1/31/09 The Walk

I've grown to like going nowhere on Saturday mornings. Dave takes Gabriel to his piano lesson, so I hang around with Julian and Katrina and give them much-needed home downtime. I'm not completely idle; I get laundry done and take care of various things around the house, but nothing so encompassing that I can't spend time with the younger two.

Today it was such a nice day I decided to walk to a mailbox with Katrina. Sounds minor, certainly not worth a blog post, but I rarely have opportunities to just walk around with the kids, let alone with just Katrina. If we're walking somewhere with the boys, Katrina goes in the stroller (which she loves).

She was all for the idea of a walk, grabbed her favorite Kitty-Kat, informed me pointedly that it was time to zip her jacket, and we went out. She held my hand the whole time, kept moving, and followed my instructions, making it very logistically easy. Not all two-year-olds are so cooperative, but Katrina's not one of those adventurous gotta-go-everywhere sort of toddlers. She was so fun, talking the whole time, repeating anything I pointed out, observing things around her at every new view. Having her with me invited smiles and waves from every passerby, partly because I was walking so slowly, but also in no small part because how cute is a little toddler walking along so happily, smiling and chatting, clutching a kitty toy?

We went the long way around and got home before it got old for her, but I think she could have gone on a lot longer.

I met two neighbors today, in separate conversations, and had a nice time talking with both of them. I always feel so bad explaining that we don't really live here, we're moving out soon, just as we're starting to dig in. Everyone I talk to around here really likes living here. They have deeper reasons for being here than primarily the school district's test scores, as is often the case in our "real" neighborhood.

It was nice spending the day walking with Katrina and chatting with neighbors, instead of working on remodeling stuff. With a headache, a back that's still shaky from my near miss last weekend (half an hour of sitting puts my feet and lower legs into total pins-and-needles), and recovering from a nasty leg cramp on Friday, I took a nap this afternoon. But I woke up in the middle of it realizing that the painters had missed a set of doors.

1/31/09

1/30/09 7!

It's Gabriel's birthday today! 7. Seven!

We did a little family celebration this evening, but his real party is next week, a small affair with the few friends I could wrest out of him to invite. (Which didn't include some kids I know he plays with, he was very strange about inviting people.)

I didn't do an in-class celebration for him, and felt bad about it, but just how many times do I have to do the birthday thing? Two is enough, I think. Still, I felt bad when he told me that the other kid in his class whose birthday was today had an in-class party.

I didn't even make his cake for tonight. Store-bought. Not that he minded.


Once again, the Happy Birthday singing with candles lit and lights out was marred by a furious fit by Katrina. "I WANT CAKE!!!" she demanded as she reached and grabbed for it, and put up a huge protest and cried and screamed. Geez, not even Gabriel did anything like that when he was her age!

Well, that fit was minor compared to the one she threw when she wanted a third helping of cake and ice cream and Mean Old Mom said no, it's time for baby to go to bed. She screamed and cried so hard that her face was swollen and red and she was shaking after the bath. I feel strongly about cake too, but really!

We opened gifts and talked about the boys' ages both being prime numbers (I've always found prime numbers a little spooky) and had a very nice birthday evening.

1/30/09

1/29/09 Katrina at play

I shudder to jinx it, but yesterday's dinnertime tantrum was very short, and tonight's was non-existent! What a difference this makes to the entire family!

After dinner, Katrina totters off into the family room, and happily plays on her own while the rest of us are in the kitchen. I'm torn about that -- I wish I could see more of her, but it's just as well she's in a different room since the boys are impossible when she's around at dinner. They get up constantly to play with her, try to engage her in noisy obnoxious games, and just generally get distracted and rowdy. It's a fascinating dynamic, but really, we're trying to eat here.

Sometimes I leave dinner to go play with her, but "dinner" for me is prime-time; it's rare that I sit down. Most of "dinner" for me is spent zooming around the kitchen, trying to make headway on the mounds of chores to be done before I can get back to work sending remodeling-related emails ("who's buying the garbage disposal?") or researching, designing or shopping.

So I settle for listening to her from a distance. Sometimes she's silent for long stretches of time, other times she chatters happily or sings.

With the 3rd child, paranoia about eensy-teensy Lego pieces just isn't practical. She loves them.


Tonight she had to clear off this entire shelf of heavy toys, just to line up a set of cars. It's almost like she was playing House with them.


Remodeling pressure is reaching a fever pitch. Meltdown? How about a full-on breakdown? What's going to snap first, my back or my mind? It's a close call.

And this is with a project that's going extremely well, with a contractor we have complete faith in and are thrilled about. How often do you hear that!

Someday, soon, I'll be taking mornings off work to play with my feisty opinionated daughter, instead of finding light fixtures that will project over surface-mounted medicine cabinets. She's changing so fast....flickers of "little girl" are starting to surface through "toddler." "Old lady" is quickly taking me over.

1/29/09

1/28/09 Animal Babies

Dave had a business dinner tonight, so I was on my own with all three.

When left to my own devices, I can run a super-tight ship. I had dinner done, cleaned up, lunches made, Gabriel's homework plus extras done, Gabriel's new daily chore (sweep the floor) done, a load of laundry, and everyone's clothes set out, and baths started before 8pm. Things were going well.

But my tight ship hit an iceberg right as it was time to read the boys a bedtime story. Julian burst into a crying whining fit about a book of his, called "Animal Babies," that Gabriel said he wanted to read for a bedtime story. "IT'S MINE! IT'S MY SECRET!!" he screamed.

On the whole, I have a "all books are shared" policy, partly on principle, and partly because it's not practical to get three copies of every book. But I recognize that books are often gifts, and kids have a very strong sense of ownership and possession, so I try to honor that too. I tried to tell Julian that it is his book, but if he doesn't want to share it, then he'll have to read it alone, and Gabriel and I would find another book. I tried soothing him by saying we'd read it together in my room, but he was beside himself. He was so out of control that I couldn't talk to him at all.

