English Muffin Pizzas

When I was about 10 years old, my dad took a new job and my folks lived 1000 miles apart. It was a separation of necessity, mom stayed in Michigan to get the house in order and sold, and dad went to Missouri to take advantage of an excellent career opportunity. My folks sat my sister and I down and explained to us, matter-of-factly, what was going to happen: Daddy was moving, mom was going to stay here, eventually we would all be back together again. I don’t remember this being distressing in any way: we moved fairly frequently, and we had been without my dad for stretches before in similar circumstances. The thing that made this event memorable is that my parents presented me with a choice: I could go on ahead with dad or stay with my mom and sister. I was in 6th grade, on the cusp of adolescence. I was aware that Jr. High loomed in my future, and was always open to new adventures, so, after giving it some thought, I decided I would go with dad and try to make some friends in the “safe” elementary school environment before moving on to big, scary Jr. High school. It was not an agonizing decision for me to make, although in retrospect I wonder how my parents felt about it: was mom worried about dad and I being on our own? Was dad secretly annoyed to be burdened with a kid tagging along when he was starting a new job? If they had those feelings, they never let on to me. I went with my dad to Columbia and it was just me and dad for… weeks? months? Anyway, until mom sold the house, and mom and my sis joined us.

Lately I have been leaving the Sisters Lovely alone with Dearest here and there: while I go to a doctor’s appointment, or a meeting, or to run a quick errand. I will be the first to admit it: I can be a total control freak. I like routine, a rhythm and predictability to my day, and I have projected that on to my girls, convincing myself that THEY like a routine. Maybe they do. Does Dearest do everything exactly the way I do it? Surely not. Do I have to fight the urge to leave him a child care itinerary every time I go to take a shower for 20 minutes? Yes. Have I considered putting together a folder, like we keep in the classroom for substitute teachers, with a schedule, likes and dislikes, and alternate activities? Yup. But I won’t. First of all, Dearest doesn’t need it. He knows the girls so well, and is not only capable but excellent at seeing that their needs are met. Secondly, so what if he does something a little different from the way I do it? Is that really going to scar the kids? Just the opposite, I have to admit. It’s probably very good for them.

Did everything go perfectly during the time I lived with my dad? Certainly not. I spent time alone for really the first time in my life, was picked on and considered “weird” by the kids at my new elementary school (hmm… I was new, had no mom living in the house to be sure I brushed by hair and dressed nicely (I’m sure I didn’t), was picked up and dropped off by my dad’s secretary, occasionally came to school on crutches just because I felt like it, and lived in a retirement home. So… maybe they had a point.) But what an experience. If I had stayed behind, I would have missed out on so much bonding time with my dad during those months of bachelorhood: wading barefoot in the creek that ran though the grounds of the facility, staying up late enough to watch SNL for the first time, getting pet birds and letting them fly around our apartment without worrying too much about the mess, eating English Muffin pizzas pretty much every weekend. Was it how my mom would have done it? Almost certainly not. Did I turn out just fine? Well… I guess you could argue that one either way, but I doubt my oddities have too much to do with my time with dad.

Letter to a 6-Month-Old Singer of Songs

Dear Sophia (AKA The Soph, Peanut, Lil’ Bit),

We still can’t decide what color your eyes are. Today they are leaning towards hazel, yesterday, outside, they had a greenish tinge to them. Six months you have been on this earth, little one, half a year already and as much as I feel like I know everything there is to know about you, it’s clear that you still have more to reveal to me. You have been, for the whole of your life thus far, all about your hands. They are for you a source of amazement, comfort, and amusement. You had your thumb in your mouth before we even left the hospital. Even now, sometimes you will get so quiet, and I will peek to see what you are doing, only to find you studying your hands- opening them, closing them, pressing fingertips together and eternally studying any texture within reach. What will those little dimpled hands grow up to do?

Not long ago you started to recognize your own reflection in the mirror. You greet your image with a great gummy grin, and I wonder, as I look at the two of us looking back at ourselves, if you know me too. I think you must, because there are moments, when strangers approach, that you look at them, your lower lip juts out and starts to quiver, and then you look back to me for reassurance and comfort. Of course, my dear, I don’t want you to be fearful, but I have to admit I secretly love that you are aware of our “us-ness” and their “them-ness.”

I love watching you react to music. Ever since you were first born you have been comforted by singing (yes, even MY singing) and not too long ago you started to sing along when I croon “Rubber Duckie” to you in the bathtub or “Eleanor Rigby” when we are cruising around in the van. Maybe you only know one note so far, but your singing is music to my ears. You are a contented little creature, sometimes a little on the sensitive side, but a million miles away from the newborn who screamed endlessly for reasons that were mysterious to your loving folks. I admit, there were moments when I wondered if you would EVER be happy, and after I stopped drinking milk and your screaming ceased, I can not describe to you the relief. You were OK. Now that toothless smile makes my heart sing.

