James had a meltdown in the van tonight. Why? I told him we live in the city of Fort Thomas.
“NO, Mommy! Thomas is a SHOW! It’s NOT a city!”
When I tried to tell him otherwise, he just screamed louder.
This lasted for 20 minutes. (And he still doesn’t believe me.)
“Parenthood remains the greatest single preserve of the amateur.” —Alvin Toffler
tops are covered in toys confiscated for various infractions, right?
Also, lately, this:
“I thought, how can it be that two strangers are exchanging such intimate things? Well, most women are full to the brim, that’s all. That’s what I think. I think we are most of us ready to explode, especially when our children are small and we are so weary with the demands for love and attention and the kind of service that makes you feel you should be wearing a uniform with ‘Mommy’ embroidered over the left breast, over the heart. I (used to sit) half watching Ruthie and half dreaming—trying, I think, to recall my former self. If a stranger had come up to me and said, ‘Do you want to talk about it? I have time to listen,’ I think I might have burst into tears at the relief of it. It wasn’t that I was really unhappy. It was the constancy of my load and the awesome importance of it; and it was my isolation.” —Elizabeth Berg, The Pull of the Moon
March 30, 2008
March 30, 2009
March 30, 2010
March 30, 2011
March 30, 2012
March 30, 2013
“Everyone is the age of their heart.” —Guatemalan Proverb
Dear Sophie,
This year, your birthday celebration started with your preschool celebration. First, you sat on Mrs. Richter’s lap and shared a book you made about your life.
Then you walked around the sun, carrying a small world, five times—representing your five times around the sun. As you walked, the children sang: The earth goes round the sun, the earth goes round the sun, the earth goes round the sun tra la, the earth goes round the sun. This tradition gets me every year.
Per your request, you had some special visitors the entire day this year—Owen and James loved doing work with you, and making bunny hats.
For weeks you talked about making cutout heart cookies for your class. But at the last minute, you insisted on cake pops. Having never made cake pops, we talked you into Oreo truffles instead. You got to pass them out, along with little paper cups of apple juice, to your happy class.
You woke up on your birthday (a Saturday) as any 5-year-old would—so happy. We’ve been talking a lot about how much you’ve grown lately (and you have!) so before you even changed into your birthday dress we measured and marked your 5-year-old height on your growth chart.
We set the dining room table for your brunch—you requested scrambled eggs, bacon, fruit salad and cinnamon rolls (not homemade but rather the ones “from the can”). The tall birthday candle on the table was a gift to me from a family friend (I think) back in 1979. It lists a child’s years from 1 through 21, and certain ages have pictures next to them (12 is a bike, 18 is a graduation cap). 21, however, is a wedding ring. We readily informed you that you don’t, my darling, need to get married that young …
You, of course, had the red plate.
And you, as usual, throughly enjoyed your bacon (something that still confounds the former vegetarian in me).
I purchased these five pink polka dot balloons at The Party Source at around 10:30pm Friday night. I’m fairly certain I was the only person there buying balloons versus booze that late on a Friday night.
This year you chose an opera cream cake from The BonBonerie, the same cake Daddy and I had at our wedding.
After brunch, we lit the candles on your cake …
and you made a wish. You wouldn’t tell us your wish (as is the norm with wishes), but you also, sadly, said it would never come true. If I had to guess, I would guess your wish was to fly. You’ve been talking about how wonderful it would be to fly a lot lately, to fly like a bird—anywhere you wanted. And you’re right. It would be wonderful.
Owen and James surprised you with The Last Unicorn movie (a new obsession, which you discovered at the library—now you don’t have to return it!), and Charlotte’s Web (but we have to finish the book first!).
You received many generous presents this year, including your first American Girl doll from Nini and Pop Pop. I’ll be honest—Daddy and I were always a little wary of these dolls, after we received the first catalog in the mail seemingly one week after you were born. (The prices!) But there are so many positives. I love that you have a doll that you will play with and love, even when you’re older. I love that Marie-Grace (your doll) is based off a historical fiction character from the 1850s. I love the books that accompany her.
And I love that when you found an American Girl catalog in the mail a month before, out of all the beautiful things shown, you fell in love with the feel-better kit and wheelchair. Ever since you had your surgery, you’ve been performing daily surgeries on your dolls. So this is what you wanted most. And so this is, among other things, what Grandma and Paw Paw gave you. Marie-Grace has had a lot of broken arms and legs, but thanks to your loving care and medical expertise, she’s come through them all just fine.
After all the gifts had been opened, we asked you, Owen and James to close your eyes.