So I took Gabriel into the family room and he picked another book, and I tried to start it, but Julian was putting up such a racket, I finally made him sit outside until he stopped screaming. "IT'S MY SECRET LEARNING! IT'S MY BOOK!!" he'd cry in frustration and throw himself on the floor.

Finally he let me get a word in edgewise and I offered him the ultimatum again: we read Animal Babies together now in the boys' room, or I read a book to Gabriel outside the room. Julian "agreed," if snapping a loud "Oh-KAAY!!!!" counts.

Meantime, Gabriel was being angelic, being very cooperative and agreeable about all these changes. He happily picked another book, and read it on his own while I was dealing with Julian, until finally I called him into his room and said we'd read Animal Babies all together.

I sat down and opened the book, and Gabriel said, "Yay! I want to learn about animal babies!" in a light-hearted cheerful voice.

Too light-hearted. Since when did Gabriel have such an interest in animal babies?

I knew right then: I'd been suckered into a power struggle between them, and used as an ignorant battering ram. This was Gabriel's war, a chosen conflict, a demonstration of power. He wanted to win a possession battle, to force Julian to give up something that Julian felt was his. Julian usually wouldn't mind sharing a book, but it had become a point of contention between them, and I got roped into it. Gabriel was only rubbing it in with his seemingly innocent desire to "learn" about animal babies. That was a hot-button word for Julian, as the boys often compete about who knows more about things.

Julian calmed down enough to read the book, and I invited him into my lap and held him close while we read it. But he broke down into soft tears, frustrated at his loss, both of the competition that I played into, and the one-up-ness he must have felt he got from the book.

I read another book too, then spent a few minutes alone with Julian, holding him and telling him that knowledge is something that everyone shares -- and to hide his book if he really doesn't want to share it. I felt bad, I really understood how he felt now that I knew what was going on. And I'm keenly aware that his childhood will always be marked by being in his brother's powerful shadow.

But don't feel too sorry for Julian. He was already in trouble for taking Katrina's beloved Mimi and hiding it from her.

1/28/09

1/27/09 The Countess

This morning as I was dressing Katrina, she exclaimed, "Look! A Seven! A Seven!" pointing to, of all things, a folded-up set of number sheets that we got Gabriel 3 years ago for night-training. Gabriel was so into numbers that the idea was that he wouldn't want to pee on them. That flopped, of course. (I'm happy to report that both boys have been dry for 3 straight mornings without being woken up!)

Dave and I have both noticed independently how attracted Katrina is to numbers. She frequently points them out, says she's counting (not clear she really is counting), and recites them into the teens, semi-correctly. Then yesterday when Dave picked up Katrina from Tonya's, Tonya told Dave that it was remarkable how much like Gabriel she is -- including her affinity for numbers. Outside confirmation -- it's not just proud-parent rose-colored glasses.

Interesting! Ironically, if I were a first-time parent, I'd say her attraction to numbers doesn't mean much, kids go in and out of phases. But I've seen how an early interest can persist -- Gabriel's interest in numbers never faded, and Julian is still very verbal and articulate and talkative. Julian never showed a preference for numbers; indeed he's never really had any persistent strength or weakness (early language and reading yes, but those are transitory), he's always been very well-rounded.

With three kids, I'd expect three very different experiences. But while of course all three of our children are very different, the similarities in raising Katrina and Gabriel are striking. Thank goodness Julian showed me that not all toddlerhoods are fraught with tantrums!

A fascinating road is unfolding in front of me, seeing how alike my firstborn and lastborn are, while increasing my gratitude and awe for my slightly uniquer middleborn.

1/27/09

1/26/09 Baby, I was born to run

Today was it. Kindergarten Registration Packet Pickup Day.

I tossed and turned all night, and then anxiously drove to school just after 7am. Would I find a mob? Would I find I'd squandered a lot of brown hair? The answer was something inbetween. This was the line at 7:15am.

(This is just to pick up a numbered registration packet, which establishes your priority for a spot at this school.)

By 8:30, the line had moved, and was much longer. This photo doesn't show it, but the line U's around behind the building. There were about 60 people by then.


More arrived by the time the office opened, for about 80 total. With at least 120 spots for kindergarten at the school, I probably could have arrived at 9am and still been assured a spot. Even if not, people move, so we still probably could have gotten in eventually. But while the risk was low, the consequence was drastic, so it was well worth the peace of mind to arrive early enough. Julian is #13.

I was especially surprised to see that the line was mostly Dads! They explained that this was easier than being at home taking care of the kids.

I chatted with six Dads at various times on the line, and all six planned to enter the lottery for the alternative school Faria, which heavily emphasizes academics. I assured them that first-graders here get plenty of homework, and offered my opinion that the difference between this school's test scores versus Faria's test scores made little difference in the child's ultimate outcome. The biggest factor in their success now is that the teacher has a high standard of pupils -- most come from highly educated, stable two-parent families, all have access to top health care, arrive at school well-fed and clothed, all were well-prepared in preschool, none have emotional or discipline issues (Gabriel notwithstanding). I was surprised that they all readily agreed. Not that that dissuaded them. Those test scores are some powerful Kool-Aid.

My Mom friends report that one other school had a major line-wait situation, two others had some lines; most had none at all.

Still, the district deserves at least a letter to complain about putting parents through this more than once. There is no priority for families with siblings enrolled at the "regular" schools, but clearly they get the concept since they do offer sibling priority for the alternative schools (including Faria). So I get to do this again in two years. Springsteen tickets, anyone?

