'm not in my own bedroom. I never sleep there. When it's my bedtime, I crawl up into my mom and dad's bed and cozy in on my dad's side. The left side. It's time for me to go to bed, and so I'm laying down, watching TV with my mom.

She's ready for bed, too. She smells like cigarettes and baby powder, and the room is warm and sweet with the humidity of her just-taken shower. It's a small room, even though it's the master in our apartment. There is a big sliding glass door on her side of the bed that looks out onto our little patio with a painted-green floor. The humidity from her shower spills out from the bathroom and steams up the screen on the small bedroom TV, even touches the sliding glass door. Mom's hair is just a little bit wet on the ends as she sits on her side of the bed. Sometimes it splashes me as turns her head toward her nightstand. Sometimes it drips down on to her silky nightshirt, the kind that are so smooth and cool, they feel refreshing when I snuggle with her.

I'm tired. The room is not dark. The TV is on. But this is how I go to bed -- so it does not bother me in the slightest. When my eyelids get too heavy to hold up any longer, I put my left thumb in my mouth and roll over to face away from my mom. I face toward the bathroom. I listen to the local advertising, and then I listen to whatever show my mom is watching for just a few moments before I drift off to sleep. Sometime later, I wake slightly as my dad puts his big arms under my knees and shoulders, carries me into my room. I roll over again and easily fall back to sleep, still sucking that left thumb.


I've been having these flashbacks lately. They are induced by Big, I'm certain -- her age, our relationship. She and I had a 'sleep over' in my bed last week, and it was all I could to do stop remembering those countless nights I slept with my own mom when I was her age. I slept with her every night. Every night -- and my dad would, without fail, come in, scoop me up and put me in my own bed when he got home from work around 1 or 2 am.

When I was older, I wondered why my mom always had me sleeping with her. I thought it was me. The only child, afraid to sleep in my own big bed. I always thought it was my doing -- I must have begged to sleep with her. I must have made it hard for her to say no by throwing tantrums or refusing to go to bed in my own room. I thought I was the one wanted to sleep with her.

But now I think that maybe it was she who wanted me in the bed with her. You see, there is nothing in the world more cozy, more loving, more wonderful than cuddling up in the bed with your own child. To smell their sweet smells, to listen to them breathe. Now that I'm the mom, I would do it every single night, if I could. I would let Big or Little (or both) sleep right next to me every night Jim is away if I could. If I didn't fear the battle that would ensue on the nights Jim IS home and we want our bed back. I don't think there is anything more wonderful than sleeping with my children.

And I bet my mom felt the exact same way. I bet she relished having her only daughter sleep soundly right next to her. I bet she loved it. Now that I have my own daughters, I can see how easy it was for her to fall into the pattern of letting me sleep with her night after night. It was comforting to her. It was company in that big bed.

I'll have to assume that is was her that wanted me in that bed with her. I want to assume that. I want to think that she felt the same way about sleeping with her daughter as I feel about sleeping with mine.

Man, I wish I she were here so we could talk about it. I'd love to know for sure.

Home from Hilton Head

We left the 'Hampton this week. The girls now get a 'Fall Break' from preschool -- the whole county school system gets it, actually -- so we took advantage of a preschool/dance/gymnastics free week to scoot off to Hilton Head, SC.

Hilton Head is such a lovely vacation destination. Only about 5 hours by car from the 'Hampton (even less w/o numerous potty breaks required by preschoolers), we've enjoyed all that Hilton Head has to offer a couple of other times in our life as a family. Bike riding, beautiful beach, resort pools, mini golf, fabulous seafood meals . . . it's a great spot for a short OR long getaway.

Of course, Big and Little couldn't care less about the bike riding and beach going -- those girls had more fun pushing the buttons on our hotel elevator than just about anything else we did on our trip. Seriously, I think the next time we need a vacation, we could just get a room at our local Comfort Inn -- as long as it has a dozen or so floors -- and let them ride the darn elevator up and down and up again. Every time we left the room at our resort, there was a battle between the girls about who would push the call button and who would subsequently get to push the button for our desired floor. EVERY. TIME. It was a hoot.

Like the box a toddler's Christmas present came in, the elevator was one of the most enjoyable parts of our Hilton Head vacation for Big and Little -- though we thought there'd be much more entertaining and/or exciting things to be enjoyed.

