The Return of Hector

Hector, our Christmas elf named after a Saint Bernard that frequents our local Starbucks, arrived at our house this morning, the first of December. How he penetrated the locked doors and closed up fireplaces is a mystery to the girls but anything can be explained by "Christmas Magic" when you're 3 and 5 years old.

Sam was the first to discover him sitting atop one of the hanging lights in our kitchen. I believe the words out of her mouth were, "What is that?!" Apparently she didn't remember him well from last year. When reminded that he is Hector, Santa's elf that visits us at Christmas, who flies off to Santa each night to report on the girls' wishes and then reappears each morning in a new spot, who can't be touched for fear of losing his magic, Sam's eyes grew big and she ran upstairs to wake Ryan and share the secret. Still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Ryan started laughing and jumping up and down when she saw him.

"How does he fly if he doesn't have wings?" wondered Sam.

"Can I tell him I want Lulu, the cat that loves you like it's real?" asked Ryan, my child that talks in slogans and jingles.

"Can I touch him with just my head? With my toys? Is that okay, mom?" Sam asked, always pushing the envelope.

All morning the questions continued as the girls took in the return of Hector. They wondered if they could change it's name to Frisbee or would that be confusing, if Hector would report on them to Santa if they didn't share toys (yes!), if he could walk or only fly, and does he take a bath at night. They stared at him and circled around him warily. They waved at him and said "hello Hector" before running back to the couch and collapsing in giggles. Indeed, it is the happiest time of the year!

Ryan and Sam-isms Part II

These are too precious to forget so I am compelled to write them here.

RYAN - Age 5

• She refers to the trick-or-treaters as "our customers" as in "Mom, get the candy, our customers are here."
  
• After hearing me tell people repeatedly that Papu had passed away, she lamented over dinner one night, "I just can't believe Papu passed out!"
  
• Prior to going out of town for a few days I bought her a bracelet that said 'mom' on it so she could wear that when I was gone. Jim found her whispering "I love you" to the bracelet before running off to school.

SAM - Age 3 1/2

• She is insisting on being called Sam now and will correct you if you call her Sammie with an admonition along the lines of "uh, that's not my name. I'm SAM."
  
• She told me today that there sure are a lot of Tuesdays.
  
• One of her favorite games to play is 'Guess What I'm Thinking'. When it's her turn she says something like "Guess what I'm thinking but don't say soap. Okay?"
  
• It's not uncommon for her to wake up at 3am, walk into our room and tell us she's bored.

The Old House

Because I like to complicate my life as much as possible, I enrolled the girls in a school 30 minutes away from home rather than the one a stone's throw away. True, this school has a great reputation and I am sure that my girls will grow up to be astronauts, doctors, Presidents and maybe even CEOs based on the skills they are learning at the Kinderschool (sounds like a German factory that produces robot-students). And it's also true that after a week of trying different routes we have shortened the trip from 30 minutes to 20 by zig-zagging our way through a residential part of town that used to be the "it" place to live in Las Vegas. It goes by the highly descriptive name of Section 8 (or is it Section 10?).

Section 8/10 is approximately a mile square, bordered on all sides by busy, six lane, commercial streets with signals every hundred yards. There is a Harley dealership, Ernie Hipolito's Hippopotamus Dental Office, bail bondsmen, 7-11s, The Original Pancake House, Rainbow Office Park (what says RAINBOW more than the all gray, stucco arch out front?) and myriad other generic strip mall businesses everywhere you look. But as you turn left off of Buffalo and enter Section 8/10, you enter this wild residential part of town that is unlike anything else. There are multi-million dollar homes surrounded by 8 foot tall gates that share the same gravel sidewalk with a tear-down, 1970s, single story ranch house with a rusted out swing set in the side yard. Common in many parts of the country but unusual for Las Vegas is that the styles of the homes in the Section, vary greatly. There will be a Hacienda style home next to a pre-fab stucco one next to a faux chateau. The wide streets turn into dirt and rocks on the side which then turn into lawns (maybe) and then homes. If you were in the market to buy, you could tour a $5 million home or a $100k one without straying 100 yards.