Every night, after I place your sister in her crib, I pause at yours to breathe you in. Your Dad puts you to bed, rocks you and gives you a warm bottle and marvels at your sweetness. This is a routine established when I wasn’t sure that you were gaining weight fast enough, this bottle of pumped milk, and your Dad loved tucking you in so much that it stuck. You lie there serenely, head turned to the left, thumb in your mouth. I silently study your long eyelashes, that little Kem chin, and I watch your chest rise and fall. Even at the end of an exhausting day I pause to remind myself: they won’t be little forever. Soon I will be gazing at a sleeping toddler, then preschooler, and before you know it a young lady. It’s hard to imagine now, that your peach-fuzz will turn into actual hair, your little babbles will turn into actual words, and your eyes will finally settle on a color.

Happy 6 months, Sweet Pea. Looking forward to watching you grow.

Love,
Mom

Letter to a 6-Month-Old Mover and Shaker

Dear Olivia (AKA Livi, Tootsie, Meatball, Chunka-Munka),

The ultrasounds were deceiving. You were supposed to be the quiet one, the mellow baby. You kept up the ruse the first couple of weeks of your life. While Sophia screamed, you quietly observed, taking it all in. Only now do I realize that you were conserving your energy, saving it and plotting for the day that you were mobile. One day, around 3 months old, you realized that you could stand up on our laps. At this moment in your short life, you decided that you were no longer a baby. Gone were the days of cuddling you sweetly. You wanted to stand up! And jump jump jump! In the blink of an eye you were focused solely on locomotion, rolling around the house, crawling backwards, wreaking havoc as you went.

You now come with a warning, when someone scoops you up because you are grinning that irresistible gummy grin of yours, or when they place their baby down near you. I am obliged to give them the heads up “Be careful. She pinches.” And you DO, little one. You pinch with gleeful abandon: the happier you are the harder you pinch- me, your sis, Grandma Jo, none of us can escape your enthusiastic talons. The only thing I think you like to do more than pinch is eat. As soon as someone in the vicinity picks up a spoon, you start with your demands of “Ummmmmmm. UMMMMMMM!” Although you have soundly rejected green beans and were pretty luke warm on avocado, you devour your oatmeal, peaches, sweet potatoes, squash, and pears with voracity. It’s no wonder that you are positively off the charts growth-wise, and something about your chubbiness makes me so proud.

At 6 months, I am still nursing you to sleep at night. I can’t tell you how much I treasure these moments of stillness, how, when you are not a blur streaking past me I take the time to really marvel at you. I stroke your hair, feel your breath, listen to those contented baby murmurs, and swell with love for you. After a chaotic day of trying to save you from yourself, I relish the time spent in rocking chair in your dim nursery. These moments, too, seem finite. More and more often I put you in the crib awake and you fall asleep all by yourself. But the rush, the absolute joy of hearing you coo and squeal through the monitor and going in to get you out of the crib after a nap, to be greeted by the most enthusiastic of grins when you catch sight of your adoring mama, is beyond compare.

Happy 6 months, my busy girl. I love your intensity. Don’t ever lose it.

Love,
Mom

The Dirt

Took the ladies to the house of mouse to see their daddy at work today. I have been back only a small handful of times since I quit over two years ago, and it is always with mixed emotions that I return. Disney was synonymous with such a specific phase in my life- that post-college, pre-grown up time- and it is always strange to see it going on without you, the same players busy at the same game, never missing a beat, while your life seems so far away from what used to be your reality.

On the way home, I noticed a little dirt road intersecting with the main highway that I hadn’t thought about in a long time. I couldn’t even tell you the name of the road, I affectionately referred to it as simply “The Dirt” when I was still working at WDW, but I know every hairpin curve, every rut and every abandoned orange grove along its route. I drove that road home from work many times, not because it was faster or more efficient, it was quite the opposite really, but because it was a refreshing change from driving past the tourist trap strip malls and junky hotels with their “All Rooms Just $39/Night” signs that dotted my normal commute. Sometimes I would drive The Dirt by myself, cruising slowly, scanning the horizon for a coyote, searching the shoulder for a tortoise or armadillo. Sometimes I was flanked by my friend and fellow adventurer D, recklessly careening over ruts and around hairpin turns, my confidence bolstered by her 4x4, rope, and towing know-how just ahead of me. I took The Dirt in the orange glow of the sunrise, in the blackness of night without a streetlight in sight, even in the blinding rain, radio blaring, laughing out loud to myself, not much of a care in the world.