1/26/09

1/25/09 Teeter Toddler

Today our main mission was to go to the house for some measuring and to look for packages that arrived. It's still really muddy back there after recent rains, and no landscaping to help it drain. Gabriel helped Dave with the hose to rinse off a muddy walkway and shoes.


The kids had a great time playing on the stepstones in the front yard, which were placed hurriedly by the previous owners of our house right before they sold it to us. Now, nearly 10 years later, that temporary measure is still there. We don't move fast.


Katrina continues to impress me with her instability and lack of balance. Are we related? Even I'm not this clumsy....oh wait....yeah, I am.


She will step down very short steps now without climbing, sometimes. It's more fun to follow someone and make it a game though.


Fun's over! Time for the whole family to go to a lighting store. Whee.

We had a plan though: two cars, we make some final decisions, Dave takes the bunch home before the store pleads with us to go, and I stay behind to do the painful ordering part. I was expecting mayhem on a Sunday afternoon, but it was eerily dead.

One kind saleslady amused herself by setting up our little clan with crayons and paper, and they had a great time. Katrina really took to her, talking and pointing things out that she'd drawn.

We actually escaped with a compliment about how well-behaved our kids were!!!

It was so funny when we first arrived, and the lady smiled at her, and Katrina put her head down and finger in her mouth, with a pout. "Aww, shy, is she?" Yeah, shy, that's Katrina all right. It was more like a passive-aggressive gesture of resistance, which turned to confident friendliness moments later.

The same lady asked me if it was different having a girl after two boys -- turns out she has a 5-year-old boy and 3-year-old girl. I really have a hard time agreeing with that -- it is different, but moreso because of personality than gender. Katrina does girl-things, but the things about her that dominate my experience with her aren't really gender-specific. She's very verbal and chatty, I guess that's more of a girl thing (it still shocks me to think that at 2-1/4, Gabriel was just just barely starting to say a few words). Julian's language was at least as good, but he didn't yak quite the same way. She likes to wrap stuffed animals in blankets or diapers sometimes, the boys never did that (other than Gabriel once trying to nurse his teddy bear). Ahhh, I just hit upon it: BOSSY. Katrina orders everyone around to the point of rudeness. That's different.

Today after her nap, I held her for a few minutes -- or rather, she stood there and allowed me to put my arms around her. I had something on the stove, so I stayed as long as I could, but then moved away, and to my surprise, she put her arm out around my neck, as if to hold me there. I gladly stayed, but then I felt her trembling slightly, as she often does just after waking up. She didn't want me there for comfort, she needed a leaning post! Well, I'll take it. What are moms for, if not to help steady their child?

1/25/09

1/24/09 Sour Lemons

This morning as I was getting dressed, I idly glanced out the window into the backyard, a view I don't look at often -- the window is high and the shades are hard to use so are usually mostly closed. I was stunned to see: lemons! There's been a lemon tree in a corner of our backyard, right next to the strawberries, all this time! They're not Meyers, but they're sweet and fragrant. I've really missed having fresh lemons at the ready. It stings to have to buy lemons in California.

It was a cloudy, rainy day, so naturally I used this surprise as an excuse for a photo-op.

It's actually three lemon trees, each with a trunk barely an inch in diameter -- but all three are bearing lemons. On top of it, our next-door neighbor's orange tree is spilling a little branch loaded with oranges on our side of the fence. A citrus windfall!

Random photos.



I dodged a bullet with my back, sort of. Whatever popped didn't bring me down entirely, so I've been able to stand mostly straight and avoid all the secondary problems of hunching over. But, there are still many consequences: the return of the foot-buzzing from sitting, difficulty lifting things from the floor, discomfort from too much sitting or standing. Also, if I bend my head too far forward, like if I slouch on the couch or sneeze, I can feel a sharp twinge my lower back, a very very strange sensation.

I had a huge agenda for the weekend, hoping to push through some of the remaining last remodeling decisions and ordering, and address some new problems. I did a lot online (including finalizing the calendars!), but my back reached a hard limit and I had to lie down. Combined with a rainy day, this turned into a serious veg session in front of the TV, for which I was grateful when Julian joined me. Such a cuddlebug, that one. How apt: PBS was airing a bunch of home improvement shows. Katrina and Gabriel joined for the last show, and I liked having a few terrific excuses to hang around and be surrounded by my children.


My back was pressed into service again for dinner-making and serving and cleaning up, which was fine. I can run around the kitchen longer than I can sit upright in a chair, but lying down is the only way to take all pressure off my back. It's got to be better fast, there is no room right now for a debilitating injury. At least I don't have to make a trip to the store for lemons.

1/24/09

1/23/09 Citizen Cane

Much went right today relating to the remodel, capping off a stressful week. Things "going right" means that the things that went wrong aren't major....a medicine cabinet too high, another too low.

I even managed to pull off a take-out dinner, and Katrina's dinnertime tantrum was cut short by a rare event: she ate some dinner! But my relief at this was short-lived. As I went to reach for a bowl, I could feel a swell of pain in my lower back. A thin strip, not intense, but clear, distinct and persistent. It immediately informed me that I am not to stand straight for a few days.

1/23/09

1/22/09 Calendar Girl

As most of you know, I do an annual calendar with month-appropriate photos of the kids. This year, I got behind, so the calendar will go February-January instead of January-December. I'm mostly done with it, but I need calendar-worthy photos for the January 2010 page. Of course, they have to be actually taken in January 2009.

But I'm having trouble getting calendar-worthy photos. The biggest challenge is getting all three in one photo -- or even two. No, actually, the biggest challenge is that Katrina gets all mad if I try to take pictures; she turns away, throws a fit, and does everything she can to ruin the picture. Sitting and posing with her brothers is out of the question.