And Daddy and I gave you your first real bike! A 16″ pink and white Huffy, covered in princesses and glitter (even the pedals are heart-shaped). It is, well, something. (We were so happy you loved it.)
family pictures
Your first bike ride. It reminded me so much of my first solo bike ride on the blue and white bike I got for my 5th birthday, the one with the training wheels and a little white basket with plastic flowers on it. I felt like I was going so fast, and so far, and I distinctly remember my grandpa Mangan yelling “Go, Kara! Go!” as I pedaled and pedaled and pedaled down our sidewalk. You, my dear Sophie, are reaching the age when you will begin to remember things—really remember things. I hope for happy, soft, does-something-good-to-your-insides ones.
You chose to have an art party this year, and for it, we went to our friend Tanith’s art studio, Artscapade.
First you and a few friends painted a canvas—a forest or field for your fairy; an ocean and ship for your pirate.
Then you used polymer clay and step-by-step, made your fairies and pirates.
We had cookies and apple juice from The BonBonerie, and then you opened your gifts. Tanith put together wonderful little creativity kits for all your guests to take home.
Here’s everyone, with their lovely works of art. You had a lot of fun.
Only for about a day this past year were you 4. As the months passed you were quick to inform anyone who asked that you were “4 and 1/4,” “4 and 1/2,” “4 and 3/4” and finally, “4 and 11/12s.” You were into ages this year. You wanted to know the age of everyone, characters in books, characters on television shows, dolls, other children you met. And you pushed yourself older, no matter how hard we (quietly) tried to push back. You loved when we let you watch the Scooby Doo show that’s for children “7 and older” (you remind us daily how brave you are because of it). You begged to wear nail polish (we let you, one weekend, when you were sick). You asked when you could have your ears pierced (not yet, we said). The things we did let you try—chewing gum and drinking Sprite or root beer—you declined. We still don’t know why. Perhaps you want to grow older, but only on your own terms.
Although you still desire our attention more often than not, now you will play by yourself, in your room, for long periods of time. Your play is elaborate, with your paper dolls, stuffed animals, princess figurines, scraps of fabric, treasure box contents, ribbons and art box contents. You’re constantly talking or singing while you play and often, you have your “royal ball music” playing softly in the background. You enjoy playing with Owen and James but you also enjoy your alone time—and play dates with friends (oh the constant requests for play dates with friends!), too. You throw royal balls almost nightly. You like to paint and color your paper masks and watch My Little Pony and these (admittedly awful) Barbie movies you pick out at the library. At night, we read chapter books. Currently we’re reading Ramona and Her Father and Charlotte’s Web.
You are kind. You’re often agreeable and you are so incredibly accommodating to Owen and James. You share, mostly. You’re fiercely protective of your brothers. Just today, while I was on your bed acting as patient and you were above me, acting as dentist, you heard James cry. You had begged me for a good five minutes to come upstairs for a dentist appointment. But the moment you heard James cry, you said, “Go, Mommy! He needs you!” May you always be that loyal.
You are passionate. When you’re angry, sometimes, you lose it. It reminds me of one of our favorite bedtime stories, When Sophie Gets Angry, Really, Really Angry. Your anger and frustration are so intense, so real, that your stomach hurts, you have trouble breathing, you literally say, “I can’t stop.” And although I’m sometimes at my wit’s end during one of these episodes, deep down, I’m glad for them. I’m glad you’re so passionate about life, that you care about what happens in your world so deeply and that you are comfortable enough around me to express your displeasure so honestly. (Of course, this doesn’t mean I’m no longer putting you in time out.)
I love that you still love to snuggle. I love how much you adore school. I love how conscientious of rules, procedures and following directions you are at school. I love your sense of style—the outfits you choose to wear, the earrings you buy me for my birthday, the way you wish you could, and try to, decorate every room you inhabit. I love that you still grab my hand when we walk and how much you love when Daddy and I swing you when it’s just the three of us. I love how much you love your stay-up time: 8:30pm is your bedtime now, while James and Owen go to bed at 8pm. Mostly, I love how much you love—us, your brothers, your family, your friends, your teachers, even yourself. May that love always be this strong.
Happy, happy birthday, Sophie.
I love you.
“Most of us can remember a time when a birthday—especially if it was one’s own—brightened the world as if a second sun has risen.” —Robert Staughton Lynd
Andy comes home today! Sophie has quite the welcome-home plans for him …
My parents came over and treated us to dinner last night. And earlier in my week of solo parenting Owen and James spent the night at my parents’ house, giving me time to tackle my piles while Sophie was at preschool. My mom took this picture of Pop Pop reading to them during their stay.
Also, the sun is shining today.
“Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.” —John Denver
Sophie’s birthday is Saturday. As such, conversations with the kids this week have largely centered around age. A couple days ago, in the car, Owen asked me how old he was. “You’re 2,” I said. Then, James asked me how old he was. “You’re 2, too,” I said.
