More Play, Less of Everything Else

Last night I had this dream. We were at the beach, and it was really crowded. Trevor wanted me to see something down the shore, and told me to leave the kids and come with him. I didn't think about it and just followed, and suddenly it occurred to me that I had left my children alone on a crowded beach, which was on, of course, water. I turned and started running back, and I just couldn't move fast enough. I finally woke myself up, shaking.

This dream doesn't have anything to do with Trevor, I don't think. If anything he works extra hard so that I can be home with the kids. No, it's more about the babysitter.

Twice a week a babysitter comes to be with the kids so I can write. I've taken more freelance jobs lately and am enjoying the projects and the grown-up time. I also go for a run and do any quick errands that are tough to do with two little ones.

The babysitter is wonderful. My girls absolutely love her, and are so excited when it's her day to come to the house. Part of my hiring her was for their sanity, too -- they both have a tiny need to be involved in stuff that doesn't include me. They thrive when they get a few hours a week to do activities that I'm not creating for them. In fact, I had been considering putting Marta in a toddler program once or twice a week for two hours or so, just to let her do stuff without me once and awhile.

The sitter has worked out perfectly, and has been a wonderful addition to our family. She just plays with the girls -- no cleaning, very little cooking. If the girls are watching a show, she sits and cuddles with them. If the girls want to go outside, out they go on an adventure. If I were home I'd be folding clothes or making dinner or a million other little things.

I do sit and play, of course, but not all day. For five hours, twice a week, our sitter is focused on my girls. It's a fabulous arrangement, I think, and so do they.

With my freedom I find that I expect... more freedom. I can't wait for bedtime, when I should cherish the playtime. When we're all running around town I sometimes think about how much simpler it'd be if I could do it alone. I'm longing for a weekend away with my husband.

But then I realize what I'm thinking about, and I get a lump in my throat. My babies are only going to be babies for so long -- I shouldn't be finding ways to get out of the house alone so much.

This doesn't happen all the time. Every single day, at least a few times, I am caught by the reality that I get to be their mom. I am dumbstruck by their nearness, by their relation. I cannot believe that they, these amazing, talking, breathing, thinking, playing creatures are my children.

But I'm finding that the more I'm away, the easier it is to leave again. And every now and then, like when those moments above hit me, I am shocked at my wanting to be away. How could I leave them, even for a second? Right now, sitting in the coffee shop I go to to work, I am secretly crying because I'm thinking about Marta's little head of curls cuddled on my lap this morning before we left to pick Berit up from preschool. "Watch a show WITH Mama," she said. Stay here; don't do the dishes.

Berit doesn't have school on Friday and I'm planning a day of their favorite activity -- the carousel. It's all the way in Traverse City and is a long drive for Marta to handle twice in one day, but once they're there, they're in heaven. I get car sick at the mention of going around in circles, but on Friday I'll ride as many times as they want. They can run all over the treehouse at the mall and I won't worry about germs. We'll get cookies and those soft pretzel hotdogs.

But still. It's time for me to slow down a little. My house is going to get messy again, because I'm going to start playing more. I'm going to ignore the phone and return calls after they're in bed. We're going to go outside every day. My pants will be messy, because I'm going to sit on the floor as much as possible.

I'm still going to leave when the sitter comes -- I think it's good for everyone. But when I come home I'm going to have a pizza and not worry about dinner or clean up. Movies are going to be watched as a family and not as a time filler. Life will revolve around family, not around home-buying.

Sometimes, I think, the bad dreams lead to good things.

Girls' Weekend

When Trevor's gone for a weekend we shift gears entirely. It's so strange, really, because it's not much different from when he's home -- typically he works all day, and is home with us for about two or three hours before bedtime. I suppose it is different, now that I write that -- he's present at the end of the day and in the morning, and any time with your dad is better than no time.

When he's not around, though, I quit cooking. We eat out once, twice a day, and steer clear of the house as much as possible. Knowing that he's not coming home (thus serving as a little break for both the girls and me) makes me want to be in public. I'm proving to myself that we're not hermits, and I'm relying on outside stimuli to enthrall my kids so they don't get bored at home... only to have HOURS before bedtime ahead of them.

Marta's new naptime schedule has helped this, though yesterday she could have taken one and been happier for it. But yesterday we weren't going to skip out on our fun afternoon at the Gemini concert for anything. I'm telling you, my girls were the only kids dancing in the aisles! And I got dirty looks from the parents around me! They weren't in anyone's way, and they were having a blast. It was a KIDS' CONCERT -- I hardly expect them to hold still when one of their favorite groups is within touching distance.