Kidding aside -- we did a lot of great stuff while we were away. The point of this vacation was to get away just the four of us -- Mom, Dad, Big, Little. We've been on a few trips already this year -- but those were different. This was just US -- no grandparents, not on a mission to visit anyone, just a few days for US. It's fun to do that . . . necessary, I think. The rules feel different on this kind of trip, the plan is always changeable based on whatever your kids want to do, and you don't have to go out to dinner hours earlier than everyone else because your party is so large. It's very, very nice to get away with just the four people I love most and spend most of my time with.

(Don't get me wrong, grandparents and others we've visited. We love you, too.)

We arrived Wednesday, and immediately Big and Little were jonesing for the beach. It was early evening, which is my FAVORITE time to be on the beach, so we happily dropped our gear, put on our suits, and hit the sand.

Ah, yes . . . the sand. That is the only negative about the beach, in my opinion. Being sandy, carrying sand in every crevice of your body, finding sand in places sand should not be once you return home to your far-from-the-beach suburban neighborhood. And to have 2 young kids PLUS sand . . . it's enough to make a Type A person like me totally loose my cool. But -- I told myself before we left not to get annoyed with the sandiness of the beach. Or the sandiness of my kids. Especially when it came to my (still new) vehicle we drove on the trip. And I did a great job of keeping my promise to myself. As I type, the car sits in the garage, fully vacuumed and cleaned out . .. and this was done within an hour or so of our return home. Yes, I felt the urge to clean it almost immediately after we returned . . . but I swear I didn't bitch about the sand ONCE while we were away.

Anyway, back to our beach fun.

The light in the evening on the beach is truly magical . . . so I shot a million pictures while the girls had their first taste of the Atlantic. (I guess technically Big has hit the Atlantic twice before, but it was a true first for Little.)

I love my kids on the beach. They are fearless. They love the water, the sand, the waves. They make vacation so very much fun because they have such blast. Just watching them and playing that first night was enough for me. I told Jim then -- "That's it. THIS was what I've been craving in a beach vacation. Thank you -- I can go home now." Of course, we didn't go home. We eventually got cleaned up, ate pizza in our jammies back in our room, and soaked up some time together.

Thursday we did pretty much the same thing -- we jumped right out to the beach after breakfast, and we hit the pool when we got tired of the salty water. Big attempted a bike ride on her Princess bike we'd brought from home -- and she did pretty good. As well as any 4 year old, I'd imagine. We ate a great dinner together at the Salty Dog Cafe . . . and Big picked out matching pink T Shirts for Little, herself, and me to take home as our souvenirs.

Friday we met up with some buddies of ours -- a family we have known as long as they've been a family. Even longer, actually. They were staying close by on a vacation of their own, so we thought we'd get together and share some fun. We biked, the kids (our two girls and their two boys) all climbed the Harbor Town Lighthouse, and we ended up spending the whole afternoon lounging in the pool at their awesome rented beach home. We finished the day with margaritas -- I mean PORTRAITS. Portraits on the beach. Portraits . . . splashing in the waves . . . and throwing starfish back from the shore. It was a great, great day.

Saturday is was just us four again, and we let the girls decide what they'd want to do. At first the plan was for a round of mini golf and some local island shopping . . .but then the girls decided after breakfast that they would rather swim in the pool and go build a turtle in the sand on the beach. So that's exactly what we did.

Our last dinner in Hilton Head was at our favorite spot, Hudson's. We like to arrive early and enjoy the sunset and the acoustic guitar out behind the restaurant -- a tradition that I think they do every day and one we have not yet missed on any of our visits to the island. We knew we couldn't miss Hudson's -- so we saved it for our last night in town.

This visit to Hudsons -- with both girls along for the first time -- was different from the rest. In the past, we've had a drink on the back deck, eaten our dinner, and enjoyed our quiet, peaceful night together. This time, we felt far from alone at our dinner. We could not move through the restaurant without people stopping us to admire our girls and comment on how adorable and well behaved they were (are). I'm not saying this to brag -- though I am a proud mom and would take advantage of a bragging point -- I'm saying this because it was a major part of our dinner experience.

