Having Those Magical Kind Of Days

Weekend In Holland (With Bonus Trip To Dr. Uncle Jason)

Compassion Without Judgement: Berit

I am not very good with the elderly.

I know I'm supposed to be, as a girl (ahem. woman.), a mother, a daughter, a granddaughter. And I hope I come off as nice, which sometimes makes you think that person might be helpful and positive and cheery most of the time. Well, it makes me think so. So maybe I'm just not very smart.

So there's my secret: I'm not good with my grandparents. My mother's parents, to be technical. Growing up, we were very close -- they took us on vacations and to dance class and they came to all of our recitals and school parties and were basically an extension of my parents. In fact, during the years just before and after my parents' divorce, they stepped in and helped us more than anyone else (that I know of). They were very, very involved.

As we got older they began traveling and we moved north and we started seeing each other on holidays and baptisms. But still -- grandparents.

Then they started to get sick. Grandma got sick first, I guess. While my grandpa has diabetes and high blood pressure (and a lifelong smoking habit), he did take care of himself, mostly, or enough at least to stay involved in the Democratic Club and the school board and generally telling people what they should do, when, and how. Grandma sort of gave up. We weren't sure what was wrong, besides eye problems. We assumed dementia, and a doctor or two said yes, another doctor or two said no. That's how she acted, and my mom moved them up to live near her in Greenville.

Long story short, over the past few weeks my grandpa has nearly died various times and was finally moved to a nursing home in Ohio with my grandmother. My grandma has been there for a few years, near my aunt who is dedicated to caring for her, and has had one major stroke, several mini strokes, and has a condition where her muscles are tight all the time, and she can barely talk or move.

My family has, over the past few years, insisted she was about to die. My grandpa, too. I think they were right at that moment, that it really did seem like they wouldn't make it through what they were going through. But they did. Makes me feel good to be part of such hearty stock.

Now that my grandparents are both at the same nursing home, and since they're both seeming weaker than they've ever been, I booked flights for Berit and me to visit them over the weekend.

My grandma tries to talk, and though she's never met Berit that I can remember, she's been calling for her. Berit looks like my mom when my mom was little, and I think my grandma truly connects with her through the pictures we send and the stories we tell her.

I was nervous about how Berit would react. My grandparents are sick, and they look sick. My grandma in particular is pulled up and wails and cries a lot. Her eyes are half-closed and her mouth is open in a way that makes her teeth sort of stick out.

And I was not a good helper. I tried and I didn't back away, but I have to say that I was disappointed that when someone needed help, I took a second to let another one of my more comfortable family members (read: My sister, who is amazing in these situations and might be one of the most selfless people on earth, truly) step up.

However. Berit jumped right in, singing and laughing and even pushing in front of everyone to hold my grandma's hand, and when my grandma's roommate called out and no one went to her, and so I did and she was scared because she didn't know where she was or how she got there and I tried to tell her, but she couldn't hear me and I was trying to be reassuring, Berit wiggled in front of me and touched her arm. The woman couldn't see Berit, but Berit just knew what to do. I was so surprised and proud of her.

She sat with my grandpa and answered his questions and listened to his stories that were a little over her head but she just nodded and colored in her book and showed him her pictures. She was playing with a red balloon and made a point to tap it to everyone in our family, even my grandma and grandpa, never once assuming they shouldn't get a turn because she's nearly immobile or he's weak and in a wheelchair, and they both got right into it.

I was so glad to see that she Got It. She understood that, even though she didn't know these people, that they were family and even if people around her looked sick (she did notice that; she asked my sister if everyone "had a fever"), she could comfort them.

This might seem like, "Oh how nice, mm-hmm, good for her." But I was shocked, because I am not that way. If it were my own mom or dad, or husband or brother or sister or of course my kids -- and even my sister's husband -- I could handle it, would jump right in, wouldn't think twice. But Berit knew what to do, and it was fascinating to watch a natural characteristic come out for the first time. She became a bit more of her own person then, and less of an extension of me.

In school one day one of the moms who was helping told me, "Berit is a very thoughtful girl. She always makes sure everyone is happy." And I was happy, more than happy, to hear this, because school can be a busy, noisy place, and Berit must do this on her own, as part of her personality, because there's not always time to purposely be polite.

I was so touched that she gave my grandparents the gift of family, of great-grandchildren, for probably the last time we'll ever see them. They never took her out to sell candy at the bowling alley for school, they never swam in a too-cold pool with her because they cared enough about her to brave goosebumps. She didn't drive over the Ambassador Bridge or through the tunnel to Canada with them every few weekends. She doesn't know the smell of their house, sausage and cigarettes and cats, by heart. But she loved them anyway. And they loved her.