And oh, we had so much fun! Thanks to my parents, who are friends with the Gemini brothers, we were able to chat with San a bit before the show, and received lots of little smiles throughout. The girls felt very special, and had dressed to the nines. This is what I miss about living in the Grand Rapids area -- the events they could be going to, even at their ages. When I was four I was going to the Detroit Symphony Orchestra (last row seats!) and the hands-on museum and the Science Center and the Detroit Institute of Art. It didn't make me into an artist or brilliant musician, but I cherish those outings as some of my favorite memories. And to be honest, it's hard for me to be enthusiastic about taking the girls skiing or out to do other wintery activities. Spending my early years in Detroit didn't lend itself to many snowshoeing adventures, and the museums and concerts are what I know. So I guess I have some learning to do with them, eh?

Anyway, it felt great to take them to the show, and afterward we went to The Bob-In Again, because of course we did, we love going there and being able to run around while we eat hot dogs and frozen custard.

They played so well together this weekend, and I can't figure out if it was related to Trevor's absence, our outings or just that they're really becoming best friends. I feel like it's the best friends option -- they seem like it's natural, and they have so much fun together. I wasn't sure if I should step in to play with them, and I didn't, and they came up with lots of adventures and shows to put on for me.

Marta is a bit of a mess today, and Berit has been bringing her all sorts of toys to cheer her up, helping her with things and telling her sweet little stories.

We're all looking forward to Trevor's return, but I think we need this once in awhile, to sort of mash together in an attempt to make the days go by in interesting ways as a family, without school and playgroups and grocery shopping.

Best Day

I know this post should be about the amazing Christmas we had, and it was -- we're still savoring the fun and the memories, and we think it might have been the very best in a long time -- but I have to write about the fun we girls had today.

We woke to another yucky, wintery morning with no school. I discovered that the Great Lakes Children's Museum, just outside of Traverse City, had a craft week going on with volunteers helping kids do all sorts of fun wintry stuff, and decided to make the 1 1/2-hour trek. Marta whined the whole way down, but let me tell you, this non-car sleeper snoozed the whole way back.

"I made this. I MADE it."

"Yellow jingle bells. RING!"

"No, Mom, I WANT it in front of my face."

Oddly, she was nervous to go through this short tunnel at first, and tried to get Marta to do it.

"In the waterfall!"

Marta = Obsessed with water.

Berit = Obsessed with posing.

OhMyGosh we're on TV.

MAGIC.

Berit, doing the bulk of her physical activity for the week.

She was smiling just before and just after I took this, but I can never catch her in the act.

Absolutely cracking up at the videotaped fish that swim in the entryway.

You can't see them here, but they're swimming around their feet.

So, after the museum we went to the mall where the girls rode the carousel and we all got a pretzel hot dog. Marta crashed on the way home and Berit said, "Mom, turn on the lullabies so Marta can have a nice sleep." She then sang them under her breath for the rest of the ride, gazing out the window.

When we got home, I pulled out the best Christmas gift ever, from my sister who put together a bunch of folder games for the girls -- matching, shapes, concepts, etc. -- and thought, "Wonder if they'll be able to understand any of these." Berit did each one in 2 seconds flat, and Marta did most of them right after.

Sigh. One of those days where I feel so good about being my girls' mommy, from morning to night.

As Fast As We Can Go In Slow Motion

Well, it's official: We've sold our house. Moments after our counter offer was accepted I was completely sure we had done the wrong thing, and now that we've found a rental, a house plan and are getting things rolling for building our next home, I'm feeling pretty sane about it all. It doesn't hurt that the rental home is one of Trevor's clients' homes, all cozy on Walloon Lake with its many thousand square feet in which to stretch out. Granted, it is furnished as thought it's the resting place for all those model boats and leather loveseats lawyers get rid of when they retire and we have no idea where we're going to fit the kids' stuff, but looking out over the lake for the next few seasons will probably make up for it.

We'll spend the weekend packing and on Monday I'm headed over to pack up the owners' clothing and more rare, er, model boats, and to clean the house in preparation for two kids under four and a dog. I'm bursting out of my seams, I'm so excited to get over there alone to clean and assess the next seven or eight months.

We have about two weeks to get comfortably moved in, as we close on Nov. 16 but let's not forget about DEER CAMP which must be attended the weekend before and on various days throughout the following week. We're headed downstate for a weekend in early Novemeber, and I'm scheduled to take Berit on a little trip down to Ohio to visit my relatives there the weekend after, so even though we have until Nov. 23 to actually leave the house, we technically don't have very many days to move. We have ALOT TO DO.