My absolute favorite part of Section 8/10 is the Eldora Estates. You can see the fancy sign in marble from afar and it piques your interest. Hmm, the Eldora Estates. Sounds nice and relaxing. Probably a lot of pools and palm trees. Maybe a golf course even. You're getting closer and the sign on the stone wall is getting larger and more fancy and then you're there. You're driving by The Eldora Estates and you look through the beautiful wrought iron gate, and your hopes are dashed as you see 3 acres of gray dirt and trash and a realtor's sign imploring you to call for information about plot sales. The dirt lot is enclosed with a brick wall and backs up to one of the previously mentioned 6 lane boulevards.

Every morning as we weave our way through Section 8/10 on the way to our kids' German robot factory, I mean the Kinderschool, Ryan and Sam eagerly ask when we are going to pass The Old House. It is the last thing we see as we leave this twilight zone and join the commuters on Jones Blvd. It is quite literally an old house. It's a corner home and the signal there is often red so we get to stare at it for minutes at a time. There is a large picture window, through which you can see the spiral staircase and its missing railing, a broken chandelier hangs in the foyer, the paint is two toned - gray and yellow, and is peeling off in many areas. The yard is a weed and rock garden and there's some sort of broken fountain out front. There is a metal, bent gate surrounding the house lest anyone break in to steal the last remaining bulb in the chandelier. You can barely see into what must have been the living room through the dust film on the windows.

I have no idea why The Old House has taken on such significance in our daily commute but the girls look forward to it and ask the same questions every morning.

"Wyan, Wyan, the OLD HOUSE. Here it is!" yells Sam.

"Ooh," says Ryan. "I wonder where the people live now?"

"Why is the paint coming off?"

"Who is going to move in there?"

"Why did they leave?"

And now when the girls complain about school ("It's so much work mommy and we don't get to play at the centers, only work!") I explain to them that if they don't work hard, they may have to live in The Old House. I'm not sure if that scares them or thrills them.

First Week of Kindergarten

When Ryan was a baby she was colicky, fussy, hard to put to bed and, get this, she needed me constantly. The gall of some babies! I was lucky to pee by myself and even that didn't happen often. When times were particularly tough such as after a night of little sleep, I would wrap her up in blankets and strap her in the stroller and throw on hat (on me because washing or even brushing my hair wasn't a priority) and we'd head out for a walk to the coffee shop. She liked the fresh air and I needed the caffeine. Inevitably, on these frequent walks, we'd see other moms with older children, who appeared to be fully showered and bright eyed and laughing. The kids were maybe 5 or 6 years old, carrying their backpacks for school and pointing out a cute dog or retelling a funny joke. Ryan was spitting up or pooping. I thought to myself that my daughter would never be old enough to go to school - I simply couldn't see how this little baby could possibly grow up into one of those. They walked and talked and carried their own gear and gave their moms hugs and seemed pretty self-sufficient. Although it happened for everyone else for millenniums, it wasn't going to happen for me. I just knew it.

Well, I was wrong, it happened, Ryan went off to school this week. Real school as in Kindergarten and get this, she walks, talks, carries her backpack and laughs about a knock knock joke having to do with cows and ice cream faces. I don't get it but clearly I'm not supposed to. And I should be ecstatic, right? She did it. She grew up, she's smart and fun and she doesn't fuss at bedtime (too much). She's everything I wanted her to be. In fact, she doesn't even need me quite as much and I pee by myself all the time now. It's kind of lonely in that bathroom without her. And I'm realizing that if she made it to 5, she's probably going to make it to 10 and 15 and even 20 (don't they go off to college about then?) and this is unacceptable so I asked her nicely, in my sweetest mommy voice, to stop growing now. Five is a great age, let's just put on the brakes. She cocked her head, smiled and said "I can't do that mommy, I just keep growing."

So now I take her to school every morning in her cute Kindergarten uniform and she gives me lots of hugs because she's still not sure about the whole thing. We say our goodbyes, sometimes through a thin veil of tears, and I reassure her that I'll pick her up after school and that it's going to be a great day. She nods and walks into the room to put away her backpack and lunch. When I pick her up, her whole face smiles for an instant, she runs to give me a quick hug and then runs by me to meet her friends on the playground. She's happy.

On the why home from the third day of Kindergarten she asked me how many days until school was over and I said, "a lot honey, about 270."

