Making Sense with a Small One

Middle Child is gone this week. She left this morning, at 6am, headed for Kentucky, to spend the week working with Appalachian Service Project. I am immensely proud of her for this, despite the fact that it meant I had to spend a bunch of money I didn't have on things like work jeans and safety goggles, and I also had to get up at 5am today. "5 in the morning" is a misrepresentation, in my opinion- it should be called "5 in the middle of the night". That being said, I've spent my life studiously avoiding any awareness of that time of day, only occasionally bumping into it from the midnight side. It is proof of my devotion and pride that I roused my carcass at that time today to drive her somewhere, rather than simply kicking my husband until he got up and did it.

In any event, because she's going to be gone for an entire week, I thought I should address the subject with Small One. Small One is crazy about her big sister, and asks me incessantly where she is if she even leaves for a few hours, so I thought maybe I could do some preemptive question answering and save myself some "but where IS she?" time this week. Here's how it went:

Me: Hey, did you know that your sister went on a trip this morning?

Small: She went away? Where did she went away?

Me: Well, she went on a trip with a bunch of other people...

Small: (interrupting) A bunch of people? What's their names?

Me: They have a bunch of different names, but they're from our church.

Small: Where they going?

Me: They're going to Kentucky, to do some work.

Small: They going to work on a ducky?

Me: No, they went to a place called Kentucky.

Small: Kenducky?

Me: Sure. And they're working on houses for people.

Small: They work on the people's houses?

Me: Yes, they work on people's houses to make them safe and warm.

Small: Because the people are sad?

Me: Er... sometimes, sure. But your sister is going to help work on the houses to make them safe and warm. Isn't that nice?

Small: Are they sad because they miss their mommies?

Me: Maybe, but your sister is going to help them with their houses...

Small: And they miss their daddies?

Me: I don't know, sweetie, but isn't it nice of your sister to...

Small: What's their daddies' names?


Yeah, I don't think that went particularly well. Safe travels, Middle Child! I'll be here answering nonsensical questions all week.

The Glorious 4th

Ahh, the 4th of July! Parades! Fireworks! Meat on the grill! (Or in the case of the Man, non-meat on the grill. This year we're doing a portabello with provolone.)

It's a funny kind of holiday for me, in many ways. I'm very sentimental about America, and our freedoms, and actually have been since I spent some time in Yugoslavia as a teenager. But the holiday itself is rather a non-event, particularly this year.

My family is all over the country. My sister is a violinist with the Nashville Symphony, and plays a concert every year that is typically televised nationally, but on cable, so we never see it. We used to go to Florida and see my mom sometimes on the 4th, but it's such a brief holiday, it's rather inconvenient to drive twelve hours in one weekend. My husband's family has a mountain house that we sometimes visit, and that's pleasant, but only available if my in-laws are in town. Oldest is at an age that involves a pretty active social life- I'm growing increasingly wistful about how little I see him, and his day will include many activities, but few that will involve us. Middle Child is preparing for a church trip to Appalachia, and will be leaving at 6am on Sunday, so her mind is elsewhere.

Today, we'll have a cookout with the Man's brother and his family, and that will be nice... Small One in particular loves to play with her cousins. Then we'll head to downtown Decatur to watch the parade and fireworks from the lawn of our church, and that'll be nice too. If we're lucky, we'll see my cousin and her family during the Decatur festivities. None of it's terribly exciting, but maybe it's too hot to get all excited, anyway.

The most exciting 4th of July in my memory was in 1997, when my divorce was finalized on the 3rd. I found it extremely apropos to celebrate Independance Day that year, and the fireworks seemed to belong to me, personally.

Nowadays, the most exciting part of the 4th is deciding what Small One wears. I'll admit, she's a clothes horse, though I'm proud to say I never shop retail. My most thrilling hobby is collecting her wardrobe for pennies on the dollar, and it's almost embarrasing to admit, she has 4 outfits from which to choose this year, all equally patriotic.