Conversely, with the past few days of pure rain and wind and with the swine flu breathing down our necks quite literally, we've been cooped up going absolutely stir crazy. After several school districts around us closed due to the flu and after one of Berit's classmates came to school sick, we decided to pull B from school for the rest of this week and possibly Monday as well. So many parents did this that the preschool closed itself until today, and next week will implement serious germ-fighting measures. All the right things to do, but I'll tell you what, it's making us all a little bonkers. With the rain pouring and wind blowing so outside is miserable, and with our whole purpose for getting out of school being to keep the kids away from germs therefore limiting our adventuring around town and to the usual hangouts to NOWHERE, the kids are seriously going bananas. Today I took them for ice cream and they reacted like they had been stuck in a closet for the past three days. On the way home, determined to get them fresh air without getting poured on, I rode for a few miles with the windows down and they gulped at the wind with glee.

I have to wonder if these kinds of days are healthy themselves. I know we're keeping the kids away from germs, but they are truly grumpy and crazy and don't know what to do with themselves. On a typical day during down time they can muster up independent play pretty well, but when the entire day revolves around the living room, the basement and their bedrooms, they forget what to do and wander around yelling nonsensical noises, stripping off their clothes and sweeping entire shelves clear of toys for the sole purpose of sweeping entire shelves clear of toys. This morning Marta was screaming to "go bye-bye" at 7:30.

When we're cooped up I'm always shocked at how long the days are. Whenever I check the clock, thinking that thank God Trevor will be home soon, I realize that it's NOT EVEN TWO O'CLOCK YET. It's days like this that I think it might be a good idea to enroll Marta in daycare twice a week, just for a change of scenery. But I guess we'd have pulled her out, too, so boo on that thought.

Anyway, we're probably going off the radar for a couple of weeks here, to pack up our house and put it somewhere (with the excess boats, maybe?), and before we know it I'll be posting from the new house.

Summing It Up

Dora. Cloth diapers. Preschool.

Two dogs (one is only half ours).

Marketing ideas for Doublestein Builders.

Cleaning. Cleaning. Cleaning.

Wanting to run out and buy Gabaldon's newest but knowing there's no time to devote to it right now.

Buying kiwis, peaches, bananas, pears, carrots, milk, eggs. Constantly.

Reading Sandra Boynton to Marta, and my brother's old books to Berit.

Organizing basement. Drooling over organizational systems.

Pulling back Marta's growing hair. Again. Again. Again.

Cooking, washing dishes, cooking, washing dishes.

Seriously, how many times can I clean the house?

Writing little pieces. Writing a big project.

Researching. Making lists. Wishing there was more time with my project, wishing there was more time with the kids, thankful that I have both to keep me busy.

Thinking about the holidays. Planning a halloween party.

Clearing out summer clothes. Getting summer clothes back out. Putting them away again.

Feeling grateful.

Blessed -- Through Thick and Thin

We have had sort of a roller coaster ride with the girls these past seven days. Early last week I was in pure kid bliss, loving every minute of their hand holding, playing together, running on sidewalks downtown and general merriment. We went downstate for The Wiggles, saw the grandparents, Marta got sick and we came home to a no-Daddy weekend, and things are a bit less electric in the fun department.

They've been cranky, but beyond that Berit has been a complete handful. She will not stop talking! I ask her to do something, let's say pick up her room/eat her lunch/can she do this puzzle?/go potty and she has a dozen things to tell me about it, all delivered with lots of ums, buts and I-I-I-I-I... Truly, it is maddening.

Though I realize this is her age, and it's my job -- my actual job -- as her parent to sit and listen, and allow her her thoughts and comments, and let her work them out so she can move onto the next level of language and conversation and *&^%$#@ LISTENING SKILLS.

Speaking of listening skills, a few times lately she has been in non-threatening danger -- getting banged by a moving swing, for example, or in the path of bee -- and I have told her something like, "Berit! Come here!" in my best urgent parent voice, and she has... argued, stood her ground, and whined. I've tried talking to her about listening, because she might be in real danger someday and I'm trying to help her, and she doesn't care. She shrugs and says, "Huh!" With fake big eyes and a "this is how I'm supposed to react" tossing out of her arms, pretending she's very interested and "go on! tell me more!" but really is just not getting it.

She is also unsatisfied with her clothes at any given moment in life, and I regularly find her in princess clothes, dresses yanked down from her closet and in the nude.

She has informed me on no less than a dozen occasions that "I'm a princess and princess don't wear barrettes/eat lunch/wear shorts/use bibs/take baths/take naps/etc." It's not to be silly or cute; she truly believes this and I'm wishing Disney would commission a reality show based on what princesses actually do when they're not prancing around singing and falling in love. (Odd that she hasn't decided to start doing serious housework, considering that nearly all Disney princesses do have some sort of hands-on work to do. Jasmine excluded but Jasmine doesn't wear a gown and therefore doesn't count as a true, role-modeling princess.)

She also told me that "Every story starts with Once Upon A Time."

