Mine! No!

We are taking massive strides backwards with the pacifier. I haven't been able to admit to my defeat until now- but I am defeated. I lost. S will be packing the pacifier when she heads off to college, I'm sure of it. She used to call it 'that' which I image she got from me saying "you don't need that" multiple times a day. Now she calls it something that sounds a lot like 'daddy'. Maybe she is calling it daddy, but I find that perplexing and slightly disturbing- so for now I'll tell myself that she may be saying 'paci' which is what I call it when I'm not calling it 'that'. I will also remind myself that we're in the indecipherable land of new speakers. For example 'kin-kee' might mean stinky, as in need a diaper change, or thirsty. Or Monkey.

I love this part of learning to talk- where you feel like a master of rare languages because you know that "doh! myne kon kee, Mommy!" means "Lets go! That's my monkey, Mommy!" Sentences like this that don't make sense actually do make sense in this rare new language. Trust me, I'm a master. If one touches anything that belongs to S, or anything that she even likes, the word MINE appears. Just like that.

Inevitably you learn things about your own speech patterns during this rare language stage as you have implanted many of these statements. When H was learning to talk, I learned I say HEY! All the time. It has recently been brought to my attention by a small mimic I live with, that I say "let's go!" all the time. To the dogs. To the girls. And now its said to me. All. The. Time. Theres also the stern dog training 'No!' Both girls with that one. H says it to S all the time. She's mastered it. S does the dog training no, too- and I do take blame for that one- but S has a "NNNeeewwwO" all her own.

Anyway- back to That Daddy Paci. I can't get rid of it. The problem is that even when she has it, S still screams and tantrums. So why bother? Because its a thousand times worse and we don't stand a chance with out That Daddy Paci. I tried, again this morning to limit its use- but we had to get out the door to get H to school, and I failed to be consistent with my stupid paci rules. We had already had repetitive tantrums. I was already on an inconsistency jag after letting H wear shoes to school that are a size too big. I told her she couldn't at first, and then recanted. She is not quiet victor, either. "I love it when you say I can do things, Mommy. I love it when I can wear my shoes even if they're too big." Ugh. I swear I stick to my guns most of the time.

S added something new to her tantrum repertoire today. Yelling "OW OWWW OW!!! NOOO NO!!" So that it seems to the casual observer that I am actually hurting my child instead of just wanting to. And foot stamping, that's new too. She a one kid tantrum machine. I should hook her up to a drum set, but a harmonica in her mouth and train the dogs to pass a hat. Gotta earn those pacifiers.

crash bang

My worlds are colliding. I registered for a critique (and conversation!) with a curator who I've been wanting to meet for some time. Turns out the date for this thing is on S's birthday. Where does this crazy guilt come from? I feel like I'm worshiping at the alter of my children sometimes. I can honestly say that the two most (equally!) important days of my life was when H and S were born. I am so very very thankful, but its a day. I have always been like this about birthdays- I don't know why. I know, as J says that S will be 2, and have no idea that I'm not there- its for 2 hours in the evening, she'll likely be going to bed, its a Wednesday so we won't be having a party that day- but I can't shake the feeling that I should be mediating on the birth of my child all day. Is that crazy? Yes.

More guilt. We're skipping H from school today to go to visit her grandmother. I'm sure this is not the way to instill the school values I expect, but so be it.

Whatever, all around. I'm done. I've guilted myself out. But it regenerates at the speed of light.

I have no idea who I am anymore.

What is wrong with me that I want to cancel my daughters birthday? She will be 5, and I have my head so far up my ass of anxiety about planning this party coupled with disgust for money spent and expectations of 5 year old birthday parties. Whats with all the THEMES? Where the hell was the forethought for a summer birthday? We could just do this shit outside like you are supposed to. Why can't I control the god damned weather and demand a not snowy day in the middle of march? Shit, well now it will definitely snow.

I can't stand all the preciousness that accompanies these birthday parties- seriously it makes my head want to spin around. I feel like such a mark even looking into this. In my mind it is somehow up there with having your butler serve your white fluffy cat from its own crystal dish at your mahogany table. Good taste is easy to recognize.