She could've worn last year's, as she's still a peanut, sizewise. (Though I never realize how much she's changed in the past year until I see the pictures together!):

I got this dress for her to wear to church the day after, but unfortunately, (for her wardrobe, anyway), it's a children's ministry holiday. Oh well, she'll look patriotic another day!

Then there's this one:

But we decided on this, it seemed cookout, parade and fireworks worthy:

I hope all my readers are equally well attired, equally well loved, and have an equally nice Fourth of July, and maybe even an exciting one as well!

I am a rock

The other day when I picked Middle Child up from a social event, she was weepy. "I try to be friendly," she told me, "but it's like everyone is friends with each other, and I'm just someone who is also there."

I was sympathetic, and I tried to make her feel better. But truly, I was sad for her because I have no answer to that situation- I feel like it's where I live.

I have a large circle of acquaintance, and I have a few really good girlfriends, and a large family. When I have a situation in which I need assistance, such as a broken bone or a new baby, these people really come through, and I'm touched by the outpouring of support and care. But every day life? Well, that's sort of a different story.

When I say this mystifies me, I'm really being honest. I hear about lunch dates, dinners, movies, even vacations. Vacations? How do people end up going on vacation together? Sometimes I'm pushy and I say "Let me know next time, I'd love to come too!" and sometimes that works. As I'm typing this, I'm feeling like I'm whining, and I keep thinking that there is one friend with whom I actually do catch the occasional movie, but then as I think further... yeah, the last movie we saw together was over a year ago. I seem to just not have the "knack" for having a social life, despite the fact that I truly want one.

I puzzle over all of this, and I come up with different reasons... maybe it's because our family is a little bit quirky. I mean, our children span 16 years, which makes us busy in ways "regular" families aren't, because of everyone's differing activities and interests. My husband works an unusual job with irregular hours, our extended family is spread across the country, which means we have a tendency to be off one place or another and not be too consistent with things like church attendance. Also, we're not financially well off, so maybe that's a factor? And I work from home and am on the phone a good deal, particularly with extended family...I sometimes am embarrassed to be walking into preschool trying to wrap up a conversation, and maybe I put people off. Or maybe it's that my friends are too scattered across my life- I have church friends, atheist friends, parent friends, single friends, homeschool friends, public school friends, weight watcher's friends, foodie friends...maybe I just span too many groups?

In any event, I often feel like a bit of an island. People seem to find me entertaining, but for some reason I always feel like I'm just a little bit out of the loop. So it comes as no surprise to me that, as a blogger, I'm finding that art imitates life. I read other people's blogs, and it seems like there's this whole "blogging community" out there, and I honestly have no idea how to tap into it!

Now, I do follow some blogs, and I have some followers, but these are people I actually know from other places. And to be fair, I'm already addicted to facebook and entrenched in BabyCenter, so maybe it's a good thing that I haven't found the key to the blogging executive washroom, because at some point I do have to step away from the computer and raise my family. But there are giveaways, and memes, and awards, and all sorts of connections, and even people who seem to be friends because they blog and I truly have no idea how any of that works.

This month, I've signed up for nablopomo, the site that encourages members to blog daily. I did it for two reasons, and the primary reason is that I really want to become a more prolific writer. I want to have an incentive to sit down, every day, and pound out something readable, because if I had my druthers, I'd write for a living. And maybe someday I'll figure out a way to make that happen, but I know in my heart I won't if I don't get into the habit of writing on a more regular basis.

But the other reason is that I'm wondering if maybe by joining some sort of blogging "thing", I'll be able to crack the code. Maybe I'll find out how everyone else seems to be so communal in their blogging, while for me it's a very solitary pursuit.

So, wish me luck on being able to blog for 30 days straight, and wish me luck on finding my place in the blogging world. But in the meantime, seriously, does anyone want to go out for drinks or something?

Birthday Wishing

Small One turns three this September. While I realize this is a long way off, I also like to plan ahead for this particular event, because kids parties can get expensive and I like to bargain hunt for party supplies. (Also, it's fun!)