It does all seem quirky and adorable when I write it down. And this is my struggle -- I know it's all so simple and easy compared to what it could be. I think about what her first diagnosis was, way back when I was pregnant, on the table at the University of Michigan, and we thought that, if we didn't lose her, she'd wear a pacemaker for the rest of her life. And my wall of exhaustion and resistance crumbles, because here she is, healthy and strong and making fanciful decisions and praising me -- no, thanking me with actual relief -- for my personally wearing a skirt.

And of course I think of those parents who can't stay home and want to, or who are raising their children with major obstacles and challenges and health issues and then there are those children who need caring adults and have none, who keep me up all night praying that God will send them to my door somehow.

When Marta is up crying because she has a stuffy nose and, most likely, a sore throat and I'm rocking her, mostly asleep and wishing she would just give it up and get her own needed sleep, I think about those babies who cry and are ignored because their parents are passed out from drink or drugs or who just don't care.

I think about the little boy down the street who lives with his grandparents (his mother's step-dad, to be exact) and is ill cared-for, but his mother is a train wreck and recently sent him to live with his father in Florida and he was beaten daily there, and finally sent home, and TWO NEIGHBORS -- myself included -- have called social services on this family and he remains right there, crushingly alone in a world of mean people going in and out of his house.

Am I refreshed in my own life? Guiltily I write, sometimes, and sometimes not. I would still relish a little weekend away, completely alone, with nothing to do but read and sleep. But even given the chance I wouldn't go, because I can't bear the thought of missing a thing.

So another cup of coffee and back I go to my demanding princess and sniffly baby. And after writing this out, after cleansing the spirit a little with "between moms" talk, I think I'll be better at my job this afternoon.

Dora: Our Kind of Wisewoman

There was nothing noteworthy about today, but for some reason it struck me all throughout that I was completely happy with each moment.

I don't know if it was my meeting with our Realtor this morning to drop the price of our house below that which we paid for it. During the meeting I realized that if we didn't try very hard to sell our house this summer and fall, we might become stuck here when our lives changed in such a way to make serious progression a possibility (in other words, to build our dream home). Because Michigan's economy is depressing, and Detroit's struggles hit Northern Michigan -- many a wealthy Detroiter's summer home or getaway -- hard. And because the middle class in Northern Michigan is losing -- jobs and homes, namely. And because there are more than ONE HUNDRED HOUSES FOR SALE that are in our price range.

And after all of that negativity, after all of that shredding of the dollar signs we once saw when we purchased the house as an "investment," I just gave up and looked straight at my children. I was tired of feeling encumbered by the house, the market, the lack of homes to build and the weight of general housekeeping. I realized I had been looking at my children lately as tolerable, instead of enjoyable. And oh my gosh, they are like two little jumping beans of joy, and so today I just put out as much love as I could and tried to have twice the patience for slow-moving preschoolers and insistent toddlers. I'm not saying it worked all the time, but at least I was a better mom today than I was yesterday.

I think if I sat here awhile longer I could think of a better, more appropriate, less obvious way of saying that they are practically perfect in every way (to me), but it's late and there's still the kitchen to be cleaned. Today I received in the mail a book I made of my first year of blogging. It's not fancy; it's a journal in professional clothes. I wanted it for my girls, because I know I would love to read something similar of my mother's life when her children were small. It's only a softcover collection of most of my posts without pictures, but for its cover I put a collection of odd photos on it that may never end up in formal scrapbooks. Berit baking cupcakes, Marta wandering, a snow day that didn't end in frozen tears. On the back, under a smaller arrangement of photos, I wrote the quote "The happiest thing about being happy is being happy with you." I took this from one Dora the Explorer, from a song that gets lodged in my brain every other day and refuses to leave.

And today, with the spirit of simple joy I was feeling for my blessings of having two healthy daughters and having the opportunity to be with them every day, and offer them a good home, a good life, a good family, the book came in all of its imperfect accounting of their days and I could not have been more complete in my happiness with them. Because there is Just. Nothing. Better.

Miscellaneous

1. I think Marta may be getting sick. She was in a funk all day, and when I put her to bed she said repeatedly, "Nurse, nurse." Huh? We haven't nursed in months. Aren't they supposed to forget that?

2. These past few days of leaving first thing in the morning and staying downtown until naptime are getting to me. Before heading east towards our house, I've been swinging around the streets we love, wondering if we'll ever rent one of those houses while we're building (as is the current plan), and more importantly, if we'll ever, ever, ever sell our house. I noticed someone grabbing an info sheet today, but I think it was the new neighbor who was moving in. Must have wanted to see if she could have gotten a different house for a different price... ? I do love my house, for its durability, for its child-friendliness, for its quiet swingset spot and for the beauty of the yard when dusk is falling and there's just a hint of moisture in the air. I love that when we go for a walk, the kids can run down the street and aren't confined to the sidewalk, and that all the neighbors are out after dinner just saying hello and picking at their lawns. I love the deck, where the girls play in their sand table and water buckets while I make dinner, and I am In Love with our built-ins. But I love being in the middle of the jostling, simple downtown in Petoskey even more. And I love the idea of our dream home, currently residing on blueprints in our closet that Trevor pulls out every couple of days and looks over, and over, and over. I love the garden that's already growing on the land in town, which never gets weeded because Marta doesn't like to stay near me while I try to tend it. My very favorite part of living there, though, is the idea that if I want to be anywhere, I can walk there.