Yesterday we were talking about ages (again). Owen said, “I’m 2!” And James said, “I’m 2 and 2!” And they agree on the matter. Owen will tell you James is “2 and 2” and he’s “2.”
Which is, I suppose, exactly what I said.
“How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?” —Satchel Paige
I took the kids to Skyline for dinner tonight. Randomly Owen and James started yelling out Reds baseball player names, including Jay Bruce and Johnny Cueto, with great gusto. For Christmas, my dad gave James framed pictures of baseball players to hang in his room. My dad often reminds Owen and James the names of the players. I’m sure this is where the spouting of names came from but I have no idea why it happened in the middle of dinner tonight. But with the snow still falling as we ate, and all of us in dire need of baseball weather, it was insanely cute. So I grabbed my phone and recorded it.
I have no idea why there’s (a) no sound and (b) why it’s posting as a picture and not a video.
If Andy were here, I’m sure he could fix it. Just like he could fix the toilet upstairs that is suddenly constantly running. For now I open the lid and jiggle a wire forcing the stopper to close every time someone flushes. I’m sure there is a better (and easier) way to handle this.
Andy’s been out of town since early Thursday afternoon. And he won’t be back until late Wednesday afternoon.
Seven days.
Six nights.
It’s gone better than I expected. But it’s a long time.
He’s been gone for good reason. He spent several days in Florida, visiting with extended family. And now he’s in Denver, for work.
In some ways, I feel more on top of things. Knowing I’m in charge of everything, and I don’t have anyone else to fall back on, I make sure things get done. I worry too much to let things slide.
Still, Owen’s wearing a pajama top covered in heart stickers in the video/picture. It was a battle I chose not to fight. Owen and James also are wearing their snow boots (because it’s snowing, of course) but sans socks. I’d like to say that was another battle I chose not to fight but in reality, it was a shortcut I insisted on.
I think about all the mamas and papas out there who do this on their own, without any support from the other biological parent, always. Or the ones whose spouse/partner travels for work, or is away for months at a time, with the military. I admire you. And I’m sorry. I imagine posts like these are hilarious or infuriating (or, perhaps, both). It’s a week. One small week.
Still. I look forward to not being the only one running up the stairs every five minutes at bedtime. Sometimes, for good reason: a dirty diaper. Chapped/bleeding lips. A dropped Piglet. But the other times: “It’s important, Mommy!” “What’s important?” “I don’t know. But don’t leave.” Or, “Which engine is this?” while pointing to an engine in a Thomas book. Or, “I forgot to make a mask for Emma today!”
The calories I burn, running up those stairs … it’s how I’m justifying the popcorn drizzled with truffle oil and covered in parmesan cheese, which I’m eating right now.
And in some ways, it’s nice. Andy hates the smell of truffle oil. And now I can eat it without complaint. I can not watch basketball (although I should point out “Peach Baskets”—my bracket—is currently ranked fourth out of 240 entries). And not once in the past five days have I encountered a bathroom sink full of little hairs, which is what I always encounter after Andy shaves.
But then, I like arguing about the merits of truffle oil. And it’s weird to not have basketball on in March. And washing those little hairs down the sink isn’t all that bad, really.
There’s a reason they say absence make the hearts grow fonder.
I miss him. I miss us. All of us, all the ways we work and don’t work together as a family of five.
Soon. (And for that, I know, I’m lucky.)
“Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.” —Kahlil Gibran
In February I spent a long weekend visiting my brother, Kyle, in San Francisco.
He’s a transportation planner with the San Francisco County Transportation Authority. After I landed, I took public transit (of course) and met him at work. Above is the view from the floor he works on.
That night we went to Oakland for a Shabbat dinner (my first) at Steve and Sierra’s, longtime friends of Kyle. We sat at a long wooden table that Steve built by hand, under strings of white lights, eating Steve and Sierra’s most delicious food, drinking good wine with the most interesting people while Joni Mitchell played in the background. It was, basically, my ideal dinner party.
The view from Kyle’s deck the next morning.
It is so easy to visit a city Kyle lives in. He seemingly knows everything. Like where we should get pastries (Arizmendi Bakery).
And where we should get coffee (Philz Coffee).
He explores, constantly.
After breakfast, we hiked Bernal Hill. San Francisco is one of my favorite cities and I’ve been several times. It’s nice to visit a place and not feel obligated to do all things touristy and instead, spend a morning discovering a treat such as this.
Next up, a farmer’s market to nibble on samples of oranges and nuts.
beauty found while walking the streets
Kyle at one of his favorite burrito joints. (He was ignoring the fact that I was taking his picture. Again.)