As we walked around the outside of the restaurant, one family banged on a glass window from inside to grab my attention and mouth "She is so cute!" as they pointed at Little.

Our table neighbors came over to us at the end of the meal to express how grown up and polite Big is (after seeing her lead us in prayer before our meal).

The manager told us we had some 'major cuties' at the table as he refilled our water glasses, and the host outside the restaurant told us we won the 'Most Beautiful Family' award for the night as we left the restaurant at the end of our meal.

I kid you not -- it was one family after another, expressing their admiration for our two and four year old daughters. I started to feel like we must be some kind of spectacle to get such attention. Was this the first time people had ever seen two sisters dressed in matching dresses?

I'll say no -- that it really was the kindness of strangers bestowed upon us because we are a good looking young family. Because my kids are polite and say, 'thank you' when complimented and behave plesantly when out to dinner. Whatever it was, I left the restaurant feeling like the most lucky mother in the world to be a part of such a wonderful, awe inspiring family.

Really, that's how I felt as we left Hilton Head this morning. Feeling so lucky, so blessed to have such a great family. I know that I complain a lot about it all . . . the young kids, the traveling husband, etc. I do my fair share of griping right here on this blog, that is for certain. But after a few days like these I just had, it's easy forget how hard it can be at times. It's easy to see how lucky I am to have what I have and WHO I have to share it all with.

Thank goodness for family vacation. Jim and I spent the ride home discussing where we will go the next chance we have to take our girls away again, just us four.

The Warm Up

For some reason, whenever we go on playdates, Big needs about 30-45 minutes to 'warm up' to her friends. Even if she knows them well. And plays with them nearly every day. And BEGS to have a playdate with that person.

I have no idea what this is about. We get all psyched up about playing with a friend, and then -- shortly after we arrive -- Big often turns into a whiner.

"I'm hungry." at 9:30 in the morning, and we ate our breakfast in the car on the way to the event.

"I'm tired." after a 2 hour nap in prep for whatever playdate or event we are attending with friends.

"He/she won't play with me." when we've been there a total of 10 minutes and she just spent the previous 8 minutes telling me she is hungry and tired.

Like I said, NO idea what this is about. I mean, I have a pretty good kid. She's fairly easy to get a long with, and I know she has a lot of friends. She loves going on playdates -- and we do them quite a bit. She gets all excited, talks about it for days leading up (if that much lead time is given) -- even does things like picks out special outfits or plans special games, all in anticipation of playing with a friend.

Then the playdate arrives, and Big suddenly becomes somebody that nobody wants to play with.

Usually, after about a half an hour or so, the playing FINALLY commences, and the playdate goes off without a hitch. It's just getting through that initial period that takes some teeth gritting and behavior management -- mainly by me. I'm the one that gets annoyed. The other kid rarely notices . . . it's just Mom tuned in to the whining and complaining coming out of Big.


I'm sure it's mostly a 'me' thing, anyway . . . I have a feeling Big does not do this as much when I'm not around. She has a tendency to act WAY more difficult -- excuse me, I mean way more different-- when I'm around. People swear she is an angel on the playdates I don't attend, and my dad is convinced Big only misbehaves in my presence. Which is a real shame -- because I LIKE going on lots of the playdates Big attends. It's typically a chance for me to chat with another adult . . . once the first 30 minutes is past and Big is actually playing and having a great time with her friends, and I am allowed the time to decompress and chat.

And no -- arriving early to a playdate does not help. Big just stands around asking me 1,000,000 times . . . "When will so-and-so arrive?!" And then when they do arrive, we still have the same reaction we would have had without me having to be badgered for the 15 or so minutes leading up to our date.


Guess I'll have to start warning my friends about the 'warm up' period. Just so they know that my kid IS fun and that she is worthy of the playdate invitation. And so that I keep getting invited along on the playdates . . . because Mommy needs them as much as Big.

Gooooaaaaallllll!

Just a quick note to record: Big scored a goal today at her soccer game!

And not like last week's goal . . . where she was just kinda standing in the vicinity of the goal and happened to get the last foot on the ball before it went in. I mean, she still gets credit for that in my book, but I'm not sure SHE even knew she kicked that one in.