"Is that more or less than a gazillion?" she asked

"Less, a lot less."

"Oh good!"

Bald Head Island - Summer 2009

We arrived on this tiny island off the coast of North Carolina around 7:15pm local time on the 20th of June. It was planes, trains and automobiles to get there. Actually, it was planes, shuttles, ferries and golf carts but you get the idea. At least Kristen and Bill were thoughtful enough to pick us up with vodka tonics and juice boxes in hand and somehow we got 8 people and luggage for four onto two golf carts. The trip got off to a shaky start when the lagging golf cart carrying Jim, Bill, Ryan and Parker ran out of power and the passengers were picked up by the local police car. The presiding cop was on our ferry on the way over from the mainland and I suspect this was the most exciting thing to happen to her in awhile. Kristen and I turned around, found Bill and the broken vehicle, grabbed hold of the side of the golf cart and literally dragged them home for the last mile or so. Thank God for those vodka tonics. No harm, no foul. Vacation had started.

The rental home was beautiful, complete with three balconies, ocean views, hammocks, a month's worth of wine (not all great according to Jim's refined tastes) and a front row view of the 15th green with two ponds.

"Love the view of the golf course and the water. It'll be fun to watch the golfers," I mentioned casually as I took in my surroundings.

"Oh yea," Kristen exclaimed, "and apparently this pond here has the most alligators on the island."

I chuckled, assuming she was kidding. But she wasn't. Alligators? In our backyard? They eat little kids, right?

"I know, I was freaked at first too but I'm told they never come out of the water," she tried to appease me.

"Have you seen them?" I asked, watching the water closely.

"Not yet, but Bill has." Great. Another vodka tonic, please.

Some of Kristen and Bill's friends came over that first night to share a bottle of wine with us and assure us that the alligator's aren't a real threat unless you are little and slow. Kind of like our children. Bill tried to downplay it all and even went fishing in the pond the next morning to prove his point. Of course the alligator bait, i.e. our children, were thrilled by the prospect of fishing and maybe seeing alligators so they went with him. Kristen and I started drinking again. Not really but we considered it. Short story long, we saw the alligator in that pond once and a different one in a different pond several times but s/he/it never emerged from the murky water.

The real treat, however, was when Kristen saw a kangaroo. The rest of us who were with Kristen at the time saw nothing. After some golf cart off-roading to explore the woods, we were able to convince her (sort of) that maybe it was a deer since we weren't in Australia, but there's still a large question mark as to whether she saw anything (she lost some credibility when the day before she yelled to me to slow down because of the turtle crossing the road but it turned out to be an empty Doritos bag).

Our first morning on the island was Father's Day 2009. A trip to the beach club on the south shore for some swimming, lunch and a little R&R was the plan. Other than for the golf cart losing power again and Jim having to push it and three of us up a modest hill, we made it there uneventfully. It was a beautiful spot with shingled buildings, pelicans flying, families coming and going (more coming than going), biting flies and large hornets. Who could ask for more? The kids showed off their swimming prowess ranging from Parker and Ryan who could swim pretty easily without help to Sammie who's go-to move was to put her face in the water (but not her eyes) to Colby who was sure she could hang with the big girls. Half the time she was right! Mimi and Papa showed off their grandparenting prowess by supervising, along with Jim and Bill, while Kristen and I showed off our, well nothing. We supervised the supervising and did a damn good job of it.

Early evening on the beach is one of the best times of the day anywhere in the world and it holds true on Bald Head Island. A few nights we made our way over to one of the beach accesses (wooden plank steps and bridges through the sea grass and over the dunes down to the sand) for cocktails, appetisers, shell finding and pelican watching. We were washed out a bit early one night by the incoming tide bringing in the flotsam and jetsam which intrigued the kids, including Mimi (in case you don't know, Mimi and Papa are Kristen's parents, Parker and Colby's grandparents and my children's surrogate grandparents). After a somewhat expedited departure, we headed home for a bar-be-que. Since it was Father's Day, we let Jim do the grilling - great flank steak.

