The Dog Days Are Over

I ran a five mile race on Saturday under a cloudless sky while looking out over a perfect seascape. I barely felt the impact of the Long Branch boardwalk beneath my feet. Probably because I was being lifted up by so much support, and I do not just mean from my new sports bra! Bryan and Amanda cheered as I made my first pass while Nori and Charlie waved robotically and then enthusiastically once they recognized that it was me. I spent the next 50 feet trying to run, breathe and cry all at the same time. I just could not get over how much love and gratitude I could feel right down to my bones. Once the tears were gone, I thought about the things that a long run helps to contemplate. Poems, songs, memories-good and bad. I started with Nori’s wave.

I love to look at Nori’s hands. They flutter around with such natural grace that it makes my heart ache. I just think, God that is such a miracle, the way her hands move that way, holding a crayon, feeding her baby dolls, making “hot moly,” a special brew of flower petals, grass and fallen fall leaves. Yesterday I tried to teach her how to use scissors, not expecting success, but just to get in some experience. She stubbornly would not give it up until she had (with my assistance) cut out a square of paper. In her first borrowed library book, Countdown the Cinderella’s Ball, there is a line, “Ten Fingers Touch,” and when Bryan read it to her they touched fingers, which set a precedent for the readings that followed. Every time we read that page, she extends out her elegantly tiny fingers and brushes them with mine.
I love to watch Charlie’s mind work. He sees shapes in places I don’t think to look, creating the lessons I feel like I should be providing. Then I think, “Maybe I taught him that,” and then I realize that I didn’t, but yet somehow he can identify an octagon even when it is not a stop sign. His sense of direction already surpasses mine (which I know is not that hard) but his unprompted narration of familiar routes cracks me up. Our drive from our house to the Gym is landmarked with his backseat commentary: “Haircut, ouchie. Chuck E Cheese. Get Gas. Need Money. The Gym!” I also love the feel of his weight in my lap. If he finds me, or anyone really, seated on the floor with crossed legs, he grabs a book and settles down right in the nook. Much like Bryan, he loves to tease Nori and me, far past the point of funny and right into nudgie. Yet I marvel at his already determined sense of humor.
“I do not doubt God is good, well meaning and kind.” Countee Cullen asks about the things that do not seem to make sense in this world in “Yet Do I Marvel.” So much does not make any sense, but yet there is so much to marvel.

September Morn

Longstreet Farm September 2010

Besides the birth of our new cousin, our end of summer has been filled with events. We had our well visit and we are doing very well. Charlie weighs in at 23.4 lbs and 35 inches. A tall drink of water. Nori is 22.8 lbs and 33 ¼ inches tall. A petite powerhouse. We may be small in stature but we are big on personality. Charlie continues to be a lover of all motor vehicles. We went to a fundraiser this month called “Touch a Truck.” Needless to say, he was in heaven. He got to explore a fire engine, police car, construction equipment, a phone company van and an ambulance. Normally Charlie is the first one to want to go home, but on this day, he cried the whole way home. He is also an expert at direction and is the first to notice if I am taking a different way to a frequented location. He knows that Cinderella is painted on a store we always pass on the way home from the gym and will ask why we are not going home if I don’t go down that street. He knows that the Barnes and Noble has a train table and wimpers when we pass it (barely visible from the road) about his beloved trains. He began talking about “firetrucks” when we pulled into the parking lot of the doctor’s office. I had no idea what he was talking about until we entered Dr. Tavil’s waiting room, which, sure enough, had these two huge fire trucks that were in fact there at our last visit. Three months prior. He is still a little wobbly on his feet, but what he lacks in physical prowess he makes up for with intense concentration and critical thinking. I would love to be inside his head so I could see things as he figures them out.
Nori, I realize, is the daughter I have always dreamed of. When I would daydream about what my children might be like a picture of a determined, almost bossy, affectionate and show off kept popping into my head. I couldn’t get rid of it. And here she is, in the flesh. It is almost as if I willed her into being. But for as strong as she is, she cannot help but to fall for Bryan’s reverse psychology. If she does not want to do something, all Bry has to do is say he is going to do/use/eat whatever it is we want her to do/use eat. For example:
“Nori, time to change your diaper.”
“No Daddy.”
“Okay, then I am going to wear your diaper.”
“No, no, no, no! My diaper.”
And poof, her diaper is changed. It also works with her pre-potty training. Every time she uses the toilet she gets two M&M’s. If she goes in her diaper, Bryan eats her two M&M’s. I swear she goes on the potty just so he can’t have the candy.
So we continue to work on potty training and other skills I think may be missing out in day care or pre-pre-school while we run around town to zoos, farms, play dates and music class. Seriously, we don’t have time for pre-pre-school. We are having way too much fun.