J is so much more sane than I am. The proof is that I'm putting that in writing. I settled in on having the party at the Y. But they weren't available. So I called him, so annoying, I am. gasping for air. WHAT.ARE.WE.GOING.TO.DO. Tell me now. He found a bunch of places and emailed them to me. I glanced at them and called him back.
me "These will never work"
J "Did you look at them"
me "No, I just know. Why does she have to HAVE a birthday?"
J "I'll talk to you later"
Me, to the dogs, "can you even BELIEVE him? He practically hung up on me!"
He's got his, don't get me wrong. But today I'm not sure how he deals with me.

So all that and I join the ranks of the stupid fluffy parent with the precious precocious annoying birthday planning booking a month in advance. Oh what EVER.

We're trying to book Bounce Town. Which is just what it sounds like. A town of bouncing. We are BOOKING a VENUE for our 5 year old. But we have to wait for CONFIRMATION. Good lord what have I BECOME? butitsactuallynotasexpensiveasithoughtsoitsokright?

When I say WE I really mean J. I found the venue, and signed off on it, as it were, but its J who is doing the phone leg work, because I am too uptight to discuss a five year olds party on the phone with another person.

Soon I will think about the real preciousness of this day- I can't believe my baby will be 5.
But right now I can't believe we're booking her a venue.

Pre Valentines

I used to stay up late to do work. Or to hang out with friends. Tonight I stayed up late baking heart shaped cookies, after H asked if I had made a valentine for the whole family, with that sideays raised eyebrow look that says "I made a valentines for the whole family. Just sayin." This morning as we were going to school, H sighed and said "Mom. Its valentines day tomorrow and we haven't even decorated." When did Valentines day become a major holiday? I was shamed enough to go out to the dollar store to try and find some kind of valentine decor- but they were all sold out. Just an empty aisle where the hearts used to be. Don't worry, I did find glitter hearts at CVS for cheap, on clearance the day before valentines day, as everyone else in this part of town has already been decorated for a few weeks.

Where I live, you must decorate. People go all out for the usual Christmas and Halloween stuff, but Valentines day, Easter, and Saint Patricks day too. You must also decorate in the interum between Halloween and Christmas- unscary fall decor. (I draw the line at Saint Patricks day. I don't do Easter either. Or at least I haven't yet.) H is probably right that I was violating some local code by not having my glitter hearts up in a timely fashion. But, they're up, sparkling away. Maybe you'll get me next time, grim reaper of porch decor.

I took H to school, valentines day party, all the other kids were dressed in all red. She told me a few days ago that she couldn't wait until the valentines day party because she was going to wear all red and pink- but what she wore today was red pants with tulips on them, a long sleeved purple shirt with a black short sleeved shirt that had a rhinestone heart on it on top. And an orange sock and a turquoise sock. She seems to not feel the need to follow the crowd, which makes me want to cry tears of joy, but every now and then I wonder. She will never hear from my mouth "... everyone else is.." but every so often I wonder if I'm the problem here. Yesterday at gym class the teacher looked at H and said "what did you have today?... crazy day?" and then caught herself as soon as she said it. "No", I said , "she just dresses that way." She's been in this class for 2 years now? But in the gym teachers defense, she did have a lot of different patterns going on. Many of the moms jumped to my/her defense though- assuring me that they thought "she always looks cute." I really did appreciate hearing that.

H got her first real valentine today from a friend of hers at school. And gym class. If my camera worked I would post a picture- some how "H, I love you. Love, Matt D" in four year old scrawl brings tears to my eyes every time I read it. Which is not all that often. I am not some wacko reading and re-reading my four year olds valentines.

I want her to love who she is, to have the confidence to express herself. It is sometimes hard to live by example of that. I wonder where it will go. Will she one day rebel and only wear beige?

Normal/abnormal

Sometimes I say that there are things that happened when I was growing up that I took as normal everyday occurrences. Not until much later in life that do I realize, hey, maybe that.. wasn't.... so... normal. I am often unable to provide an example of one of these things, but today while doing H's hair, I remembered a good one.