So, as I was considering it, I asked her opinion, and I have to say, I was a little surprised by the response. First of all, I really thought she'd want a princess party, or, more accurately, a Cinderella party, as she is pretty much obsessed with Cinderella. I mean, when we buy her the Disney Princess graham crackers, she only wants to eat the Cinderellas and glass slippers, she wants to go to sleep listening to "princess music" every night, and I routinely have to pretend to be her fairy godmother and then switch gears and be the prince, at which point she dances with me and sings "So This is Love". And then after our trip to Disney, during which THIS happened...

...well, I figured Cinderella was pretty much a shoo-in as a party theme. But surprisingly, no! She wants Sesame Street. Not just Sesame Street, either, it's actually going to be Elmo all the way, from plates, to stickers, to cupcakes that look like little Elmo heads. Alrighty, then!

But the BEST part of her plan is this: she only wants grown-ups. No friends, and she was actually going to go with "no little children" of any kind, but I got her to make the concession that her cousins can come, as long as they are accompanied by their parents. But that is all she'd budge on, in regards to children at her party.

I was mystified by this, until she explained, "The grown ups will KISS me, and HUG me, and sing 'Happy Birthday' to me, and tell me my DRESS looks pretty..."

Ahhhhh...I see! It IS going to be a princess party after all, I was just dead wrong on the featured princess.

Blueberry Blunder

Typically, I describe myself as sort of an indoor cat... much more at home on a velvet cushion, dipping into a saucer of cream, than out in the natural world. Camping? Not my thing. Hiking? No thanks. Gardening? Don't make me laugh.

But this year, for some reason, I've had an urgent desire to expose my Small One to nature. I enlisted the help of a green-thumbed friend and have been cultivating a sweet little vegetable garden. We've gone to pick strawberries TWICE. I spent almost a week in the mountains, 20 minutes from the nearest shopping center, and while I won't call that mountain house "roughing it", I will point out with considerable pride that I was the one who insisted that walking in the woods be part of our mountain experience. Seriously- I could happily have spent the entire time watching TLC, playing in the hot tub, drinking mojitos, and eating cookies and steaks in the absolutely modern kitchen, but no! I only spent 95% of the time doing those things, and fully 5% walking up and down mountain paths! Maybe even 7%! (Hey, those "Jon & Kate plus 8" and "What Not to Wear" marathons were NOT going to watch themselves, people.)

I digress. Anyway, in my quest to give my girls more natural experiences, I planned a trip to a "u-pick" blueberry farm a couple of weeks ago. I researched it rather thoroughly, picked a website that said blueberry picking was open as of mid-June, and even attempted to call and verify.

Here's what their outgoing message said:

"Hello, you have reached This and Such Farms. We're unable to answer your call at the moment because we're either out in the fields, or perhaps helping another customer. However, your call is VERY important to us. If you'll leave your name, number, approximate time of call, and a message, we'll get back to you just as soon as we possibly can. Crops available at our farm at this time include..." BEEP!

Now, maybe I'm just an impatient big city type, but wouldn't it perhaps be more logical to list what's available before you spend the rest of your time explaining what you might be doing and leaving detailed instructions on how someone might leave a message? I'm just saying. And it should be noted, as well, that I did, in fact, leave a message and my message was a rather urgent request for verification on the whole blueberry picking thing, but I did not receive a return call. Bah!

Yes, you guessed it. I drove two hours, teenager and two-year-old in tow, and arrived at the farm to find that they had no blueberries available for guests to pick. This was a major disappointment, as you can well imagine, but I'm really a "when life gives you lemons" kind of a girl, so I actually wouldn't leave until the nice ladies at the farm gave me some alternative activity that would justify driving that far and to that remote a location.

They did, offering a tour of the farm, and I returned to the minivan putting an entirely different spin on it, in classic "mom as cheerleader" style... "HEY! Guess WHAT, kids?!?!? We don't have to pick blueberries, but we can BUY them, and in the meantime, we get to LOOK at the farm! Whee!"