Today, Big took control of the ball at mid field, dribbled it town in 4 or 5 kicks, then whacked that ball right into the goal. Go Big! It was a hard earned score, with the other 5 kids on the field dragging behind her, trying to steal her glory. But she remained in control of the ball and scored a hard fought, well earned point for her team (who doesn't keep score).

I was so proud on the sidelines, watching my big kid. And to see her little face light up when she realized what she'd done -- and when she realized that the cheering from the fans was all for her -- well, that was priceless.

Hopefully the beginning of many soccer successes to come.

But I'm not holding my breath . . . tonight at dinner, when I asked Big what her favorite part of the soccer game was, she replied with, "Ummmm . . . sitting on the sides and drinking my water from my Princess water bottle. (pause) And snack after the game. (pause) Who is bringing snack next week, Daddy?"

A Haircut

I cut my baby's hair.

Sniff. Sniff.

Well, I didn't actually cut it -- a much more trained professional did . . . and thank God I'm writing about THAT and not some tragedy like Big getting a hold of some scissors . . . but any way you slice it, it was a traumatic event for Mommy.

The time had come, and Little needed a haircut. She's 2+ now, and her hair was really starting to grow in all different directions. I had held out long enough. You know it's bad when Grandaddy -- who thinks the girls are beautiful in any state -- made the comment that Little's hair was getting a little wacky. I was pulling it up every single day because it looked so crazy when left down . . . so I really knew the time had come.

With Big, I was not at all apprehensive about cutting her baby hair. She was just about 15 months old when I took her for the first time . . . much earlier than little sister. But -- I learned my lesson with Big. When you cut those baby curls, they don't come back. The baby hair is never the same after it's cut . . . it's just not baby hair anymore. Big's first shear shocker came when she was so tiny -- and her curls were gone before I knew it. I was not about to do the same thing to Little. So I held out as looooong as I could . . . but I did realize that one day her hair would need cutting. And so that day was last Thursday.

Camera in tow, we visited our favorite children's haircut establishment: Pigtails & Crewcuts.

"The pigtails are for the girls and the screwcuts are for the boys," Big announced as we walked from the car to the store.

Um, yes -- something like that, Big.

The wait was long -- I knew better than to go at 3:30pm, right after elementary school gets out -- but we waited because it was a 'now or never' situation with our schedule. The place is completely geared toward kids, with millions of toys and games, coloring books and movies -- so it didn't matter to the kids at all that we had to wait our turn. They probably would have been ticked if they hadn't been able to wait and play.

When our turn finally came, Big volunteered Little to go first (both girls were getting trimmed), and Little was a little worried. She started to whine and attempted to cry -- but I plopped her into a big yellow taxi cab seat, and she was no longer worried. She did look a little stressed at times . . . but I think that was just fear of the unknown. After all, it was her first time to sit in the fun chair and have her hair cut.

"It hurt?" she questioned.

"No, Little -- it won't hurt at all. Do you want some animal crackers?"

"Kaaa-kers! Yes peeese." And Little was all set. The promise of a lollipop at the end of the cut was all it took for Little to stop the tears and settle in for the big event.

Before I knew it, there was a little ringlet of blond curl being handed to me for my 'first cut' keepsake, and more of those little blond hairs were falling effortlessly to the ground. In about 10 minutes time, Little's baby hair was no longer baby . . . she had a real hair cut. Shorter to even it out all the way around, and little sideswept bangs because they seemed to be naturally growing in that way.

And the whole time -- during and after the cut -- I was choking back tears. Really. I wanted to cry -- and who knows why. Maybe because Little is still very much my baby, and cutting her hair made her just that must LESS baby. Who knows. But it was emotional for me, as crazy as that sounds.

Big got a hair cut next, which was really no big deal. Like I said, she's being going since she was just over a year old. Big is actually getting WAY to big to sit in the car seats they have for little ones -- but she still insists. This time, she sat in the red fire engine and turned the steering wheel back and forth every bit as much as her baby sister had done during her turn. Maybe there is still a little baby left in Big, too.

They look good, the new hair 'dos. My girls have the craziest, curliest-and-straight hair I've ever seen -- but we certainly left Pigtails and Crewcuts looking better than when we had arrived.

And now yet another milestone has come and gone for my second born -- she has officially had her first hair cut.