Later in the week, the Harvey crew beat the Freeman crew in the first ever annual Ladder Ball competition. Parker Harvey carried her team while Sammie Freeman carried the balls. Bill was in charge of making the pre-game margaritas and I'm sticking by the theory that he over tequila'd mine resulting in poor ladder ball play. We took out our revenge on the Harvey's by beating them in a windy match of tennis, something with which we have a lot of practice since we live in the high desert...ha, ha, ha.

On the second to last day we made our way over to Old Baldy (no, not Jim, but the guy did get a lot of teasing about this). It is actually the lighthouse on the island, in front of which Kristen and Bill got married back in 2001. It doesn't operate anymore but you can climb the 175 or so steps to the top and get a spectacular view of the island and some of the neighboring ones as well. The girls all made it up the winding steps - the younger two in the arms of various parents - and oohhed and ahhed over the views. Well, maybe not, but the adults did. It was beautiful and worth the climb, plus the kids got stickers reading "I Support Old Baldy" that they immediately pulled off their new halter top dresses in fear that the glamour look they were going for was spoiled by the plain round sticker. What happens when they're 15??

Parker and Ryan drove us home on the golf carts, aided by our whispered screams of "watch out for that biker!" or "stay straight, stay straight, out of the sand!" Sammie and Colby yelled back and forth between the golf carts "hi Coh-bee" "hi Sammie" "hi Coh-bee" "hi Sammie" over and over again as they waved and laughed. We all kept our eyes peeled for Kristen's kangaroo. Alas, we never saw it, but we did see sunsets and moon rises over the ocean which is almost as good.

Mimi and Papa left on Monday night and Bill left Tuesday night while the rest of us stayed until Wednesday. We couldn't bear to all leave at once so we stretched it out and made a pact to meet up in Raleigh on Wednesday. Papa claims to have had work to do back in L.A. so we didn't see him again and Bill apparently stole some of Mimi's undergarments and Jim's shoes and socks, the latter of which were recovered when we got to Raleigh. The Mysterious Mr. Harvey at work - I think he thought if Jim didn't have socks, Bill could beat him on the clay courts of North Hills Tennis Club, a plan that almost worked except they got kicked off before the third set was complete.

On our last night there Mimi eagerly volunteered to babysit the kids so we could go out for dinner. Actually, the conversation went something like this:

Kristen: mom, will you watch the kids so we can go out to dinner with Erin and Jim?

Mimi: All four of them?

Kristen: Um, yeah...

Mimi: Do I have to put them to bed?

Kristen: Kind of...

Mimi: Are you sure?

Kristen: You'll be fine. Come on guys! Let's go.

It worked out well, at least for the four of us at dinner, and we even got home in time for the pajama clad girls to show us how they collected fire flies. Sammie's method was extra special.

"Wook mom, we can catch fiah fwies. Wike dis!" She snuck up on one and then CLAP. As she opened her hands she smiled and proudly showed off her fire fly, one wing was still moving ever so slightly as she dropped it in jar. What says vacation more than half dead fireflies and smiling children in their pajamas.

Sammie-isms

Sam: Mom, is it tomorrow?

Me: No, it's today.

Sam: But I thought it was tomorrow, and I don't have school tomorrow!

Me: Oh. Right, you don't have school today.

Sam: So, it's tomorrow?

Ryan: From yesterday it's tomorrow Sam.

Me: (impressed) That's right Ryan. But from today, tomorrow is still tomorrow.

Sam: (confused, and rightly so) DO I HAVE SCHOOL!?

A new day....

Me: Sammie, stop that whining and crying!

Sam: I'm not crying, I'm just laughing in Spanish.

A new day still....

Me: Sam! Why is there scotch tape all over this T.V.?

Sam: I'm taping the Mickey Mouse show Mom!

Scorpions and Strangers

We had two events in the past 10 days that equally horrified me. Well, maybe not equally since one had the potential to outdo it's rival by a factor of about a billion. As you can probably surmise from the title of the blog, they had to do with the two "S"'s - scorpions and strangers.


Ryan and her friend Blake were stung by a scorpion who had, unbeknownst to us, made it's home in the dark, cozy corner of our deflated jump house in the garage. When five or six kids inflated the jumper and started jumping it disturbed the scorpion's sleep and he was bounced around like a kernel of popcorn as it is cooked. It got it's revenge by landing on the arms and legs of the kids and then stinging at will. Blake got one sting on his leg and Ryan got a double dose of venom, one on the leg and one on the inner elbow. As I pulled Ryan out of the bounce house, I saw the perpetrator on her white dress and was able to kick him off and stomp on him a few times until he was no longer among the living.