Luckily, they went for it. It was a pleasant, though not very informative, tour, as it was led by a volunteer who clearly has no idea what the farm accomplishes or why it exists. I did buy some lovely produce. Ironically, this farm brings the exact same produce to a small market 15 minutes from my HOME, but hey! This way we also got to pet some goats and watch a gigantic turkey scare the dickens out of Small One.

(He was rather intimidating, once he put his mind to it!)

While I was buying the produce, (and I shall never admit out loud how much those blueberries cost me, but the were the best blueberries I've ever eaten), the girls went back out to see the animals again, and Middle Child took pictures. Say what you want about dear old Middle Child, she is a very loving big sister, and a pretty good photographer as well.

Happy Birthday, dear MC!

Today, Middle Child turns 15. She planned a giant shindig to mark the occasion, lots of activities and a ton of junk food… sadly, we’re an hour past party time and only 2 of the 15 invited guests have made it. Hopefully that will NOT mean a nervous breakdown later… I’m keeping my hopes up.

Middle Child is Queen of the breakdown. I capitalize Queen, because it really is amazing, her capacity for dramatic meltdown action. She shrieks, she stomps, she says utterly nonsensical things, she cries…

But I digress. My point is, she’s 15 today, and so far, today has been a pretty good day. It’s really hard to believe that these sweet little pumpkins:

Have grown into these lovely young adults:

It’s a reminder to me to relish every moment of Small One’s childhood, to not make the mistake of rushing through the inconvenient parts, to really take the time to hear her and see her, before she ceases to want to spend that time with me.

I hope Middle Child’s birthday is a happy one, whether there are 2 guests or 20, and I’m glad to have her back home.

(Remember to ask me after she goes back to school, whether I’m STILL glad.)

Cherries and Childhood

The last day at the mountain house, we sit on the back porch, the Small One and I, and eat cherries. The sun is low on the mountains, and it’s the time of day when the world seems benevolent and warm. I bite the cherries in half, being careful to take the seed in my half, so I can give her a seedless chunk. She’s impatient for more, but I relish the time, watching the cherry stains spread across her face and fingers.

I suddenly have the thought that this is the way I want parenting to be, but it rarely is- I always want to hand them pieces of life from which I’ve stripped the obstacles and rotten parts, and watch them enjoy themselves. The cherries I bite are sometimes not sweet, and when they’re not I throw them off the deck, so she only gets the choicest pieces. I tell her we’re throwing away the yucky cherries, and she looks at me with her trusting, not quite three year old face, and nods agreement. “We don’t like yucky cherries,” she says, “because they’re not so yummy.”

Looking into the serious eyes above the cherry stains, I have a flash of the years to come. I’m all too familiar with the difficulties ahead, having raised two other children almost to adulthood, and I want to hold her right where she is, while she still trusts me completely and loves me without reservation. I want to sit with her and listen to her say that she loves cherries because they’re red, and red is her favorite color. I want to know her favorite color. I don’t want to fight with her about tattoos and piercing and curfews, I don’t want her to assume I’m setting rules because I hate her, I don’t want to look into her face and see a hostile stranger.

I’m thinking this as she hops off her rocking chair and stubs her toe. She yelps, and I hand her a cherry half. She examines it for a minute, then looks at me and brightens up. “Thank you, Mom,” she says, “that will make me feel better.”

Downtime up in the Hills

Being married to a photographer has its perks, not the least of which is all the beautiful photos that exist of my children. One of the rarer treats, though, is the occasional vacation barter- someone has someplace fabulous they want photographed, and they're willing to let us stay there in exchange for the Man working his magic.

This weekend, this lovely mountain retreat was the scene of such a trade-off:

It was even prettier inside

We invited friends

There was laughter

There were fancy beverages

There were opportunities for the Small One to pose prettily for her Daddy

There was a hot tub, in which Middle Child spent most of the weekend, taking somewhat racy photos with her friend. {sigh}

And there were sunsets! Such sunsets!