When we lived in Mexico, my mom had a friend. (I am resisting the urge to write "friend". Friend, boyfriend, I don't really know- he was at the house all the time and they hung out a lot for many years. We'll leave it at that.) The friend was a vet student in the beginning of their relationship, and a vet at the end of it. We had a ton of animals in the house. You can see where this is going.

So, one day, I was 15ish, I was on the way into the kitchen to get a drink, only to be diverted my my mom and her friend who were neutering my cat on the dining room table. Our kitchen had 2 entrances, I was advised to go around. Not through the dining area/operating room. Come to think of it, we ate dinner there not so long afterwards. There was a stainless steel operating table in the tv room. Why didn't they use that? (I forgot about the operating table until just now. Its all coming back. Yikes.)

A little while later, I went towards the kitchen again to get something else, my mother came running out of the dinning area holding cat testicles cupped in her hand. I think she was on her way to bring them up to my room to show me. I still have no idea why she was so excited to be holding cat testes, or why she was so eager to show them to me. And this is just the kind of thing she'd deny ever happening. But it is etched in my memory. The image in my memory looks remarkably like this:



For some time now, whenever I do H's hair using this particular apparatus, I think "cat testes". This morning I said to myself, hey wait a minute.. maybe its not.... so... normal.. to think "cat testes" this frequently while making pony tails.

Thats my normal abnormal tale for the day. Believe it or not, none of this struck me the least bit odd at the time.

(Excuse the crappy photo! My camera refused to participate in hair elastic/cat testes, and broke when I tried to take this picture. I had to use my phone, which apparently isn't as particular about subject matter.)

The frogs

Earlier this week I broke up with the cleaning service.

Yes, I had a cleaning service.

Thats what it takes to get my house clean. Someone else. I hired a cleaning service all the way back when I was pregnant with S. I was working on a show, keeping H busy and was tired and crazy from being pregnant- something had to give, and it was cleaning the house. (and the timely paying of bills, but thats another story) I have never been a very good house cleaner, and probably have a different definition of 'clean' than most people. I was embarrassed at first to let anyone who cleans for a living see my filthy pit of despair, and then there was the issue of the dogs, and the kids, and the fact that I'm home all day, and then the whole 'since I'm home all day' isn't house work part of the gig? Had I not been pregnant, I probably wouldn't have ever called the cleaners, but being pregnant can be a great enabler.

The cleaning service is called Dos Funny Frogs- which is funny in itself, but provides a nice cover. Its nice to be able to refer to your cleaning service as the frogs in areas where you might not want to advertise that you have a cleaning service. Plus it feels better, more mythical, to me to say "are the frogs coming today? that it does to say "are the cleaners coming today?" I have guilt about the frogs, obviously.

I'm not sure about the message having a cleaning service sends to the kids. One of their favorite games in the tub is to play 'cleaners' and wash the walls with their wash cloths. I have neat freak children, and they love it more than I do when the frogs come. They usually come while H is at school, she'll walk in the door like shes entering wonderland, and gasp, "Mommy! Its so clean!" This is a kid who cleans her room for fun. I was telling this story to a friend who said "wait a minute, aren't YOU supposed to be the one who gives THEM a cleaning complex?" Yes, that is the order of the universe- but we do things a little differently over here. My kids make me feel like a slob. Whats up with that?

The lead frog, Alex, went to medical school in Cuba. I know this because he was giving me advice when I was pregnant with S, and afraid I would go into labor while they were here. He delivered his nephew, he told me- and then suggested some exercises I could do to prepare my uterus. It wasn't until he said "You give her de bress? De bress is bess, for as long as you can.." that I slowly backed out the door. Now, I suppose one could be relieved that they have a cleaning service guy who can not only rid the house of its filth but also deliver a baby- but discussing ones uterus and breasts in the form of small talk is a little weird.

Also, part of the frog team is Alex's 80 something year old mother who raised 7 kids and who, I'm willing to bet, didn't have a cleaning service. More guilt.