How things have changed, I think to myself, glancing in my minivan’s rearview at my two snoozing little ones. I wouldn’t dream of turning on to The Dirt now. Not a chance.

This change in me didn’t happen over night. I left Disney a couple of years ago, the first step towards my transformed life. Teaching Kindergarten was a totally different kind of responsibility from what I had shouldered as a tech. On the stage, if I made a mistake I put the lives of performers and fellow technicians at an immediate risk, and I was constantly and acutely aware of that fact. Teaching, if I made a mistake, the consequences might not be so immediate, but could be damaging in an entirely different way- a word spoken harshly, a skill not taught to mastery, missing a sign in a child that things were not well at home- these things put kids at risk too, and I took it every bit as seriously as I did my technician gig. Teaching changed my life outside of work too: suddenly I was a member of the community. People recognized me out and about. My days of wearing midriff shirts to the grocery store and cursing loudly at the Post Office were over. Now I glanced around surreptitiously before ordering a beer in a restaurant, concerned about undoing our “Too Good For Drugs” lesson about the evils of alcohol. My days of being a Responsible Citizen, of being a role model, had arrived.

Then, of course, there are the girls. I want them to be fearless adventurers, to not be afraid to face The Dirt in their lives, all the challenges and the beauty revealed in those experiences. It’s a fine line to expose them to this way of thinking, to encourage them to take chances, without ever putting them at risk. I want to lead by example, to show them life off the beaten path, the road less traveled as it were. But at the same time, I guess it’s ok that they know that my more carefree lifestyle, (A long time ago, yeah / Before you were born, dude…) was not better or worse than my more “traditional” suburban, mini van driving, stay-at-home mom life. It was just different. My life is still rich and rewarding. More so, even. Just in a totally different way. For now I will protect them. Because I can. But soon, they will be taking their first steps, toddling off down their own path, literally stumbling and falling from time to time. Soon those stumbles will be figurative. I will do my best to encourage them to take a different route, to explore a dusty trail, because you never know what you are missing by staying on the highway. I guess I just want them to know that no matter what, I won’t be far behind with 4 wheel drive and a rope. Just in case.

A Post About the Iowa Trip Which is Largely Pointless Since Most People Who Read This Blog Were There

They said we were nuts. We couldn’t really argue with them. Taking 2 four-month-olds on an airplane is not the kind of thing people in their right minds do. We, however, never claimed to be sane, or even really all that smart. So we loaded up what we used to carry on (a granola bar, bottle of water, Kindle, iPhone, lip balm) plus what we needed to carry on for the girls (double stroller, 8 diapers, wipes, lotion, 2 bottles, 4 binkies, 4 toys, 2 board books, 2 extra outfits, 2 blankies, hand sanitizer, saline drops, aspirator, children’s Benadryl, children’s Tylenol, and a partridge in a pear tree) and experienced the glory known as “Priority Boarding.” After a lifetime of glaring at “That Person” with the screaming baby, I was bracing my self to be “That Person” times two. But guess what? The kids did great! Soph fussed a little here and there, I think she was sensitive to the pressure change (Sophia? Sensitive? No!) but it was nothing that was not easily pacified. Livi, who is so much like her dad, slept the majority of both flights. We had 3 seats for the 4 of us (the extra elbow room was a necessity!), our flights all ran on time, and overall the airline gods smiled down upon us.

Mom and the "Sisters Lovely"


Daddy and Soph (can ya tell they're related?!)


We had so much fun being with my family. Mom, of course, was in super-Grandma mode, and had the place pimped out with all the necessities and then some. (Did I mention my folks gave us their HOUSE? And they stayed at a HOTEL? That is love for you.) The girls loved the attention, and I loved watching them smile at the people who have made me smile so many times throughout the years. A big motivator for me to get the kids up there ASAP, even if it meant flying with infants, is the fact that I still have two grandparents living. Not to be morbid, but my Grammy and Grandpa are in their 80’s and I was afraid that if I waited too long I might miss the chance for the girls to meet them. Hopefully this will have been the first of many visits to see my grandparents, and hopefully the girls can get to know them, but if not I will be satisfied knowing that I did everything I could to get all of these important people in my life together. I loved spending the evening with my aunts, uncles, and cousins, and my cousins’ babies who are close in age to the girls. It was hysterical to see the differences in personalities of the 4 babies, and I really hope we can continue to get them together as they grow up. It was also great to spend some time with my sister and her husband, and to feel like sis was really getting a chance to know her nieces, as well as to hang out with her youngest two kiddos a little bit who were both really babies last time we were up there but who are now an adorable preschooler and toddler with hysterical personalities of their own. So precious. And of course her oldest, my special guy Jet, brings a smile to my face every time!