Fortunately, we're living under the flight path for a military airfield, and from time to time we get some very cool low-flying aircraft right over our house. (Those dual-rotor helicopters flying in formation rattle the glasses off the shelves though!) And two C-130s presented themselves just as I was getting Katrina out of the car, in the most ideal lighting my amateur photographer side can recognize -- a bright mottled sky with an indirect glow from sun setting behind patchy clouds.

Katrina still wouldn't cooperate exactly, but she did let me hold her and then attempt to take photos with my arm outstretched, as she eagerly scanned the sky for more planes. Most photos were out of focus, or didn't get her face square on, like this:


The best ones were too close and distort her face.


But this may have to do. She reminds me a little of her cousin in this photo, with a slightly impish expression.


Full-on impish, determined again to prevent timely publication of my calendar.


I wish this were the most stressful event today. We discovered that our beautiful new dining room door (with a funky, unusual, and necessary operable sidelight), which took over 10 weeks to order, had been installed....and it's hung wrong from the factory. When you enter through the door, you walk right into a wall instead of into the room. Or, exiting the room, you have to put your back against the wall to open it. The door's hinges should be on the right in this photo, not on the left.


From the outside.

It's not our mistake, but of course, we end up paying for it in numerous ways. I'm really bummed. The missed opportunity to see something beautiful and new and fabulous installed today is huge.

Then, our new entertainment area has a wide wooden tabletop that should be gorgeous.


But a closer look shows that it's trimmed so poorly that I seriously could have done a better job myself. I'd never turn over an edging job through which you can see daylight!


Or these nasty, uneven saw cuts. Even leaving behind pencil marks is tacky.


Again, not our mistake -- but definitely our problem in one way or another.

Seems I'm not the only one concerned about obtaining a spot at our neighborhood school for my 2009 kindergartner. I'm not planning to arrive at 5am as some are, but I am preparing myself for a line-wait situation. The tiniest chance of Julian having to go to a different school than Gabriel is unthinkable. Who knew kindergarten registration would turn into a competitive sport?

All the new bad economic news doesn't improve matters. Unemployment up. Profits down. Housing prices way down. Stocks down. Everything down, down, down. Can't this all just wait until we move back home? I have a calendar to publish!

1/22/09

1/21/09 Can't stand the heat

A few nights ago, a miraculous thing occurred...I sat down to dinner and conversed with my family for over 10 minutes, while Katrina happily played. I felt light-hearted, relaxed, happy to chat over dinner with my children.

It gave me a tiny taste of how easy and joyous life could be, what it would be like without the nightly agony of Katrina's dinnertime tantrum.

I've also grown to like cooking. I like to muse on the drive home about what fresh ingredients I have, what recipe I haven't made for a while, what recipe I'd like to try again and do a little differently. Maybe I'll even stage a baking project as I'm preparing dinner, bringing ingredients up to room temperature or measuring dry ingredients. I like thinking about this during my hour-plus of driving around and picking up kids. It's a nice way to cap off the day.

Except for:

KATRINA.

She completely disrupts these ideas, and turns what should be a busy, but homey time into a tense, frustrating ordeal. I grimace the instant she enters the kitchen, because after that, it's almost nonstop tantrum until she demands to get down.

"I WANT TO CLIMB UP!"
"I scare-me!"
"I want snap!"
"NO SNAP!"
"I want TRAY!"
"NO TRAY, I do it my-SEFF!"
"I want water!"
"I want orange juice!"
"I want Shredded Spoonfuls!"
(Mean Old MOM: I won't give her breakfast food or treats for dinner)
"I want milk!"
"I want string cheese!"
"I don't want string cheese!"
"NO STRING CHEESE!"
"I want pasta!"
"NO PASTA!"
"I want rice!"
"NO RICE!"
"I want peas!"
"NO PEAS!"
"I want 'ta-toes!"
"NO TA-TOES!"
"I want fish bib!"
"NO fish bib -- I want aminal bib!"
"NO aminal bib -- I want boo bib!"
"I want milk in a red cup!"
"NO milk in a red cup!"
"I want milk in a train cup!"
"NO milk in a train cup!"
"I want Gabriel cup!"
"NO milk in a Gabriel cup!"
"I want blue spoon!"
"I want aminal spoon!"
"I want puh-tle (purple) spoon!"
"NO BLUE SPOON!"
"NO AMINAL SPOON!"
"NO PUH-TLE SPOON!"
"I want Spoonfuls!"
"I want...I want...I want...WAAAAAAHHHHH!"

Pretty much every night.

OK, it's easy for you to think, "Well, don't give in to her, and she won't have these tantrums." Oh YEAH?! Hah! She WANTS tantrums! Indeed, if I overact and pretend as though some or other demand is serious -- that is, not resisting her -- it can calm her for the moment. If I refuse to get her such-and-such item, the situation escalates to the point where she is completely out of control, she won't eat a bite, and the tantrum never ends. And no amount of standing up to her will affect tomorrow. Giving in is the easiest response (doesn't work). Saying NO is the next-hardest response (doesn't work). Ignoring is the next-hardest response (doesn't work). Finding ways around the tantrum, circumventing it, removing its bases -- much, much harder, and often impossible. Also doesn't work.

Gabriel had worse tantrums overall, but he wasn't as predictably disagreeable as she is. It's almost inevitable that at dinnertime, she's going to throw a major, constant fit until she's had enough and is ready to get down. Maybe if I were willing to let her live on Clifford Crunch, I could avoid it, but I'm not ready to go there. Yet. It's bad enough that I finally compromise and let her have yogurt for dinner -- TJ's premixed lemon, which is so sweet she thinks it's a treat. She needs to learn to eat real food, but BELIEVE ME, she's some combination of too young and too dedicated to conflict for me to attempt the "if she's hungry enough she'll eat" route. I'm completely confident that the rest of the family will suffer far, far more than she will.