3. Trevor is coming home in a few hours, and while I'm looking forward to seeing him, I always get mixed feelings just before he arrives. Of course I miss him while he's gone and am always happy to see him again, but I really like being alone sometimes. While growing up, whenever my mom and sister would leave for a weekend my dad and I would say our farewells to them, nod to each other and I would go upstairs, he downstairs, not to reappear until my mom and sister came home. I just like the quiet, I think. I'm pretty sure this sometimes gets to some of my friends, who are phone talkers. I don't know if it's my tendency toward the written word, so that I would rather blog or e-mail about life, but I very rarely jump on the phone to call a girlfriend. In fact, I really only call my sister, who is a little bit like just another part of my brain, so talking to her is, in a way, talking to myself, and girlfriends when I make a pointed effort to remember that I should. Isn't that lame? Isn't talking on the phone part of being a girl? It's not that I don't enjoy chatting with friends; when they call me I'm always surprised that we haven't talked in awhile, and am so glad they made the move to call. I guess it never really occurs to me in my day-to-day routine.

So anyway, there's that. My lameness in phone talking and husband welcoming, revealed.

4. I have come to the conclusion that having one child is difficult. Having one toddler and one newborn is harder. And having one toddler and one preschooler is easy compared to the first two. With Berit gone these past two days, Marta and I have had a lovely time just playing. The house has stayed relatively clean, I haven't cooked a lick and there haven't been any scheduling issues. But. The. Days. Last. Forever. I don't know what the heck to do, and Marta doesn't have her sister to play with. We've been upstairs, downstairs, up-upstairs, in my room, on the deck, on the porch, in the lawn, in the garage, on the swingset, downtown, shopping, blah blah blah. And when I look at the clock, it's STILL only 2:30, or something very, very far away from bedtime. So even though having two active kids is often rushed and harried and a whole lot messier, the days are more productive and enjoyable.

5. My neighbor stopped over today, to chat a few minutes on the front porch. I think he felt obligated to, since I bring his dog over to my house every day and left him cookies last night. So when he knocked on the door I was in black stretchy pants, was vacuuming like a maniac (because when am I not cleaning my floors, truly?) and had a tiny little sweaty area right between my boobs, which were totally visible in my "I don't plan on seeing anyone right now" t-shirt. He's a couple of years younger than me, unmarried, a complete bachelor and, I'm pretty sure, fairly "cool." His conversation centered on the sandy lawns we have and I talked too fast, too much, because of the whole t-shirt thing and the fact that I was trying to chase my child, my dog and HIS dog around my entry way, keeping bugs out but the appropriate creatures in. I think any coolness I may have possessed in his mind is gone, which is probably a good thing since I'm not sure I could live up to it for long, anyway.

And those are the things I've been thinking about all day. Please refer to my earlier comment regarding lameness.

Questions

In my quest to be a passable mother, here are the questions tops on my mind today:

1. How do I enforce a "TV Time-Out"? In other words, the kids have been watching too much TV lately. Yet they only watch it while I get things done, like make meals, clean meals or put Marta to bed. So I'm doing too much without them, without figuring out how to make it all work, without letting them just play. How do I turn off the TV and turn on the fun, and still run the house and make healthy meals?

2. Do I take Berit? I've been thinking for some time about taking Berit on a solo trip to Chicago this fall. I go back and forth, and I'd like to get the details nailed down in July to pounce on deals, but should I even do this? Is she too young, at 3? Would a trip to Dairy Queen be the same for her? As I write this, I think, "yes, obviously this is silly; take her when she's 5, or at least old enough to remember it later." And yet, I can't help but want to introduce her to the spectacle of a Big City, with the museums and aquarium and Navy Pier and the restaurants. She'd love it, but is she too young?

Major Dilemmas

Situation: Playdate scheduled for today, that's already been rescheduled and discussed over e-mail way too much, which includes a picnic lunch, and which has already been revealed to the preschooler in our midst; also which is with newer friends and is a first playdate. 

At exactly the same time, Marta will need a morning nap, since she woke far too early today and is walking around trying to be mean because she's tired. 