Loving The Adventure; The Return Is Questionable

On Wednesday afternoon I packed the little ones into the car with Everything We Could Ever Need for a two-day trip downstate. I was a little nervous to take them both by myself, because Marta is a notoriously terrible traveler, not being inclined to rest or sleep in the car and not settling down enough to sleep well anywhere but her own room.

The lack of baby rest was worth the trip, because we had tickets to The Wiggles, easily one of my children's top three acts. I couldn't wait to see their faces when they realized that the foursome was live in person, and not on the tube.

The kids actually did a super job on the drive down -- not sleeping, only watching one short video (eh, The Wiggles), munching snacks, reading and playing. They were so happy to be at my parents' house, and my mom even got them the cutest table and stools set that we took home to play with and they've been sitting at it all day today, doing activities, having snacks and reading.

Despite the short time we spent there, I had good, long conversations with my mom and brother -- Dad was working most of the time -- and the kids slept beautifully.

On Thursday we went to the show and it was fantastic! Super fun show to see for adults and kids, but the best part was watching the girls' faces. My mom, sister and I were actually teary because the kids were so happy and excited. My mom leaned over and said, "I'm hiring them for Berit's birthday party" (I wouldn't put it past her entertainment abilities) and I said, "I'm running away with them." I have the tiniest Mom Crush on Anthony. Teensy. ... Anyway.

We met my dad and brother for dinner at a little Mediterranean restaurant, then loaded up the exhausted children and I headed towards home, thinking that they'd surely fall asleep after so much excitement (and the hour of departure already being bedtime).

Berit did in fact crash soon after hitting the highway. Marta, however, called out for ICE CREAM!! for the first hour of the drive. Huh? We HAVE been really doing it up this summer with the ice cream and sandbox and water features, so I kind of understand how she might assume that after a fun-packed day she'd get ice cream. (Note to self: Change this. Soon.)

But I figured she wasn't sleeping anyway and getting ice cream might eat up a half hour that she might instead spend screaming for ice cream and possibly waking Berit up, so I took the first exit that promised a McDonald's and headed for the drive-thru (three miles from the exit, which felt kind of like forever). Turned out to be a big McDonald's drive-thru night and we waited in line singing and biding time and trying not to wake Berit. When it was our turn, the WOULD YOU LIKE TO TRY AN ANGUS THIRD POUNDER VALUE MEAL lady informed us there was no ice cream; the machine was down, so we drove around and to make a long story short, ended up getting a shake at Burger King after getting stuck between ordering and paying for 20 minutes. I asked for a small vanilla and received a large chocolate. Fine. Put bib on the baby and off we went. After a few quiet minutes I checked the rearview mirror and noticed Marta painting herself and carseat with chocolate ice cream shake. (Warning: Bad parenting practice coming up.) I let her continue because she was happy and quiet and it was late and I just wanted to get home when Berit opens her eyes and yells, "MOM, WE FORGOT TO BRING A FIZZY POP!" (Before we get in the car to drive home, my mom promised Berit she could bring home a soda, because all of the adults had had soda for dinner and I had run across the street to get the girls milk from a coffee shop (popcorn and junk having been liberally applied at The Wiggles) and the promise was made before consulting me.)

And then Berit looks over to Marta who is slurping down what appears to be a giant soda, and completely freaks out because THERE IS HER FIZZY POP AFTER ALL.

I assure Berit that it's just milk and pray that Marta doesn't start painting again and reveal that no, it's not milk and no, it's not fizzy pop but it IS ice cream.

We drive for the next hour like this, and then the girls start to lose it entirely because it's 9:30 and it's been bedtime for at least two hours now. It's dark outside so I give the girls their blinky glowy sticks they got at the show which I realize blink red, white and blue lights in a row just like a police car. So for the rest of the drive, the cars in front of me SLOW DOWN because am I cop? Am I pulling them over? Am I a fake cop trying to pull them over to kill them? No one's sure, so they drive as slow as they dare but never pull out of my way, so the trip gets extended by a whole half-hour.

Finally we arrive home and the real screaming starts, and the dog is barking and the phone keeps ringing, and I end up putting a new-jammied Marta (whose hair is in chocolate ringlets) right to bed in furious tears and Berit goes down like a dream, thank God. Marta stays up all night getting more and more sick (random addition to the story, she's now sick) and eventually wakes up for the day at 6:30 with a full-blown green-snot cold.

I keep sending Trevor little messages like, "Hope you're having fun at the cabin! Miss you! By the way, Marta is SOOOOOO sick and I haven't even gotten dressed yet! Ha ha. (pleasefeelguiltythatyou'veleftusalonetoindulgeinaguy'sweekend)"

Still, completely worth it. Pictures to come soon, unless I fall asleep first.