Someday, my evenings won't be ruled by a demanding, opinionated, controlling, impossible toddler. Who, while she's angellicaly sleeping, clutching her beloved Kitty-Kat, I love dearly.

Please, get me out of the kitchen.

1/21/09

1/20/09 Absolute time

I'm sure I'm not the only one who finds that herding two young children out the door to get somewhere on time -- like school -- is utterly maddening. I was going to say "an exercise in patience" but I am far, far beyond patience. No exercise here.

One thing that's been working a little better, for some things, is to give the boys a specific time -- an absolute time, instead of a relative one. Instead of "five more minutes!" it works better to say "at 7:45 it's bathtime!"

Julian can read a digital clock. but he can't do "clock math," like understanding that 6:51 is after 6:50. Or if he does, he doesn't act on it. Gabriel, on the other hand, been adding and subtracting times for many years now, and has a very solid understanding that 6:52 is 7 minutes after 6:45...but he still can't judge how long 7 minutes is.

(Indeed, it's hard for anyone. I read once that adults are pretty good at guessing how long they've been waiting on line for up to about 5 minutes, after that, their judgment of wait time becomes vastly distorted. I thought about that as I was stuck at an intersection at First Street this afternoon, watching light-rail train after light-rail train interrupt my turn at a green. A clock revealed that it was "only" 4 minutes, but it felt like 40.)

So to move the mornings along, I've been telling them, "At 7:45 I take the bowls away, so if you want to eat breakfast, do it NOW." Before you wince at my cruelty, bear in mind that I tell them this at around 7:20 -- they have plenty of time to eat a bowl of cereal if they don't putz around.

Tonight, I was delighted at how quickly and efficiently they whizzed through the bath-pajama process when I stumbled across the (incredibly obvious) new policy that any ice cream that was earned gets doled out after bath. TIMED ice cream: "At 8:05 the bowls go out...and I put them away at 8:10!" Who knew those boys could get through bath and pajamas in less than 40 minutes and without any yelling!

Katrina, for all her faults, isn't a time liability yet. I think I'd trade her nightly dinnertime tantrum (still in full force) for some morningtime putziness, but something tells me I'll regret that wish. She's an expert in taking same-old same-old problems to new heights. But she loves pointing out the numbers on clocks.

1/20/09

1/19/09 Photo shopping

Katrina had a temperature last night, so I took the day off with her. I'd already committed the boys to Tonya's and playdates with the White kids, so I happily spent a day alone with Katrina. "Happily" includes expecting and bracing myself for the usual fusses and conflict, and she didn't disappoint. But, most of the day she played happily, chatting and even singing, checking in on me and telling me what color crayon she was using now. I loved that. Quantity time.

I can't imagine whatever possessed me, but I took Katrina to, of all places, a mall this morning. I really, truly hate malls, but the surprised expressions I get from people when I spit with distaste about them makes me think maybe I'm being too harsh. And some stores are located only in malls, such as Pottery Barn Kids. I wanted to check out some things I'd seen in the catalog, and this seemed as good a time as any.

So I put my toddler in a stroller and pushed her around a mall.

I quelled the immediate irritation about having a hard time finding the store, and outdated directories with place numbers that aren't on the map don't help. Katrina liked PB Kids immediately and insisted on getting out of the stroller, complicating my shopping. Clinginess is not one of her virtues.

I shop with my camera. It helps me remember what I saw that I liked, and puts it in a context I can remember. A photo in a store can give you a much better idea of how big something is than a catalog photo or a measuring tape. Photos remind me of small details too, like, "oh yeah, I didn't like the way those drawers opened."

So I went about my usual perusing, taking a photo here and there, digitally filing away ideas. "Can I help you find anything, ma'am?" asked a salesclerk, not smiling and not all that helpfully. I told her I was just looking for ideas. "We don't allow photography in the store," she explained, with a very slight scolding tone. "You're kidding," I said in a scoff. "Whatever." I packed up Katrina and left. It was hard to storm out in a dignified way though, since Katrina didn't approve at all of this turn of events, and cried and screamed the entire way back through the mall, and all the way home.

I can't stand those anachronistic policies. There are far, far more subtle ways of spying on other stores these days, and it's not like storefronts are all that make a company competitive anyway. What, if I were spying I'd be holding a camera out in plain view? I wish I'd told her, "But my bosses at Restoration Hardware told me to get some pictures, they're thinking of opening a kids' store."

So, in protest, I post my contraband for all to see. This probably does more to promote than demote the store -- and isn't that the point, you morons?




Katrina loved this little push-truck toy. I was proud of her, in a store filled with froofy girl stuff, she went straight for the truck.


I had to wake her up from a nap at 4:45 to pick up her brothers, who were engrossed in a Pictionary game. She peered at them with curiosity from outside the window.


I like Land of Nod better anyway. And they're not in any malls around here.

1/19/09

1/18/09 Decked out

I'm in the wrong blog to talk about this, but we had a huge shock last Thursday. Over $17,000 to build a very basic deck, plus $5,000 for no-maintenance material?!

I can't handle this anymore! These sorts of surprises are draining and depressing and exhausting, and suck all our time and attention for days or weeks until it's resolved. We're reeling from the idea of having to throw together a deck from very vague ideas of what we'd want, and spending ten times as much as we'd expected.

And this deck isn't just to set a barbeque on. It's required by PG&E to reach our service panel and turn up our electricity, and it's required by the city to pass final inspection. Every day delayed is another day we're not at home. This deck is urgent. We'd planned to build a throwaway deck to meet code and do a "real" deck after we'd been home for a while, but $17,000 is no throwaway deck.