Situation: Going downstate with Trevor with NO KIDS for an OVERNIGHT and the drive is three hours long. Trevor wants to chat and bond, I want to listen to my audiobook. Should I tell him he can sleep and I'll drive? Or should I take a hint from myself and sleep while he drives?

A Day In Town Is A Good Day For All (Minus Trevor)

While our house sits ever on the unmoving market, I decided to pretend we live in town already and spend the whole day there. We left right after Marta's morning nap and met Trevor at the college for a picnic. Then I loaded Marta into the double stroller with Everything Under The Sun to entertain her and walked down to the park, to meet Trevor, who had driven there with Berit. We first stopped at Bearcub Outfitters to pick up one of those blankets that everyone already has with the waterproof underside and the soft topside for picnics in the park. The store was slow and the ladies put out the various stuffed dogs so Marta could run up and down the line of them, saying, "Come here, doggie! Lay down, doggie!" and petting them, hugging them, and generally making me want to buy them all for her. 

We played at the park, where we met our friends, Emily, Sage and Sienna, then headed back up the very steep hill to the college to get the car. Nearly horizontal pushing the stroller, the girls and I played "I Spy" and I secretly listened to my audiobook. I kept thinking to myself how successful the morning and afternoon had gone; how soon we'd be at the college with a healthy lunch, two very long walks and lots of playtime behind us, and a new park blanket and spring jacket for Marta to boot. And. Then. It. Hit. Me. I had sent my fleece with Trevor, since with the addition of Berit in the stroller there was less room to carry stuff. Trevor was hard at work on the lake. And the key to the car was snug in my fleece's pocket. 

The icing on the cake? My phone was at home. I felt ridiculous for thinking I could pull the day off without a hitch, but you know what? It wasn't so bad. The college had free public phones (Hello -- in the age of cell phones, who does this? How cool is that?) and I was able to reach Trevor (not always possible when he's on the lake). The college bookstore was open and I bought the girls a much-desired bag of M&Ms. They chose colors one at a time, and by the end of the bag Marta had figured out which ones were "ello" and "boo." We had a quick potty break in the clean bathrooms (thank you college, again), and Trevor was there, key in hand (back in town for the second time, and even though I'm sure he would have rather stayed with us all day, he really had plenty of work to keep him on Walloon. Points for Trevor for having such a good attitude about running my key back).

We made it home and now Marta's taking a nap before we head out again for groceries and a prepared dinner (no time to cook today; too much fun is being had). Trevor's going to go biking this evening and I'm going to give the house a good scrubbing (and looking forward to possibly biking myself tomorrow night).

So there, housing market.  

The Shirt, And Motormouth Jones

A few months ago I was unloading some clothes at a consignment shop and spotted this shirt. I like wearing pale purple shades because, truly, without makeup on the circles under my eyes are this color (OK, a lot darker) and with makeup on in a strategic way I kind of look like I have this color of liner or shadow on. So I was drawn to it. (Not that I have since actually put makeup on in any sort of strategic way.)

I liked it because it's sort of clean-cut but still very comfortable for my 9-5 job of child wrangling. However, from the first time I wore it, Trevor has made jokes about it and flat-out told me not to wear it anymore. I agree that it might make me look bigger than normal, since it's not fitted, but whatever, right? RIGHT?

Well Trevor isn't home this evening, so when I dressed earlier I reached for my comfy, baggy shirt. And this afternoon, Berit and I were playing airplane and when I brought her down so she was at eye level with me, she ran her hands over my shoulders and said, "Mama, why are you wearing this shirt?" I said, "Because I like it." And she said, "But Mama, are you going to the dentist today?" I said, "No, why?" And she said, "Because this is the kind of shirt the dentist wears over his clothes."

Nice. At least Marta likes to bite the buttons.

Speaking of things Berit has said today, here's a brief clip of what today, and every day since about early last week, has sounded like:

Berit: Mama are you hungry? I'm not hungry. If you were hungry would you eat oatmeal? Marta likes oatmeal. I can jump. Can you jump? I can jump high. Mama watch me jump. Can you help me jump? I want to color. Can I use this pen? Can I make a house? Mama help me make a house. Can you do it for me? I love Mosey. Mosey-Rosey-Posey. Hey Rose. Rose! Rose! ROSE! Come HERE Rose. Mama he's not coming. Mama can you help me make Mosey come here? Mama do you like purple? Do you really like purple? Do you like purple so so much? Mama I'm cold. Get my slippers! Ma-ma, can-you-get-my-slippers-pl-eea-se? Do you want to see me run in my slippers? Watch me. Watch me! Watch out Marta. Marta! MARTA! (Shove) Sorry Sarta. Mama I call Marta Sarta. Sarta-Sarta-Sarta-Sarta! Mama I'm hot. Mama can you help me take off my slippers?