Mackinac Island

On the first really nice day of summer for the past three years, we've gone to Mackinac Island. It's only a 25 minute drive from our house, and following a hotel remodel Trevor did a few years ago we've had a knee-high stack of ferry tickets, so it's quick and cheap for us to go.

The weather was forecasted to hover in the high 60s all day, so after Marta's first nap we went. Now, Trevor and I usually get pretty impatient at "kid stuff," even when we have good intentions and are prepared for the long waits, the sugar tantrums, the cramped muscles from a) crouching under playlands in case a child falls while climbing something that's clearly for 12-year-olds, and b) pushing a stroller that's holding the diaper bag and carrying or holding the hand of the child who's supposed to be in the stroller.

But on the island we rarely lose our cool. I don't know if it's the familiarity, the slow pace or the open space to do... whatever. But every time we go, we have fun nearly the whole day.

We did today, too. We sat on the front the boat for the ride over and got fully tangled, winded and fresh-aired, invigorated for our adventure. We immediately got "smudge" at Murray's Hotel (peanut butter tiger for Trevor and mint chocolate for the rest of us), danced in front of the mirrored case like the kids usually do, pottied and changed dipes in their clean bathrooms, ate the smudge under lilac trees in the park, played on the playground, rented bikes, went through the butterfly house, biked to a kid-friendly rock pile on the water and tossed stones, bought fruit and crackers at Doud's, ate the snacks in the park, went to another playground, got ice cream at Kilwin's, ate dinner at the Pink Pony and came back home with sleeping children, covered in sunscreen, ice cream and general stickiness. Really. Great. Day. Truly.

Yes, the kids went nuts at the end after all the sweets and lack of naps, and we went nuts with them, which we expected and dealt with and la da da, but in the end it was just what we'd hoped for.

I love this tradition. We don't have much in the way of things to do with kids year-round in this neck of the woods, but Mackinac is right around the corner, has animal delights galore, biking, treats, open spaces, parks everywhere and just lots of stuff to do. We all get sticky and hot, and we get chilly as the air cools in the evening, we bring sweatshirts and pjs and hand sanitizer by the bucket.

Trevor and I are exhausted. But it was a good day.

Sugar + Dough = Playhouse Disney Live

Months and months ago I noticed an ad for Playhouse Disney Live. That's right, I let my daughter watch morning TV, and she's so into it that I figured she'd love to see her favorite characters in person. I knew she would. I knew I would love taking her. So I shelled out $90 for three second-row-center tix to a production in Saginaw, 2 1/2 hours away. I knew it'd be worth it. 

I have these memories of going to Sesame Street Live with my family when I was little. They're in the category marked "Perfect Memories of Childhood." They involve anticipation, cheap, blinky souvenirs and popcorn, cotton candy and soda. I have been waiting more than 2 1/2 years to create such a memory with my own children (I've made other good memories I hope -- I just mean this one was different and special). I - was - stoked.

And so was Berit, when I told her about it. Aha! Just the reaction I was hoping for. She was ready for it developmentally... finally! The awe was just around the corner! 

Nevermind that Marta's been miserable all week. On Tuesday, the doctor said it was a virus that was making her super cranky, sleepless and not hungry. I swore it was an ear infection combined with her new (first!) tooth popping through, but no infections were found. No sniffles, no coughs, just a mysterious virus that makes babies feverish and fussy. How lovely.

On Thursday her fever broke, and I looked ahead to brighter days. Friday rolled around -- the day of the event -- and we dropped the dog with a friend, loaded the car with snacks, just-in-case stuff and pjs for the ride home. I even took a carsick medication so I could entertain kids from the front seat, turned around, or, if the perfect day turned into the perfect drive, READ for the two-and-a-half-hour trip there and home. (Hello, gas prices $$$) 

Marta was not excited for this day. Still miserable, she shrieked the whole way there. We arrived an hour-and-a-half early, and walked around the small waiting area trying to entertain a very-excited B and a cranky baby. I spent $40 on two blinky souvenirs that the girls really loved, and I didn't care too much that Marta was fussy, because I was way too excited to see the look on Berit's face during the show. 

The time to enter came. Our seats were perfect. We bought cotton candy ($), roasted almonds ($), yogurt pretzels ($) and chocolate-covered raisins ($). Berit was in sugar heaven, let me tell you, and I didn't even try to stop her. Marta, on the other hand, was squirmy and unhappy. "As soon as the show starts, she'll be fine," I thought. We were front and center -- she'd be mesmerized by the action and the lights. Trev and I took turns walking her around the arena. With each lap, she got more fussy, more tired, more uncomfortable. 