Friday, I went to talk to a building official at the city to ask a few questions, and a few verrrry interesting things came up. We can step the deck down one step, which means it would only need two steps up, which means no handrails. And below 30 inches, which ours would be, no guardrails around the deck are needed. No railings? Hmmm! A world of possibilities opens up.

Dave's and my dinner out Friday night was partly spent hunched over printed designs with a pencil, and Saturday we stopped by the house for some quickie measurements and layout ideas. This morning we invested real time at the house, with the kids, to measure and lay out options and see what we could do. We had to be prepared to meet with the recipient of the muchos dineros on Monday.

We were hoping that the quasi-novelty of being in our own backyard would keep our little bunch busy. It did -- Katrina was very busy pushing a little wagon right out to the street, and Gabriel was very busy keeping her out of it, running after her numerous times and calling for us (we did the obvious after that and kept the gates closed).

What a terrific big brother he (usually) is.

Our yard has been dug up and refilled, so much of the construction debris is now underground. The earth is soft, there are remnants of sand piles, and just enough outdoor toys in the garage that the kids had a great time digging.


My little scragglemuffin. Poor thing has a temperature tonight.


We were interrupted a lot, but Dave and I figured out that we can probably get away with a bare-bones minimal code-meeting platform. I'm holding my breath until it's confirmed in blood from the city building department, but I think our efforts just dodged us a $22,000 bullet. Or at least, we ran away from it for a while, and gave ourselves a choice about where and when it lands.

The friends we ran into Friday night have also recently been through a major remodel. The woman, Cathy, asked me, "Have you had your meltdown yet?" She's a wise one. Hers was over kitchen knobs, she said, it just sent her over the edge. My full-blown freakout is just around the corner.

Tonight after getting the boys to clean up the family room (a painful operation), they were fighting over Gabriel's marble track toy. So I got out Julian's marble track toy (they both got one for Christmas), and to my amazement, they were very happily cooperating and building a marble track together. The moment was picture-worthy, if not the actual scene.


Someday they'll be making messes in our own house again.


1/18/09

1/17/09 Grownup meals

Every so often I have a glimpse of what it's like to truly be a grownup again at meals. With the kids in daycare full-time, I actually get a lot of grownup time during the day, but meals are scarfed bites at my desk. At home, most mealtimes are spent with me on my feet, in service mode, fetching or cleaning or cutting or wiping or serving. The boys set a place for me only as a formality; I rarely sit down and join everyone. Many times recently, I've wished there were an easier way, a way to get a break from the intense effort of mealtimes.

Take-out, right? You'd think. But on weeknights, take-out presents numerous timing issues; we actually get everyone fed and ready for homework and baths sooner if I can start dinner as soon as I get home. Betsy, who's well-versed in the art, suggests calling in and picking up takeout on the way home. I'll have to try that, but I can well imagine that the various food weirdnesses in this household will quickly reveal flaws in that plan.

Restaurants? Worse. During the week, restaurants are out of the question; we can't tie up an hour of Gabriel's valuable evening time, and Katrina is a time bomb after 7pm. Weekends? Still iffy. Despite the recession, restaurants around here on weekends often have a wait.

Maybe I was feeling cocky after a nice evening Friday night at a good homey local restaurant I sat through the whole meal, didn't cut anyone else's food, didn't pick anything up off the floor, didn't ask for extra napkins, didn't clean up any spills, didn't wipe anyone's face with my fingers. I ordered food I wanted and was able to eat it fresh and with my right hand. I had two glasses of wine and enjoyed lots of grownup talk (including with some new old friends we ran into).

I was glad to see my little bunch after sleepover this morning, and planned for a morning of nothing. I had one weekend goal: get shoes for the boys. This was critical weeks ago; they both have enormous holes in their shoes, and it just can't wait any longer. This evening, we also needed to stop by the house to look at how some new deck design ideas would work. This turned into a Plan: house, dinner out, shoe-shop.

Dinner out? Now count the number of letters in the word "PLAN."

Stop by the house, fine. 10-15 minutes, kids stay in the car, the boys managed to emerge from the experience with bones intact.

Dinner? ARRRGH.

In a word: Katrina. She was impossible, unbearable, and downright antisocial. I spent most of the dinner outside with her, with three attempts to bring her back inside to eat. Twice I pulled her fast out for throwing -- first a fork, then a cup full of milk, then as the tantrum escalated, anything she could reach. Outside, she varied between being mildly interested in a fountain, and throwing herself on the ground in a hissy-fit.

I sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the ground, and wondering what sin I committed in a previous life to bring this scourge upon me. Do I really deserve to be banished out here with this irrational, obnoxious little brat? Can't I just go inside and sit down and have a few bites of salad without having to drop my fork, leap to my feet and rush outside, still chewing my bite? Didn't I pay my dues with Gabriel? I'm done with this! I woefully watched several cheery families walk by, carrying calm curious toddlers. Why can't she be like that?

I chewed a few bitter bites of salad after Dave took over tantrum-duty, wishing I was home. Gabriel had gone outside to help with Katrina, and Julian was absorbed in a coloring project. This is no fun. Well, I consoled myself, at least I don't have to clean up.

After that major investment, we were getting shoes, dammit. Besides, I'd left no margin for error: the boys only have one pair of shoes, and both were really shot. Besides, shoe-shopping should be fast, and the mall (ick) has various distractions, right?

No, shoe-shopping was incredibly stressful too. She wouldn't get out of the stroller (fine), but wouldn't accept sitting in it not moving either. Dave finally took her out into the mall and wheeled her around. Meanwhile I hurriedly searched the racks for boy shoes, as the complexity of putting together sale prices, sizes, and light-up soles oppressed me. I could hear Katrina screaming and fussing and crying, and I could feel my insides pressurizing, my stomach churning, my heart sinking.