According to our doctor and research I've done, the sting of a scorpion feels like a wasp sting but only much, much worse. Insert a four year old and a five year old and you can imagine the screaming and drama that could only parallel a Jonas Brother's concert (or so I am told). Benadryl, Tylenol, ice, meat tenderizer (when I asked the Doctor if he meant the kitchen utensil, he laughed and suggested I not beat them right after being stung by a scorpion. Apparently there is a powder you use on meat and since we didn't have that, vinegar would work) and lots of TLC were the prescriptions of choice. After about 45 minutes of screaming, weeping, howling and holding painful appendages, the kids calmed down and all was fine. Well, maybe not all. I didn't sleep all night, dreaming about more attacks on my kids and reliving the scene where I pulled Ryan out and stomped on the scorpion that was on her dress, crawling up her back. Let's just say that I've had better dreams. Bottom line is we are fine, we'll live and we can kill this enemy pretty easily.


The second evil S we've been dealing with is "Strangers". We haven't dealt with them first hand or face to face but rather it's something we've been talking to the kids about and coincidentally, they've been learning about at school. When we're in the car I'll ask the kids what they would do if a stranger asked them to help them find their dog or if they were at the park and a stranger told them to come with them. Ryan has been very good in doling out the appropriate answers and Sammie had caught on too, or so I thought, until I heard the following conversation:


Jim: Sammie, what would you do if a stranger came up to you in his car and asked you to help him find his cat?


Sammie: I wouldn't doh. I'd wun to mom and dad. (I wouldn't go, I'd run to mom and dad)


Jim: Great, that's...


Sammie: Unwess he had tweats or gandy, then I go. (unless he had treats or candy, then I'd go)


I tried not to laugh but could there be a worse answer? So after a quick chuckle, I got mad in an attempt to show her how serious this was and that, no, never do you go in a strangers car even if he has candy. Well my anger made her cry and it was the big, crocodile tear kind of cry with sobbing and face hiding and everything. She couldn't finish her breakfast. She thought she had done something wrong when she was just trying to answer our questions. I felt like a heel. Finally I persuaded her that she hadn't done anything wrong and she wasn't in trouble but I really just hope I persuaded her to stay away from strangers with candy.

Bedtime Conversations

Ryan is laying in bed and I'm sitting in the rocking chair. She is staring at the ceiling and I'm estimating how long until I can go get in my pajamas and read my book. It's a Thursday night at 8:15pm.

Ryan: Mommy, nothing is going to make to fall asleep....

Me: Hmm...

Ryan: ...except my sleeping bracelet.

Me: A sleeping bracelet, huh? Well, we can look for one tomorrow.

Ryan: You know, some animals don't sleep at night or during the day.

Me: Really? Which ones?

I'm starting to think this is going to take longer than I hoped.

Ryan: Umm.....like cows.

Me: Cows never sleep? I didn't know that.

Ryan: No, never. Horses too. That's it.

Me: They must get really tired.

Ryan: No. They're never tired. Even when someone calls for them to sleep, they don't sleep.

I nod, trying to cut this conversation short since I don't like the implications.

Ryan: Yep - that's the way it is. I wish I never slept.

Me: You get cranky when you don't sleep though.

Ryan: (exasperated with my lack of understanding) That's because I get tired!

I Thought Monday's Were the Bad Days...

Sunday morning, 10:00am. Ryan decides to get her scooter and go outside to play. She runs to the garage and opens the door. I hear her 4 year old voice say "hmmm....?" to herself and then I hear her excited feet run down the hall, back to the kitchen.

"Um, mommy, there's a leak in the garage."

"What do you mean?" I ask as I look outside hoping it has started to rain and I just didn't notice even though our house is essentially one large window downstairs.

"It's wet everywhere. All over."

Now I'm running down the hall and opening the garage door, admittedly a lot less excited than she was. Sure enough, there is water everywhere, up to an inch thick in some places and it's hot water and it appears to be spraying out of the water heater. There's water on the ceiling which can't be good - I'm thinking major burst pipes and a minor home remodel to follow. Argh....