But the show started, and Berit's face! She was so happy! Mickey was onstage, and there was singing and interaction and dancing and oh, what promise this show held for her, for me. But Marta couldn't have been less happy, and she was letting everyone around us know about it. I had no choice but to take her somewhere less crowded (though I did try to nurse her several times right in our front-and-center seat, so that even Mickey could see my belly and possibly my breasts as Marta refused them). I moved to the last row -- no dice. I moved to the bathroom, and did something I promised my sister long ago I'd never do -- I sat on a public toilet and nursed her. Still no happiness. I proceeded to march around and around the arena through the entire show with my fussy baby winding circles around and around in my arms, trying to get comfortable and finding it impossible. Trevor says Berit loved the show, and that as soon as it was over, said, "I want more," quietly, matter-of-factly, in true Berit fashion. I know it sounds ridiculous -- I have a happy, healthy family who can do fun things together -- but I was really sad that I didn't get to watch the show with my kiddo. 

On our way home Marta crashed. When she woke up nearly in pieces she was so upset, we stopped for dinner ($) -- which Trevor and Berit ate while I hung out in the car with Marta. She then proceeded to shriek the whole way home, and Berit had an anticipated and accepted sugar meltdown. 

During the night, Marta would only sleep if I was holding her, standing up. So you can guess how much sleep we both got. This morning I took her to the doctor's office (again. $), sure her virus had somehow led to an ear infection. When we unzipped her pjs to take her temp, we noticed that her whole body had a rash on it. And to be honest, I was relieved, because there was now physical evidence that something bad was happening with my baby, and the doctor would see it, tell me what it was and what he would do to make her better.

But he said everything was fine -- the rash was simply an indication that what she had was a virus, that she probably had a headache and body aches, and to take her home, give her some Tylenol and wait, because it'd start clearing up, he guessed, by Monday.

And by the way, keep her away from other kids (sorry, Playhouse Disney Live crowd), and were we taking our kids downtown for the downtown trick-or-treating starting in five minutes and lasting for the next hour-and-a-half? 

So Trevor took Berit dressed in her dragon costume trick-or-treating, without Marta and me, and he said she "had a blast." And I missed it.

And I know this post sounds like a lot of whining on my part. I think these past few days were a shining example of Mom sacrifice, like when you were a kid and you stayed in your jammas all Christmas Day playing with your new stuff while your mom, who had purchased, wrapped, set out and videotaped your enjoyment of said stuff cooked dinner for a dozen people and cleaned up your Christmas mess. And Dad took a nap. (Not saying for a second that Trevor hasn't been my hero through all of this -- at 3 a.m. last night he took Marta and read her books for a half-hour so I could get a little shut-eye. But you understand.)

And I don't mean to sound like "Oh, moms have to sacrifice so much just so that their kids have a lovely life." Even if that were the case, I'm happy to do so. I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just wanted to see Berit happy and enjoy these things, because they're brand spanking new to her, and I wanted to see the first time she realized them, the first time they entered her consciousness. 

Side note: When I asked Trevor if he had taken any pictures of Playhouse Disney Live, he said he had. I was so excited to look at them... but they were all of Mickey Mouse. 

Scratch the Last One Off

So we had this list in our heads of all the things we wanted to do with the girls this summer, but life just got too hectic and we never made it to Mackinac Island (actually, we should have gone to the island instead of to Vail. We should have done a lot instead of going to Vail). 

And even though Trevor had a really busy day today, he managed to sneak away early and we planned to take the 2:30 p.m. ferry to the island. The girls took mini naps on the short drive there and were a little cranky when we arrived. Marta missed her morning nap because today was gymnastics, and (bad mom alert) we ate McDonald's in the car so she only sucked on a few fries for lunch, so the entire day was thrown off. But anyway, it was worth it to see the girls' reaction to the ferry ride and the horses. In the ferry I asked Berit what we would do on the island, and she said, "See horses, eat green smudge, eat brown fudge and give the Little One ice cream." (Berit calls fudge smudge, so henceforth fudge shall be called smudge in our family. And she meant we would get Marta ice cream, because only Big Girls are allowed to have smudge, not babies.)

The horses! The horses made the trip. The girls spotted every horse in shouting distance and Marta yelled "MAA-MAA!" the entire day, because that's what she strongly believes horses say, with her pointer finger stuck out as far as she could possibly push it (it was nearly shaking she was so sincere about pointing), finding horses even we didn't notice. We ordered smudge (Berit green, Trevor chocolate peanut butter, and I wanted oreo but Trevor decided it just didn't look as good as turtle and forced me to order that instead), got Marta a chocolate pretzel (from which she was a big chocolate ball herself) and sat in the park to eat and watch the horses.

We took the 5 p.m. ferry home (that's right, we were there from 2:30-5, which was long enough for a horse-watching/smudge-eating visit) and had pizza before heading back to our house. The girls are a little hyper from the sugar, but we really had a pretty nice time and we're glad we went.

So now a little Jon & Kate + 8 and off to bed. Time to make a new list of things to do before the snow falls!