And time for exploringA local told me the house was "typical for the area". I have fantasies in which this sort of place is typical in my life.

Domestic Tranquility

In retrospect, it’s all because I washed the area rugs. There’s nothing the Fates hate more than seeing clean area rugs in my home. Of course, having two cats and a dog doesn’t help matters, either.

6:00 am, we are jolted awake by the dog SCREAMING in his kennel. The Man, kindly remembering I’ve been under the weather this week, assures me he’ll handle it, and leaves the sanctuary of our bedroom.

6:37 am, he returns, looking world weary. The dog has pooped in his kennel, and the Man has had to clean kennel, dog, etc. He goes back to bed.

6:45 am, I’m still lying there, debating getting up and hour and 1/2 earlier than necessary, and I decide I’ll get up to use the restroom and then make the decision. I slip on my crocs, step into the hallway, and WHOOSH! Slip in vomit. Good times! Half on the tile, half on the rug, and now, some on my shoe. I sit in the bathroom, cleaning my shoes (and thanking God that I always slip on crocs in the morning), before going back out to clean the floor and take the rug to the laundry room.

7am, I’m back in bed, and by 7:10, I’m unconscious. So is the man, and I guess we didn’t hear Small One on the monitor until the alarm went off.

7:40am, the alarm goes off, and the Man leaves the room.

7:50am, I hear a ruckus in the bathroom, and go to investigate. Small One is sitting on the toilet, whining that she doesn’t WANT to be on the potty any more. The Man is on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the area rug with a Clorox wipe. “I didn’t realize,” he says, “that she already had some poop in her Pull-Up when I picked her up. I guess I didn’t hear her calling us until I got up, and by then it was too late.”

I survey the situation. Apparently, extricating a 2 year old from a somewhat messy Pull-Up AND footy pajamas has proved too complicated a task for the Man. There is poop on the rug, on the cabinet, on the floor, and on the child’s feet. In addition, she’s continued her process on the toilet, and needs attention. I tell the Man to go get ready for work, I’ll handle it.

8am, I’m washing Small One’s hands in a clean bathroom, and thinking about the old military commercial and how I’ve cleaned more bodily substances before 8am than most people do all day, when I hear a yelp from the other end of the house.

”Ugh!” yells the Man, “Someone has stomach issues!”

”Vomit?” I ask, almost hopefully.

”Nope,” he answers, “wrong end. But it’s not solid. What should I do with the area rug?”

”THROW IT AWAY!!!” I call back. (Because…seriously.)

A little while later, in the kitchen, we’re pouring our coffee, when the Man remarks, “We lead a charmed life, don’t we?”

”Oh, what a beautiful moooooorrrrrniiing!” I sing, in reply. “Actually, I guess you and I just didn’t get the memo that it’s ’cover the house in disgusting substances’ day. Before you leave for work, can you please pee in the living room? I’ll wipe my nose on the drapes.”

He laughs, then says “I bought a plastic water bottle, but it leaks.”

I’ve moved into the laundry room by this time, so I respond with “Sorry, honey. I did a run of darks last night, but they’re still not dry.”

”We’re fascinating people,” the Man says, “and we tell good stories. It’s a wonder no one wants to do a reality show about our lives.”

Do you think these are the sorts of conversations Brad and Angelina have?

My day

Actual snippet from my day today: I’m sitting at the table with Small One, who is eating oatmeal, which she calls “olameal”. She picks up her sister’s ring and asks, “What’s this?”

”It’s your sister’s ring,” I say, “put it back down.”

She drops it into her oatmeal.

”No!” I say, “Don’t drop it in your oatmeal!”

”Please?!? Please can I drop it in my olameal?”

”No!”

”Why I can’t drop it in my olameal?” (crying)

”Because it’s yucky!” I say, retrieving it to go rinse it off.

Behind me, I hear a small and sulky voice. “I need MORE olameal.”

(Which is clearly true- that bowl somehow got RING all over it.)