A quick call to a neighbor to help us turn off the water, a quicker call to a plumber to make a Sunday morning appearance and several laudatory pats on the back to Ryan for discovering the problem and we're making progress. Turns out the hot water heater has a 6-7 year lifespan and we're going on year 13. Turns out it was installed poorly and hadn't been "flushed" either. Turns out my bank account will be about $2,500 lighter come morning.

Sunday, 4:30pm. The plumber is back installing the new hot water heater and we've had intermittent running water all day, no hot water. Jim took a cold sponge bath before heading to the airport for a 5 hour flight to Miami. The girls went next door to play while I squeegeed out the rugs in the garage, which are now laying the driveway, trying to dry out. I'm going to have to go "borrow" a sauce pan full of water in order to cook our pasta. Ryan thinks it's all a big adventure and she's extremely proud of having been the one to discover the crisis. Sammie is as scared of the water in the garage as she is of ocean water. She refuses to walk through the garage, insisting that I carry her or use the front door. I'm just tired and giving the plumber carte blanche - I may have just purchased a new reverse osmosis system. Jim is flying to Miami, bienvenito a Miami. Thank God for neighbors who know how to turn off the water and others who let your kids play at their house and for plumbers who work on Sunday!

Lesson Learned, I Hope

Last night was Ryan's first organized soccer practice. Although it was clear from the day I signed her up that I was infinitely more excited about the prospect than she was, she was getting into it and even wanted to kick her new ball around non-stop for about a week after we bought it. When we practiced I told her how good she was, which she is, and I heard her tell her friends on more than one occasion "I'm starting soccer...I'm pretty good." She would cajole Jim into kicking with her at 6:45am in their pajamas in 45 degree weather. She was kicking the ball around the house, practicing how to stop it by putting her foot on top of it. All was going well, so you can see how I was caught off-guard when disaster struck at the practice field last night.

When we arrived there were 4-5 kids there already, cones were set up and it looked like fun. Ryan put on her sweatshirt and ran into the mix. She and I kicked a few balls while more kids arrived. Sammie picked up an orange cone, placed it on her head and ran in circles saying "my hat, my hat." At 5pm sharp, the coach started to gather the 10 or so kids into a circle. Ryan ran over to Sammie, kissed her on the cheek and said "okay, I have to go sweetie. It's time for soccer." She picked up her ball, ran to the coach and sat down on her ball like the other kids. I was patting myself on the back, this was going so smoothly.

After introductions and a few questions from the coach, I tuned out and was talking to some of the other moms. A few minutes later the kids were standing and lining up, laughing and playing. Ryan ran straight to me and grabbed onto my leg with all four of her limbs.

"What happened honey?" I asked her. Two minutes ago she was fine and smiling and now she was holding on to me like someone was threatening to take her away. I thought she was hurt or someone had said something to her. She wouldn't respond, she just shook her head.

I pulled her away and asked again what was wrong. All she could tell me was that she didn't want to do it. I offered to run with her but her eyes welled up and she bit her lip and ran away from me. I was getting mad and told her we would have to leave then. She readily agreed. Recalling various parenting strategies and knowing that she needs to warm up to new things, I decided to give her time. I backed away, continued talking with some of the moms and let her run around, get a snack and watch the other kids.

I got a glimmer of hope when the second drill started since it was simply kicking the ball back and forth with the coach, the same thing she'd been doing in her pajamas and bragging to her friends about. She still wouldn't jump in with the other kids, however, saying "I'm shy" as she looked through the mop of hair partially covering her eyes. I was able to get her to kick the ball to me as we stood next to the coach. I was holding Sammie in one arm, who was cold and eating a turkey sandwich for dinner, while kicking the ball to Ryan. I whispered to the coach to kick one to Ryan after a few minutes because I was sure she was ready to participate now.

"Hey Ryan, here you go" and he kicked the ball gently right to her. She stopped the ball in front of her and stood still, looking at the ground. "Kick it back honey." Nothing. She wouldn't budge. I was mortified. The coach had to walk over there, get the ball and resume the drill with the other kids.