Cousins!


4 Generations of Tough Broads (Normally we don't all lay down on our sides like that. In real life we pretty much are upright. Damn Blogger.)


My girls with Miles and Annika, my cousins' kids



SPEAKING of important people in my life, Genny, my best friend from high school, drove up from Missouri to spend the weekend with us, and I could not have been more thrilled. It was incredible to see her, to share our passion for SCRAPBOOKING and to catch up on each other’s lives. I have never connected with anyone’s sense of humor as much as Genny’s, and I can genuinely say I missed it. I can’t describe how it feels to have her back in my life… the closest word I can come up with is relief; it’s like a piece of my puzzle was missing but now it’s back in place. It was great to see her interact with the girls (I love people who are not afraid of babies) and she charmed the dickens out of Miss Sophia, which is not always an easy task. Mom even watched the kiddos for a while so Genny and I could go scrapbook shopping, and it was great to chat without someone constantly pooping their pants or distracting us in a myriad of other ways. Genny brought up binders containing all of the notes I wrote her in high school (yes, binderS, yes, ALL of the notes, yes, I now understand why I didn’t do so great in Chemistry, since a lot of the notes were written in that class and included fascinating illustrations of my poor chem teacher). I was also lucky enough to get to pour over some scrapbooks she put together and they were truly creative, quirky, and so so fun. Wish we were closer so we could create together! I look forward to many continued years of friendship and I am going to try extra hard not to be a shit-head and fall out of touch again.

Genny and Sophie


Why, yes, we ARE fabulous!


It has never been harder to say goodbye to my folks. The girls are growing up so fast, and I wish we could all be together every minute. Of course I always miss my family, living so far away, but this is with an intensity that I never felt before, even when I was at my loneliest. I’m glad mom is already plotting her next trip down to see us, and I can hardly wait until my parents are both here after Christmas. It seems like a thousand years away, but I’m sure time will fly. I hope.

Bonus: Naughty Tomato grown by my dad

A Courtesy Message to the Citizens of Iowa: Avert Your Eyes

Yes, lovely people of Iowa, as you may have heard, the troops and I will be arriving Monday. And by troops, I mean my tits. My kids are breastfed. I am not ashamed of this in the least, in fact, I’m actually pretty proud of it. I am not an exhibitionist by any means, but at the same time it is just not very practical for me to go into hiding every time one of the babies needs to eat… I would spend an awful lot of time in isolation in order to protect others from a possible boob glimpse, and that just ain’t cool. Sometimes I will step out, but more likely than not it’s because the baby is being distracted by what is going on around me, not because I personally have a desire to. When they were tiny lil newborns, I could sneak one under a little blankie on my shoulder and you would never know what was even going on under there. That, my darling friends in the Hawkeye State, has changed. The kids are now highly interactive, and as such they are very interested in providing me, and anyone within earshot, of a running commentary of how their meal is going. They will pull their heads back to give a great big grin, or Livi in particular will let go in order to really savor her beverage: like a fine wine, she will swirl it around in her mouth, smack her lips together, and make faces as if to say, “Mom, did you eat something with garlic in it last night? Hm, I enjoy something in a 2009 Holstein. Excellent vintage.” Sometimes I ignore them, sometimes I respond to their coos or complaints, but regardless, let’s be honest, there is my nipple. There it is. And of course you want to look at the baby, because, face it, they are very cute babies. But you are torn. Nipple. Baby. What else is there to look at? Some people are desperately looking around trying to find something else to focus on, gazing out the window at the pool, watching the muted TV with feigned interest. Sorry, peeps, I’m on to you. Not that I want you to necessarily stare at my boob, just that I am not really thinking of it as a naughty bit while it’s nourishing my kid. I try to cover myself when practical, but the babies tend to pull whatever drape I put on right off (Who can blame them? It’s hot in there! And boring!). So the truth is this. I’m coming to Iowa. With my kids. And my ta-tas. And I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But chances are I am going to. (And did you know that in Iowa breastfeeding mothers are exempt from Jury Duty? Sweet!)

One Year Ago Today...

I tiptoed into the bedroom and perched on Dearest’s side of the bed. He was half awake and rolled to face me and said, “What’s up?” “Look at this,” I said, handing him the pregnancy test, “And tell me if you see a second line.” “I totally see a second line,” he said, “It’s light, but it is there. Does this mean what I think it means?” “Don’t get crazy, it’s very early. Too early for me to even be peeing on a stick. But I couldn’t help it. A second line means it worked.” We grinned, daring for a second to imagine that everything we had been through had been worth it.

What a year it has been.