Don't Put Another Dime in Jukebox

http://jerseymomsblog.com/author/amygils/

A title explanation...
Literally translated, Jai Ho means “victory is mine.” I felt like the song title (from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack) fit the article about Cassidy’s birth because of its sentiment but also because it happened to be playing when she was born. However, Cassidy’s entrance song could easily have been something else. Something hilariously worse.

I learned of Eric's eclectic musical taste quite by accident. Years ago, I borrowed Eric’s car to run an errand when he was blocking me in the driveway. At the time he was driving a Jetta so I thought I was pretty cute driving up River Road to pick up sandwiches to fuel us during one of our many home projects. The radio was on and I just let whatever was in the CD player play out. It was Linkin Park; so again, I thought I was pretty cool as the roughness of the music took up the space between me and the wind rushing in from the sun roof. The next song in line, however, changed the atmosphere. Enya came sailing away through the speakers. Enya? I located the track forward button to escape this new age noise only to come to Barbie Girl. Wow. I almost steered off the road trying to change it.
I gingerly broached the subject with Amanda who only cautioned me to never listen to one of Eric’s mixes again because the selection could get much worse. Perhaps a year later, on a flight from Newark to Aruba, Amanda, Eric and I were playing “Guess who’s IPod.” It is a simple game where you close your eyes and one of the other players selects a song from another player’s IPod and holds it up to your ears and you have to guess the owner of the playlist. After my jaunt in the Jetta, and knowing my sister’s very specific music tastes, I knew I was listening to Eric’s right away when Kid Rock was followed by Hakuna Matata. Country rock followed by The Lion King. Classic Eric.

So the day of Cassidy’s birth, Eric’s schizophrenic jukebox in his head was flying free and he would intermittently share a line or two of his favorite new tune, “Baby I like it” by Enrique Iglesias. (This is also the ring tone on his phone whenever Amanda calls him.) With every burst of song I could see Amanda get a little edgier. While Eric’s multifaceted music tastes are loved and appreciated by all, there may be moments when such medleys are not treasured.

However, when the doctor came in and let us know we were just about ready, Amanda asked for a little music. Eric eagerly responded with, “I got it babe,” only to have Amanda gasp back, “No, no, not your IPod. Get mine!” Even in the midst of labor Amanda knew that it was possible for her daughter to come into the world to the cast of Glee singing Don’t Stop Believing if Eric’s IPod was in use. She could not let that happen. So, in between contractions, she grabbed her IPod and scrolled for her “maternity” play list and hit play.
As if on cue, Cassidy appeared as the Bollywood Ballad bounced in the background. It was followed by When you Say Nothing at All, Eric and Amanda’s wedding song. Welcome baby girl!

Ride Away

Nori rode a bike yesterday. After a whole summer of scooting around, she put her feet on the peddles and pumped back, than forth, then backwards a few more rotations, then pushed forward.

Don't Spare Me the Details

Last week we had another early intervention assessment with one more to go. It will be a great load off our backs, emotionally and financially, to put these appointments behind us. We are looking good. During our evals, the therapists, coordinators and doctors run through a list of age appropriate milestones and check off yes or no according to our responses. They casually observe the kids, in case our perspective is skewed I suppose, and continue to make notes during our appointment. As each fairly simple yes or no question is presented, I have to hold back the details that I feel are more important than the answer.

Do the pretend play? Yes, but what you really need to know is that Charlie makes the cutest noise when he feeds his Mack truck breakfast. That he chooses cars and talks about how they are “friends.” That Nori’s pretend play revolves around a script that is based on real events that happened the day before. That she slings her tiny purse over her tiny shoulder and says “I’ll be right back,” as she pushes her baby stroller to the door.