"Ryan come here!" I told her. "That was so rude. I can't make you play but you can kick the ball back to your coach. I am so disappointed in you." I walked away, still carrying Sammie. At this point I'm losing control, I'm so frustrated with her unwillingness to try. The visceral reaction is overwhelming and although I know I needed to step back and recognize that she's 4 years old, I couldn't. I walked away with Sammie. Ryan followed. When the third drill started, it was more of the same. She wouldn't even stand near the other kids to watch them. We packed up our bags and headed home.

Once in the car she asked, "Are you still mad at me mom?"

After a deliberate pause to regain my composure I said, "Yes. You need to try things, especially when I'm there and there's nothing to be scared about. If you had tried it and didn't like it, I could understand that but you didn't even try. You just walked away and then you were mean to your coach. I don't understand why you would do that." I used my calmest voice but I was still seething. She apologized and promised to try next week and I apologized for getting so angry.

The funny or ironic thing is that had she refused to try gymnastics or ice skating, I wouldn't have cared. I would have encouraged her and given her time but I would not have yelled or threatened her. But this was soccer - she was refusing soccer! You're outside with friends, the sun is setting, your mom and sister are there, you're chasing a ball, laughing, scoring, defending, whatever. How can you refuse to play soccer when you're 4 years old? It's just not me, I would never have done that, but Ryan's not me (thank god) and hopefully I'll learn that sooner rather than later.

I Wonder if Adults are this Confusing?

Sammie picks up a book and sits down on the couch, criss cross apple sauce (politically correct for Indian style).

"Otay mommy, I the teatder," she says. "You're the tid. It's soycle time." Okay mommy, I'm the teacher, you're the kid. It's circle time.

I take my spot on the couch next to her and sit, criss cross apple sauce, very attentively. She opens the book, Muff and Ruff, and starts to "read" it. It's a bit unclear where the story is going as she is just talking as she turns the pages. I try to be helpful by pointing at Muff and telling her that he's chasing a cat.

Sammie closes the book and looks at me sideways, raises her eyebrows and asks, "do you need to weave my soycle time?" Wh-wh-what? I start to laugh, I'm incredulous. I'm pretty sure she's just asked me to leave circle time for talking.

"Hmm?" she repeats, "do you?" No smile, all business.

"No" I respond with as straight a face as I can muster. "I'm good. I'll be quiet."

"Talk mommy, talk," she insists as she leans in towards me, nodding.

"Why, I thought you didn't want me to talk?" I'm getting confused.

"TALK!" she barks at me.

"Okay. Umm, teacher, look at Muff. He's now in his dog house." I mutter out, obeying her order to talk.

"Otay tid, you need to leave my soycle time."

Common Ground

The girls have just finished dinner. Most nights they eat on TV trays so they can watch their favorite shows. Tonight was no exception. As I went over to clean up their plates I found more than the usual amount of debris - rice, beans, muffin crumbs, spilled water and a few pieces of macaroni and cheese that made their way out of the bowl in onto the floor.

"Okay guys. This is crazy. I'm cutting you off! No more eating on the floor here," I said

"You're cutting us? Cutting our heads off?" asked Sammie, eyes bugging out of head.

"No, not your hea..."

"Our heads would fall down then. On the floor," Ryan added helpfully.

"And we'd need a bandaid. A Spiderman one," Sammie said.

Laughing, I tried to correct them, "I'm not cutting off your heads. Just no more eating on the floor." My words were unheard.

"Ouch. That would hurt. I don't think you're supposed to cut off heads mom," Ryan told me.

"Agreed. No head cutting allowed." At least we found common ground.

Our First Rock Concert

A rock concert broke out in our play room this morning. It was about 7:00am. Ryan and Sammie had their home made, poster board guitars out along with the battery operated microphone. Ryan kicked things off by singing "A Barbie World", which I think is supposed to be "A Party World" because the Gabriella doll from High School Musical sings it when you push the button on her back and I don't think she'd be singing about Barbie. Then it was Jim's turn and he belted out a rousing rendition of "Hey There Delilah" while the girls strummed their guitars in their pajamas and I sipped my coffee.

"Mommy, dance!" Sammie insisted.