I have been saying I am going to quit the frogs for some time now. I had only intended to keep them on until S was born. That was almost 2 years ago. So, finally, with applications to private school, with looking into our finances up close and personally, with me feeling helpless about not contributing income to this family- I thought- this is something I can do- I can quit the frogs.

My heart was heavy after I sent the email saying I had to stop the service. Not because my house will go to hell, which it will, but becasue I actually do really like the cleaning service people. I have gotten used to seeing them over the years, and will miss them. There is also a possibility that this is adversion to change gone way way out of control.

I received this email from the frogs in return:

Please allow me to provide you with a final free cleaning. We will miss you, your family and your home. If budget is an issue let us know and I am sure we can work something out. Everyone is having hard times, but to my loyal customers I am willing to go down in price.
Have a nice day!

J practially had to shake me to make me stay true to my original intent and not be lured back into the comfort of someone else cleaning the house, and then he did his best to force all feelings of guilt and responsibility from me. No small task, that. I took a ridiculously long time and a lot of anxiety coming up with this response:

I really appreciate your offer- but I already feel you do such a great service for your cost, I am not comfortable asking you to go down in price. Its true that everyone is having hard times- we also have a lot of new expenses coming up and need to take this time to regroup our finances- so, for now at least, we need to stop the service.
I appreciate the offer of a free final cleaning, and welcome it if you are still able to, if not I understand.

This morning I recieved this final email:

We want you to know my crew and I will be stopping by around mid day to provide you with a final free cleaning. We love you and your family and we will miss you a lot. You were one of our very first customers.

Come on! They love me? I can't take it. I was never good at breakups. I was so sad this morning! J made a collosal amount of fun of me. He said," Are you going to bake them a cake? Are you going to take pictures of them with the kids?" When I told him that just because he doesn't have a heart he shouldn't make fun of mine- he patted his chest and said "tin man."

I wrote back to the frogs and said I'd try to be home when they were here- although- why? Then I actually wrote them a card saying how great they are. It turned out I wasn't here when they were- it is unseasonable warm today and I took the girls to the park after school. I don't know what I would have said if I saw them, and I don't need to be crying over the cleaners. My house looks great for probably the last time. I'm imagining them sitting back, fingers laced behind their heads, feet on their desks... saying to themselves..."she'll be back. She can't handle her house."

Anyway- Dos Funny Frogs. They are great, and nice. They clean really well. They can deliver your baby. They're the cleaning service that loves you back. If you're in this area, give them a call. Tell them I sent you. Help me chip away at my guilt.

Dogs, dogs, dogs

Should be going to bed, but can't wait until tomorrow to see who's best in show. Yes, Westminster, yes I'm a dog geek. I like the Scottish deer hound, but I'm betting on the schnauzer. J has gone to bed in disgust, exhausted from rolling his eyes at my oohing and ahhing over all the dogs. He did last for a while, though- and did his best to seem interested.

One of my favorite yearly occurrences is watching Westminster, and calling my mom when the lab comes on and then critiquing. Then doing it again for the viszla.
"She had a cute body, but I didn't like her face" about the viszla
"I liked him, he was so barrel chested!" about the lab.

Then, since nothing is safe from the kindergarten infiltration of my every waking moment, I read the cover letter that accompanies my tax forms to be submitted tomorrow, thus ending my part of the financial aid process. (I've done my part, I have no money. Now you do yours and give it to me.) I am tangled in forms and form letters to the point where I have no idea what I'm saying anymore. Mom! Help!

Oh I forgot about the brussels griffon. He might get it.

Back to financial aid- my mother did her motherly duty and told me I wrote the perfect letter how could I even have possibly said any of what I was saying better than I did? I don't care that shes my mom and bound contractually to say nice things, I'll take it. And by the way shes a teacher, so she'll at least call me on the sloppy grammar and run on sentences I'm so fond of. Unfortunately she can't spell check me over the phone.

Wait, there they go with the ribbon... the suspense.....

The sussex!!! Wow. Well, good for him. He's cute.

Now I need to wake my dogs up and go to bed.