About how many words do they have? Both of them can repeat back any word given to them. Can they identify and name everyday objects, like cup or toothbrush? Sure, and we can add front loader, back hoe, crossing guard and all the characters from the movie Cars for Charlie. For Nori we can add stethoscope, cantaloupe, and “kelele,” which is the Swahili word for “noise.”

Do they speak in two word sentences? Let’s see..My favorite for Nori would be,” Mommy I need you right now.” So not only does she speak in full sentences but she also has a sense of time, and realizes that when I say “one minute,” I might mean “not ever.” Charlie’s would be, “Want to stay in my cribby.” He loves to lounge in there long after he wakes up. His sense of time is a lot less urgent.

Is there no milestone for musician recognition? Can’t we mark down somewhere that they can both identify a Lady Gaga song from the first few notes? I would like to add for the record that they both have penned their own songs. Charlie’s is called, “Mamma car, Daddy big Truck,” and is most often only sung with an echoing microphone. Nori’s is called,” You and me,” and she holds my face or Charlie’s hand when she sings it.

So much gets lost without the details.

If I Get it All Down on Paper

Some friends of mine that I met through the mommy world have created a blog called Jersey Moms Blog (jerseymomsblog.com). They have graciously allowed me to write for them so I will have an article posted twice a month. The other girls who write for the blog are much more talented than me so it is worth a read :) Also, anything I post with them cannot be posted here. Therefore, this blog will be more scrapbook and the posts on Jersey Moms Blog will be a little more insightful. I am not really sure when and how I am going to fit all this writing in but I like the pressure of a deadline because it keeps me working on something other than emptying the diaper genie.

Back Here At Home There's Nothin To Do

Back from our 2nd family vacation. We spent a week in Sea Isle with Bry's side of the family. It was a really great vacation. That sentence sounds so trite but it really was a great actual vacation. We went to the beach just about everyday, I read a whole book (something I have not done in a space of three days in quite some time), Bryan and I went out for dinner, twice. We took the kids to the Ocean City Boardwalk, the Cape May Zoo, and on the Sea Isle Trolley. We had our first fudgie wudgie man moment. We even got to spend some time with my friend Sandy and her kids who happened to be up from Florida and vacationing nearby. I realize as I write this that it sounds as busy and full as a normal week, but that's the way I like to vacation. I have never been very good at sitting still and most of the time the kids roll with me in that kinetic state. In fact after I finished my book on Thursday I started to get a little antsy. Bry urged me to just chill out, but really, when have I ever done that willingly.

Evil Genius

We were at the park yesterday afternoon and Nori was chattering away, as she does, asking questions, ("Why is Charlie doing that mommy?") and making declarations ("I want to wear my hat"). A woman overheard our exchange and asked, in that I just had to ask tone, "How old is she?" I replied, "Two, almost two and a half." The woman half nodded with relief and replied,"Oh she is so tiny. I thought she was younger." I laughed and jokingly said, "Yes, she probably looks like a little genius." To which she replied, "Well my daughter was talking at 9 months so that's what made me ask.." At which point the conversation was over but continued in my head.
"9 months, really? Wow that must have been really annoying. Did you just come from tennis lessons or do you always wear a short white skirt to the park to read Style magazine from the shady bench? Sorry to run, but I have to go now and chase after my son who is kissing the bronze statue of the little boy to whom this park is dedicated and stop my genius daughter from eating the mulch."

Hopefully my face was not gesticulating wildly during my inner dialogue. I wonder now about her motives in striking up the conversation. I guess it was not really a conversation at all, but really a fact finding mission, or a competition for which I forgot to pay the entrance fee. She didn't seem to be looking for a doubles partner. Maybe she was between fads in her magazine.

Sand in Your Eyes

Our first beach day of the season. By day I mean the morning since as the nap nazi I had to have them in the car and on their way home by 12:00 so they could be in their cribs by 1:00. Overall a great morning but I did lose one of Charlie’s shoes somewhere between pushing the stroller up a hill of sand and d-sanding two two-year olds in the back of the car. I am still considering it a win since it was only one shoe.

I met two moms from the neighborhood there. All of our children are in their two’s. At this point they play together without much intervention from the moms, giving us the opportunity to talk. So what so we talk about? The kids. I guess it is the same with any work colleague-you discuss the job and as you get to know one another better you decide who will be more than a colleague. Two years in and I am still finding my place in the motherhood community. It took me at least six years to feel like a natural at teaching so I guess I have some time left to get the hang of this job and the politics that go with it. Ironically, by the six-year mark I should get a paying job, putting me into a whole new demographic.