Seriously, this goes on nonstop, all day long. It drive me crazy but I keep telling myself it's because she's had an explosion of brain development and she's just too darn smart to contain herself. It helps. So does wine. 

Breathe In, Breathe Out

A little rundown of our day today:

12 A.M.: Berit wakes due to tummy ache. Trevor and I position ourselves for throwing up, while he convinces her to put her head on the floor and butt in the air and toot, toot, toot. She claims she needs to poop, but does not want to poop on the potty (no surprise here) and finds herself far too taxed to stand upright to finish the job, hence she whines and cries and complains that the couch is too slippery. Since Trevor seems to be laughing on the inside about this, I declare that the two can enjoy themselves with their heads buried in the living room floor and their rears in high salute, and I go to bed.

12:30 a.m.: Berit falls asleep on the floor, no poop having materialized. 

7 a.m.: Berit wakes, crying out, "Daddy! I have to poop NOW and I WANT TO POOP ON THE POTTY!" Riiiight. Not only does she not poop on the potty, she doesn't poop anywhere. She declines food all day and, since she has school tomorrow and I don't want her to spend the entire 2 1/2 hours there convincing a kind room mother she's going to poop on the potty ANY MINUTE, I CAN FEEL IT COMING OUT!, I spent my entire day today bribing, threatening and coercing her to poop. Which did not work.

12 p.m.: Dance class. 45 minutes of bliss for Berit, 45 minutes of torture and restraint for Marta, who wants desperately to join the Big Girls' dance class. I let her play in the drinking fountain in the hall to distract her.

1-5 p.m.: General play during which Marta climbs, then jumps off, everything and neither girl eats anything close to an entire meal. Marta has a runny nose, caused by: a) Berit's foray into preschool, b) the shopping cart "car" she insisted on riding in at Glen's yesterday that I couldn't get spotless with my baby wipes, or c) the trip to the doctor's office Monday, when I took her to be sure her two-week-long hoarseness wasn't anything serious (it wasn't), and where she may have glanced at a toy for a prolonged enough period so the germs on it leapt off and crawled through her adorable nose into her immune system. 

5:30 p.m.: I load two tired girls into the car so I can pick up a double order of guacamole from Jose's to eat for dinner, since I'm dining solo tonight. Berit falls asleep in the car, hallelujah Mother George. 

Present: Marta screams in her bed. I eat the universe's best guacamole and write blog.

Attitude Adjustment

It used to make me furious when my mom would tell me to "change my attitude" when I was growing up. But it's not so bad when I tell myself, as a grown-up.

When Trevor left on Monday I was all enterprising and organizing. I admit that I get a little excited when he leaves, because, though I will of course miss him, it makes me buckle down and work out a system. I love a system. 

And with him away for a whole week, I would be super efficient and my life would be sweet with tidiness, order and the satisfaction of checking off every item on my to-do list. Ahhh.

As it turns out, I haven't exactly found my groove yet, three days into the week and three days away from Trevor's return. 

Yesterday, on our way to the grocery store, "we" decided to go to Traverse City (an hour-and-a-half drive away). (By the way, I'd love to go back today and just set up a temporary house at Target, because I relish my trips there and have twice written the company and asked them to build a store here in Petoskey, to which they politely declined.) So yesterday the only action our house saw was in the cup of curdling milk I left out and found at 10:30 p.m. 

This morning I've decided to change everything. As in, stop worrying about getting everything accomplished and just sit in my pjs with my unbrushed teeth and not clean, cook or check things off my list. My attitude adjustment, which will make me feel less guilty about all the things I had wanted to do and am not doing.

I'm pretty sure that's not what my mom had in mind 15 years ago. But it works for me.

Let's Get The Party Started

When I was growing up and my dad would go away on hunting, fishing and guys' weekend trips, my mom would throw a party. (Sorry, Den, for revealing this to you now. Sorry, Mom, for revealing.)

He worked hard all week and always wanted things low-key on the weekends, so we never had any big playdates or wild ruckuses at the house. But when he left, my mom let the good times roll, with kid parties and fast food and shopping trips. It might sound like we longed for my dad to leave us on a weekend, but somehow we found him enjoyable enough to want him around for the majority of the time. :) I did love when my Mom and sister were gone (no offense to them), because my dad and I would part ways, him to the basement and me to the upstairs, where we would do whatever we wanted (I read, mostly) in complete peace until they returned three days later. We'd see each other now and then and say hello, but mostly we were in our own worlds. Heaven. 

Anyway, now Trevor has gone for a week (Vegas, for work) and I've become my mother. This morning I gave the girls little gifts I'd been hoarding for Berit's upcoming birthday, took them to gymnastics, and when Marta went down for a nap I gave Berit a big birthday gift. Why? I don't have any idea. I just did. And then I gave her an ice cream cone. And THEN, after she kind of choked on her apple a little later, I felt bad and offered her another ice cream cone, which she took and licked a few times then gave back. Why am I doing this? Do I actually have a party gene that is activated when Trevor packs his suitcases? I had planned to be so structured, and right now I'm feeling like... eh! Let them eat cake!