826 Valencia, a nonprofit founded by author Dave Eggers, dedicated to supporting students with their writing skills—it’s right down the street from where Kyle lives, and I’ve long loved its mission. Oh to be able to take my kids to writing workshops at a place such as this! Bonus: the storefront is a pirate supply store. My kids made out well.
Kyle and I had separated at this point. He had gone back to work to get his bike. I, of course, got lost. But along the way I passed the gorgeous Women’s Building, which I wanted to see anyhow.
Finally, after several phone calls to Kyle, I found his place (he shares the third floor with two roommates).
Kyle bikes. A lot. When living in Brooklyn, he regularly biked to Manhattan for work. Biking with him is something I’ve always wanted to do. But I’ve also always been nervous. I haven’t biked in years (transporting three kids while on a bike isn’t easy). I’ve never biked in traffic. But he had a bike for me. And a helmet. And he promised to go slow and watch out for me (which he oh-so-patiently did). I was a bit of disaster at first, but only got laughed at by bystanders twice. And then, I loved it. We biked for miles through the city and all the way through Golden Gate Park, ending at Ocean Park.
A coffee break (I like a travel companion who likes coffee).
And then, a quick bike ride to Lands End for a glimpse of Golden Gate Bridge.
That night we had south Indian.
The next morning our aunt Janeil who lives in Sacramento picked us up and we drove to Half Moon Bay for whale watching with the Oceanic Society. It was so great to see her.
We boarded our boat, Salty Lady.
And Kyle and I got so, incredibly, seasick.
(Janeil fared much better.)
our captain
I managed to take a picture of some otters on a buoy while gripping a rail on the boat and singing “Alouette” softly to myself over and over in an attempt to not throw up (I don’t know why that song, in particular, helped, but it did).
blessed land
That night Kyle and I had dinner at Dante’s Weird Fish. The food was good. Really good. The conversation was good. Really good. It was a perfect endcap to a great trip.
The next morning I said goodbye to Kyle, as he had to go to work. He suggested I try Tartine Bakery. It resulted in, what I’m pretty sure was, my first use of “OMG” on Facebook. I now understand the line.
Then, I wandered.
I took transit back to the airport. While waiting for BART, I saw a bouquet of white roses lying on the tracks. I couldn’t stop thinking about them. Who did they belong to? Why were they thrown? What love fell apart because of them? So I took a picture. Self-conscious, I looked around me. The guy standing next to me was taking a picture of the same bouquet with his cell phone, too.
I love this city.
And then, I flew home.
Thank you, Kyle, for a most lovely trip. And thank you, Andy and Mom, for help with the kids therefore allowing it to happen.
“San Francisco has only one drawback—’tis hard to leave.” —Rudyard Kipling
The kids colored a box that arrived on our doorstep and then begged to have lunch in it. So, I let them.
By the way, this is what our diapers and wipes are delivered in. I fully expect to be rich once everyone is potty trained.
“A box without hinges, key, or lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid.” —J.R.R. Tolkien
I think I saw on Facebook or on a blog or in an article or something somewhere about someone lamenting that people don’t tell the truth online. That lives are depicted as rosy perfect when, in reality, things are often messy (sometimes a happy mess, yes, but messy nonetheless).
This is just one of the piles in my house. And note that this is the right side of the desk. The left side isn’t pictured. (Also, I think it’s funny that the blue pamphlet sticking out, the one about needing an oil change, says OVERDUE in bold.)
I have piles of folded clothes and unfolded clothes all over my bedroom.
I (finally!) found a corner TV stand on Craigslist. It’s in a pile of pieces, in the basement, waiting its next coat of paint. As such, our TV is on the floor in our living room and our window seat is covered in piles of DVDs, cords, players, speakers and whatnot. (Turns out I should have held onto our old TV stand a little longer before selling it.) Those who would like to have a tv in their bedroom may invest in tv beds from TV Beds Northwest.
There are piles of train tracks in the boys’ room.
There are piles of dolls in Sophie’s room.
The playroom is pretty much a big pile of stuff in and of itself.
I have piles of freelance work to do.
I have piles of picture book queries to send out (thanks to the piles of rejections I’ve received).
I have piles of e-mails to respond to.
I have 21 saved voicemails on my cell phone and I’m pretty sure I saved them all simply because they needed something more from me.
I’m drowning.
I know, I know, I know. Playing with my kids is more important than a clean home. But I’m not talking about dust-free baseboards here. I’m talking about being able to walk through my bedroom without tripping.
So there you have it. My Wednesday morning truth.
I hope, at the very least, to be treading water soon.
We’ll see.
Right now, someone stole a train from someone else and that someone else is screaming like a banshee, threatening with a plastic dinosaur.
Off I go.
“He was swimming in a sea of other people’s expectations. Men had drowned in seas like that.” —Robert Jordan