I know we'll get past this. I know she won't always be two. I know that these negative characteristics will have positive manifestations later. I know she won't always turn a nice evening out with the family into an ordeal. But will someone please tell me when?!

Yesterday before our morning jobsite meeting, I had some extra time, so before dropping Katrina off, I took her to a park near Tonya's so we could spend a little playtime together. My working-mom-guilt is strong about how rarely I take her to parks. When Gabriel was a toddler, I took him to parks several times a week.

It's a really lovely park.

Katrina liked playing on the play structure, though for some reason refused to go down the slide.


As I expected, our departure involved a fiery protest, a football hold, and stares from strangers. Just because I can fit her in for 20 minutes doesn't mean she's going to smother me with gratitude.

Before our rattling excursion tonight, I found some time to let Katrina go around the house bare-butt, so far the only measure she permits toward potty-training. I tried again to persuade her to put on training pants (so I know if she goes), but she was adament against it.

Then I thought hmmm....wonder how she feels about Curious George underpants? There's the hook! I showed her all the underpants in Julian's drawer, and that got her started. It didn't exactly work as I planned, since she kept wanting to change them to something else. Julian's skivvies are marked with an unfortunate variety of licensed characters -- Shrek, Scooby-Doo, SpongeBob, Spiderman -- and soon I found it was easiest to put them all in a basket and let her go to town.

She was more interested in putting them on than wearing them, but it's a start.

Strong personality...willful...opinionated...high-spirited....all code for "pain in the neck!" I love my little girl, and when my blood pressure returns to normal, I can even laugh about what she does and admire her forceful spirit. But it'll be easier when I can be a grownup again.

1/17/09

1/16/09 A night out

Sleepover tonight, I'm off the air.

1/15/09 Plane rescue

I was driving home from work today when I heard about the extraordinary story of a disabled airplane landing in the Hudson River today, and everyone getting out alive and mostly uninjured. Absolutely amazing. I have a thing for survival stories, so real-life current ones are especially exciting.

This particular plane crash involved a nice convenient sinking, which gives a whole lot more time, visibility and fresh air than a fire, which I've heard is really what most plane crashes turn into. Not to mention landing so close to a ferry terminal -- it doesn't get better than that! They were swarmed by boats within minutes.

In the old days, my thoughts would turn immediately to, "What if I were on that plane?" I have confidence in my own ability to scramble to safety; I'm agile and resourceful, I can swim and climb, I'm not claustrophobic or acrophobic and not given to panic. If there's a way out, there's a decent chance I'd get out.

But that was before I was a mother. Now my first thought is, "How would I rescue my children?" It's unthinkable, but I can't help thinking about it. In an emergency, who would I unstrap first? How would I keep track of all three? How would they react -- would they listen to my pointed instructions to go now? Would I send the boys ahead, away from me, while I stayed behind to get Katrina? Would they go? Could I fight my way through panicked crowds carrying a toddler and keep the boys moving? Would people help me? What if we had to get in water -- would I be forced to make a choice who I'd save? Would I leave them if it became clear the only person who could possibly be saved was myself?

Chilling thoughts. Futile, upsetting, perhaps even counterproductive -- but will any of my critics say they've never envisioned scenarios like this themselves? It's unavoidable, and perhaps necessary to face my worst fears. Those terrifying wild-imagination thoughts were reality today, for 155 very very lucky people.

1/15/09

p.s. I wonder if this will re-ignite the debate about mandatory retirement age of 60 for pilots. The pilot is 58.

1/14/09 Julian's anatomy

Tonight I was urging Julian along in the pre-dinner-handwashing process, and as I often do, I rubbed some water on his face and very lightly squeezed his nose. He cried out in pain and complained that it really hurt. Quite often he has a huge hard snot in there, and that can hurt if there's any external pressure applied. Julian somehow always needs to blow his nose, but Gabriel, rarely.

I pressed lightly on the side of each nostril and asked, "Does it hurt here?" "No," he said, getting over it and walking away, "It's in the spongy bone tissue!"

He's been at that anatomy puzzle book again, it seems.

1/14/09

1/13/09 Back to preschool

We got Gabriel's weekly "bookbag" yesterday, with the book, the book's journal, and writing activities for that book. I begrudgingly withheld judgement on this lovely new imposition on our time until seeing it, but now, I'm positively stunned. What on earth is this about?

The "Activity for Writing" for this week's book is to help the child make a poster -- a poster?! about raising ducks. "Write some words together that explains what was drawn." In discussing the book, we can ask the child "How many words in the sentence?"

Then there's a paper titled "Ways for Parents to Write with Children," which says the parent and child work together to create messages and stories -- but the parent does the writing! "This is an opportunity to demonstrate how writing works and to draw attention to letters, words and sounds."

?!!?!?!!!! Did we just timewarp back to preschool?

The journal's printed pages are duplicated in several languages, and the supporting papers explain that if we're more comfortable reading in our home language, that's fine, it still shows the child the "how" and "why" of reading. Hmm, wonder who they have in mind -- perhaps the millions of English learners whose immigrant parents don't speak English? Like they have time for this? And who picked Cupertino for this program?? There are many, many immigrant parents here (a majority, I'm sure), and many English-learning parents, but they're mostly highly educated and committed to sending their kids to medical school by age 10. This program isn't aimed for them.

The incredible thing is that Gabriel's class has had to do daily independent reading since day One, but this program suddenly instructs the parents to do the reading -- and writing.

It's so awful, so inappropriate, so ridiculous I'm not even going to worry about it. Dave thinks we should at least get Gabriel to read the book and write a sentence or two in the journal; I think that's busywork that only adds to our already considerable homework load. If he wants to read the book, great, but I just can't add to the time I (we) already spend standing over him budging him to do homework. Good grief, give the kid some playtime already.