Sleepless In See-I-Told-You-So

I very clearly remember a conversation I had with Trevor before Berit was born. We were talking about my soft spot for children and animals, and he said, "Oh no. You're never going to be able to let a baby cry it out, are you?" And I said, confidently: "Sure I am. If I know it's for our child's own good, I'll be fine with it."

HA. Double HA.

When Berit was born I became a nighttime weakling. My first mistake was letting her sleep in our bed, but that's a different post altogether. It does, however, illustrate my lack of a backbone when the sun sets. 

I don't know why. During the daytime I run a fairly tight ship, and the kids respond well to it. But there's something about their neediness at night; like, how could they manipulate me when they're sleeping? I can count the time they've spent on this planet in DAYS. They must be hungry, they must be sad, they must be scared. They need their mama! 

Most of the books say to let the babies "cry it out," in one way or another. I always clung to the authors who questioned those theories, wondering why anyone would let an infant cry themselves to a sobbing sleep. 

However. The day came when it was ridiculous for Berit to nurse every hour at night (OK, it was long overdue), which coincidently came right around the time I found out I was pregnant for Marta. I knew I didn't have long to get sleep -- any sleep -- before I was up with a newborn again. I also knew that if Berit wasn't sleeping through the night at age two, she probably never would sleep well. So Trevor went to her when she cried, and she did cry more, and it was hard, and I held the bed listening to the monitor so I wouldn't jump up and go to her. But it worked. (I do have to admit that I was glad she was older and not a tiny baby.)

And now, here we are with #2. To tell the truth, I haven't minded a whole lot when Marta woke a couple times during the night. And I still don't mind. But my friend Lori was telling me that she and her hub made their youngest cry it out, and she's sleeping like a dream these days. And, she's two months younger than Marta. So I'm thinking about it, but I'm so, so wimpy about it. On one hand, those 10:30, 1:30 and 4:30 (roughly) wakings aren't killing me. But a full night of sleep? Really? I don't know what I'd do with myself and all my energy.

So stay tuned, because soon I'll be weepy about nighttime neglect, bolstered by newfound sleep or bemoaning my weakness when it comes to babies. The good news: She's getting bigger every day. 

Sick Day

My last post was about Marta acting out-of-sorts and me waiting the long, scary wait for the throw-up in the crib. And now I'm waiting even harder, if you can do that, because I spent my entire day throwing up and doing another unpleasant act of stomach flu-dom. At the same time, no less. It was a messy day.

None of my family members are sick yet, so I can only hope that God is sparing them and not actually getting my illness out of the way so I'm healthy enough and have already been exposed to the virus so I can take care of the rest of them. 

It's not that I am so afraid of a little kid vomit. It's that I'm terrified of the overnight kid vomit. The sheets, the pajamas, the face/hair/hands/ears/neck being coated and the babies unable to open their eyes because the last thing they knew they were sleeping and then suddenly they're letting loose in every direction, not knowing to turn their heads, and now have their eyes covered in throw-up.

I seem to be OK now, after a non-fun day of laying in bed while my saintly mother-in-law took care of the children here at the house, risking her own good health.

Oddly enough, the entire time I was laying in bed I was thinking about my friend Amy, who was on left-side-only bedrest for three months while pregnant with her twins three years ago. I was sore from laying in bed for three hours! I know it sounds so pitiful, poor Lisa who never gets any sleep was sore from sleeping so much. That's not what I mean; I enjoyed the sleep and was grateful for it. But sheesh, you'd think I never spent any time snoozing, that's all. Maybe it's another sign from God -- I need to sleep much, much more often, so when I'm bed-ridden I will enjoy it fully.

A Girl Needs A Life

Is it wrong that I'm making Trevor miss his work party to watch the girls while I go to book club? 

Afternoon Delight

Today, when Trevor ran home in the middle of the day unannounced, he found me hooking up the vacuum with the dishwasher going, the laundry going, the kitchen clean and the clutter cleared. Berit was on the potty (going) and Marta was down for a nap. I had showered, put on make-up and blown-dry my hair. I was so secretly pleased that he walked in at just that moment, because really I could have been: Surfing the internet trying to find Marta a new snowsuit; laying on the floor trying to get Berit interested in games to play without me; leaning my head into the fridge searching for leftover Thanksgiving tidbits; thinking about how the house really needed to be picked up and making a plan to do it later; or playing with Berit while ignoring the mess in the house.

Not that I'm not usually on top of things, but you understand.