"Ooh, I haven't had a full cup of coffee and haven't really stood on my feet yet this morning, honey. My arms can dance though," I offered. She was appeased by my waving arms and Ryan hit the applause button on the microphone.

"Your turn, mom" Ryan said as she handed me the microphone.

"Hmm...okay." Clearing my throat and taking one more sip of coffee, I grabbed the microphone.

"He was born in the summer of his 27th year, coming home to a place he'd never been before. He left yesterday behind him, da dah da dah dah da, you can say he found the key to every door. Colorado Rocky Mountain High...."

I couldn't help but notice that the girls held their guitars down by their sides and were just staring at me. They looked to daddy for guidance. Was she for real? What the heck was that song? Jim couldn't help them. He looked at me, shook his head and rescinded the microphone from my hands. Jim started doing a Chuck Berry one legged hop across the room as he played air guitar and they had a little impromptu jam session. Guitar Hero here we come.

"They" need to do a better job of telling us how tired you will be once you're a mom. It's about 8:30pm and I finally got the kids to sleep after their sugar high from M&Ms, lollipops and popcorn at our friends' house. Jim is out at a business dinner. I'm debating reading, watching a show or going to bed. Of course I'm neglecting the dishes and the laundry which would require I navigate my way through a minefield of toys to get there. My girls are into Barbies and Barbies come with these teeny, tiny shoes and purses and clothes and various and sundry other accessories whose main purpose appears to be to annoy me by being left on the floor where I can step on them. I threaten the girls with throwing away any toys left out on the floor but if I followed through with that, they wouldn't have any toys left. It's an empty threat, they know it and we move on. I won't be sorry to see the Barbie stage end, however. Most of the dolls we have are never clothed due to the fact that toddler fingers aren't designed to dress themselves let alone teeny, tiny dolls. Getting a sweater on a Barbie doll that doesn't bend at the elbow is a real challenge and don't get me started on the skinny jeans they come with. As such, we have naked Barbies, who are half way anatomically correct, driving their Barbie cars, swimming in their Barbie pool and laying around on my shower floor after the girls have bathed. I'm sure the neighbors think very highly of us when they see their 5 year old son pick up a naked Barbie and stare at her plastic breasts.


Anyway, this is the first week back to school after the Christmas holiday. Monday was tough - getting up and dressed, feeding the girls and packing lunches all by 8:15 was a challenge. Ryan's protest at school in the form of major crocodile tears and screams of "mommy, don't go!" didn't help much. Follow that up with a tour of one of the private schools we're considering for kindergarten where all the kids were quiet, well behaved and attentive inside their perfectly decorated classrooms with their perfectly ironed uniforms and their four food group lunches (that last part I made up) and it didn't make for a good day. It got better from there however and we appear to be back in the swing of things. Ryan goes to "meet the new teachers", i.e. test, tomorrow at the school and I'm having anxiety dreams about it. It's kindergarten and I really need to get over it but gone are the days where the neighborhood kids go to the same school down the street. On our block alone there are 10 school age kids going to 6 different schools. And on top of picking which school, I have been worried about whether Ryan is ready for kindergarten given her late summer birthday. The private schools strongly suggest you hold those children back a year but Ryan's pre-k teacher is adamant she is ready. I tend to agree with her but what if.... Again, I reiterate, it's kindergarten and I need to get over it.


Sammie is doing great. It amazes us that just 9 months ago she wasn't talking at all other than for "mama" and "hot" (I joked that if she would have said "hot mama" a lot, I wouldn't have taken her to speech class) and now we can't get her to stop rambling. She will hold her stuffed animals or plastic horses or the naked Barbies heretofore mentioned and carry on long conversations with them. They go to school and then to the market and then the library and maybe they'll sing the Dora the Explorer song about the map a few times and then she'll go in search of a specific toy for them to play with and so on. I don't remember Ryan ever entertaining herself so long like Sammie does. She was even doing this with the race cars she got for Christmas. As an aside, the race cars and race track were from me. I was tired of the dolls and wanted to introduce something more fun, more 'boy'ish. It appeared to work well as the kids played with the cars a lot but then last week Sammie brought the red race car over to me, cupped in her little hand, and told me it was sick and I should sing it a lullaby. The most shocking thing of all was that I did it willingly.