By the way, tonight's regular homework included, among numerous other things, coming up with 5 words with the phonogram "ey." I'm good at word games -- Boggle, Scrabble, crossword puzzles and I go way back -- and I couldn't come up with much more than eye, key and grey ("they" was their example so we couldn't use that) offhand. Dave gave up and Googled. Gabriel also had to come up with 5 words with "th," which was pretty difficult for him, and he needed to be walked through it. This is not easy homework! So after this effort, which was only 1/4th of tonight's homework, he's supposed to "practice writing letters with the assistance of the parent" and do a "picture walk"?!

I just can't imagine what the school is thinking with this. The program is perhaps a decent suggestion for English-learning parents who are concerned that their kindergartner isn't reading at all yet, but it's completely inappropriate as extra required work for overall very proficient first-graders. Especially first-graders who are already expected to do a lot of far far more challenging work.

The good news is that the book itself is pretty good: Robert McCloskey's "Make Way For Ducklings." Julian enjoyed it. He sat down and read it cover to cover.

1/13/09

1/12/09 The broken heart

Just how many times, for how many days in a row and weeks on end, does one have to repeat to their children in the morning: "Get dressed! Eat! Get your shoes on! Get your jacket on! Get in the car!!"? How much is too much? At what point is a mother justified in completely going off the deep end?

I don't have an answer about the justification, but I do have a data point about the deep end.

This morning, as I was attempting to herd my little clan for a hectic Monday, I found Gabriel playing with his slot cars, again, instead of putting his lunch in his knapsack and getting ready to get into the car. Maybe I'd have more patience for this if I weren't also pushing putzy Julian through brushing teeth, and keeping Katrina on track as well (though she's uncharacteristically cooperative in the mornings) (mostly) (usually) (where you have to calibrate "cooperative" to "Katrina."). But the nonstop pushing and cajoling and teeth-gritting reminding every morning, without fail, was too much when I saw him putzing around playing, again.

I was furious. I picked up his slot car track and violently dragged the fragile plastic behind me as I went to get a plastic garbage bag. "G E T Y O U R K N A P S A C K R E A D Y >>>> NOWWWW!!!! <<<<< " I screamed with complete, sincere, total venom. He resisted, and I lifted the slot car track and threw it into the corner. A few pieces of black plastic sprayed upon impact. "NOOO!!!!!!" he cried out -- you could hear it echoing in the canyon. He furiously got his things together and got in the car, crying and screaming the whole way.

Naturally, it didn't end there. On the way to school, he hurled every threat he could think of at me, saying bloodcurdling things that kids a few decades ago would get lashings for. I was shaken and still pretty mad, and tried not to respond. "That was a CHRISTMAS PRESENT, Mom!" he choked out furiously, so upset he couldn't quite cry. "It didn't even last to my birthday. YOU BROKE IT!!!" No amount of repeating that he might have had something to do it sank in. "YOU HAVE TO PAY ME SIX MILLION DOLLARS!"

When I brought him to the CDC, he refused to go with me. I had to drag him across the street, then he hid and made me find and run after him to drag him into the CDC, where I shoved him inside the door and slammed it behind him. "I don't love you anymore, MOM!!!"

After dropping off the other two, I went to my planned Y workout, but I couldn't concentrate. I knew he deserved something big, because with Gabriel, taking away a sticker just doesn't cut it. But I'd gone too far. I didn't just break his slot car track, I broke his heart. "You broke the part with the ELECTRICITY!" He knew it wouldn't last forever and wanted to get as much out of it as he could.

Gabriel doesn't cry easily, and he doesn't like to cry, so his crying is often accentuated by anger at being put in that position. Embellishing, dramatizing, playing victim, manipulating, trying to get attention by crying -- not in his DNA. He's no actor. He means it. Even beyond that, he rarely leans on me for emotional support, and always handles problems on his own (to a fault) -- to see him so upset cuts right through me. So the thought of his crying furiously really ripped into me as I forced myself through a drudgerous mile on the treadmill.

As I was wrapping up a quick ab exercise, I decided to take a shower at home instead of at the Y, as I'd planned. I counted the seconds at every light and rushed as fast as I could into the door to inspect the damage. There were only a few broken pieces, one critical, but the most fixable. Though I was sweaty, uncomfortable, and late for work, I pulled out some superglue and set about to repairing the damage. (I was not just a little irritated that such fine closeup work in a poorly lit room on tiny black objects is becoming downright difficult. Even if I had any idea where my reading glasses are, I doubt they'd do much anymore.)

I did the best repair I could, tenderly holding each piece together until the glue set, and hoped that by the time he got home, whatever good the glue could do would be at its best. Worst case, I'd get new pieces, or a whole new box.

But didn't he deserve some serious consequences for not listening to me for the 1000th time? And as Dave pointed out, he doesn't leave us a lot of choices. Still, his disappointment and grief were deep. Slot cars are the closest thing to true love a 6-year-old boy has, he feels it deeply. I was OK with him being mad at me, that happens -- the comment about not loving me didn't bother me at all -- but his intense loss was too much for me to take. If anyone made him feel that bad, I'd do anything to make it better for him.

I think it's official. No one can break my heart the way my firstborn son can. My husband used to hold that sole honor, but he has to share it now. And that's what I was doing this morning instead of going to work, squinting and straining to see while placing tiny pieces of plastic together with tweezers: fixing my own broken heart.

I didn't tell Gabriel I fixed it, and avoided the question when he and Julian both asked. I wasn't sure it would hold. But he was playing with it again this evening, able to enjoy its natural life. He'll accept its inevitable demise, but he doesn't have to accept an early one. He was happy. That took the edge off my shame.

And tomorrow, if he putzes around in the morning, I'll take away ice cream.

1/12/09