As a teacher I liked getting observed and evaluated. I liked feedback and constructive criticism. It was a way for me to check in and improve. The evals at this job are a little less concrete and not often constructive.

However, every now and then I get a “Yay mommy.” And that, by far, is the best evaluation I have ever gotten.

Let Love Rule

Our usual routine when crossing a parking lot out to the car involves carrying Charlie and taking Nori by the hand. Nori could walk before Charlie, and now she is less likely to break free and run than he is. Once in a while, I here a request from down below. “Pick me up mommy.” So I assure myself that I look like a bad ass, rather than an over taxed mother of twins, and carry a child in each arm. A few days ago I honored the request, and as I juggled Nori into the bend of my elbow, she laid her head on my shoulder and said, “I love you.” Rather than reciprocating her declaration I paused in step and speech and questioned her motives. Does she love me because I just got her a cookie from the bakery even though we will eat dinner in 15 minutes? Is it because I am not strict enough and I give in to her every whim? Does she even know what she is saying? Am I teaching her what love is? Correctly?


Loving correctly. Now that’s how I know I am dangerously close to parenting pedantry. Today, I am just going to bask in the love and leave the analysis to the experts.

What It Feels Like For a Girl

My daughter Nori has this little story book called The Little Mommy. It’s a Golden Book with an original publication date of 1950 but is somehow still in circulation. Nori loves it and has me read it at least twice before she goes to sleep. My favorite line is “Billy is daddy and works in the city. He has a shiny new car isn’t it pretty.” And there’s little Billy driving away in his blue convertible while The Little Mommy- a little nameless girl-is left behind on the lawn with her three babies. At first I laughed at this antiquated little mommy thinking, “Gosh so much has changed.” But has it really? I may not be running my laundry through a ringer but the job seems to command little respect and maybe even a little less self respect.
Nori, Charlie and I live in the happy world of the stay at home moms. Color, creed, or commerce, we all seem to stand on common ground. We have all chosen to forfeit our careers to stay home, at least for now, with our kids. We all acknowledge that the job is harder than the one we used to have, but we have been able to choose this job and therefore we feel lucky. Although we are meeting each other for the first time as moms, we appreciate one another for the women we once were and for the women we are now. We are not our mother’s stay at home moms. We have modern conveniences and “hands on Dad” husbands. We coordinate play dates through email and have an endless of stream of resources to entertain our children. But outside of Gymboree and play group, our role in the outside world is that of “Little Mommy.”
Our front porch was in need of repair. A 100 year old house seems to always need something and this month it was the porch. Its peeling paint needed to be sanded and repainted, a job that seemed easy enough but one we would leave to the professionals. Bryan called a handful of guys (they are all guys) and collected a mish mosh of quotes. We went with the guy that I met with because I had a good feeling about him. He was on the higher end of the quote scale but we have gone with the cheapest guy before and thought maybe you get what you pay for. Long story short, maybe you don’t. Porch painter and his buddy showed up on a day that Bryan was away. They got to work and were done by the end of the day. I thought it was quick but what do I know about painting. The truth is, a lot, and I knew it was not a good job and I paid them anyway. Maybe you get what you let them think you will take.
How the hell did that happen? I have master’s degree from Columbia damn it-I should know what a crappy paint job looks like and I should be able to put a sentence together that expresses my dissatisfaction. Instead, I wrote a check from my husband’s account, smiled, said thank you, and made my way over to our email scheduled play-date in the park.
I have never been the bread winner of the dynamic duo of my marriage. I have been accused and revered as being “too nice.” Indecisive is a word I would use to describe me. Motherhood has diminished me to a paint plashed doormat. I have confidence in my mothering skills but at the sacrifice of other skills. I let these two guys treat me like “little Billy’s wife.” Let me go wash the clothes and make dinner. Let’s leave the decision making and criticism to someone else. My mommy duties have rendered my incapable of these things so let me go change some diapers.

So my porch looks better than it did, but not as good as what we paid for it. My self esteem doesn’t look so good either. The worst part, however, is that I have a daughter and I just showed
her how to be a “Little Mommy.”