being human

School has started for the minis. I typically feel a sense of gravitas with the new school year. It's not just a fresh start for the kids, with their new backpacks (my kingdom for a backpack that can withstand multiple forms of abuse for more than a year), backpack bling, squeaky clean lunch bags, and various items of freshly laundered clothing that may be a tad large right now but that they'll outgrown by May; it's a reset for me as well. I marvel that they are racing through their childhood, a generally happy, multi-faceted one at that. I then turn the reflective lens upon myself and think about what I've been able to accomplish, where I've had setbacks, what I want - really want - for myself.

I want a life filled with joy and love and incandescent moments that propel me to reach beyond my comfort zone. I want to be the best mother, the most appropriate and responsive mother, to my two spirited children. I want to be a partner to someone who can and wants to be my best friend. I want to immerse myself in fulfilling, satisfying work. I want to make a positive difference in small ways; I'm not one to insist on being in the limelight.

This has been a year of significant, ground shaking change. I have plenty to worry about. I can choose to let that worry consume me, or I can choose to look it straight in the eye and refuse to go down. Guess which way I'm going?

a day to play

My previous 'time for mom' plans for today fell by the wayside when O spent the better part of last night crying from pain because his hip was hurting him. Off to the doctor's we went first thing. We came away with an order for bloodwork and an xray of said hip.

I am not a fan of bloodwork. I'm not a fan of needles anywhere in close proximity to my body. O put me to shame with his fascination as the needle went in and the tube filled with blood. "That's cool," he said. I was looking pointedly in the other direction.

Next stop was the xray. He actually giggled as the tech moved him into position; he is unbelievably ticklish. My whirling dervish son was remarkably still for the whole procedure. Again, very impressive.

We thought about eating at UCSF. In the end, blueberry muffins in the comfort of home won out. We played Wii games. We hugged. We watched old school Scooby Doo (there can be no other) off On Demand. I managed a conference call in between. It was beautiful out, and I opened windows to let the late spring air filter in. We laughed a lot, especially while playing a port of Super Mario Bros. 3. Clearly the reflexes have diminished greatly since 1988.

On the face of it, there was nothing memorable about today. No epoch-making moments. No revelations. But I'd like to think that our slower pace aggregates into a single memory of what our relationship was at this specific time.

footnote: all is well. a mild inflammation of the joint from a leftover viral infection that will go away in about a week. motrin at night and rest will cure. I am grateful. health is something we do not take for granted. 

last day of school

Little Miss Z wrapped up her first year of kindergarten today. It sounded as though she had a very unstructured day, and rightly so. Her afterschool program had a barbecue and, to my delight, she tried everything. Except the hot dogs. Apparently they were too burnt. For the record, they probably weren't, maybe some charred specks here and there. But even one grayish charred speck damns the hot dog to an uneaten eternity.

She was able to accomplish a lot this year. She painted this butterfly for a project - a quilt made up of butterflies and various fabric squares for the school auction in the spring. Unfortunately, I didn't get to see it in person, but the mom who won it took photos of all the squares for us. She's becoming a better reader. Her artwork is stunning. She worked in the school garden and knows more about compost and worm farms than I do. She is learning to be responsible and respectful - as I like to put it, a good citizen of the world.

I learned a lot in kindergarten, too. I was lucky to witness a group of genuinely sweet and caring five and six year olds grow together. I met some fantastic, down to earth, no drama parents and am looking forward to spending the next five years with them in supporting our kids and the school. I saw the amazing efforts of a first-time principal who is dedicated to moving forward, not dwelling on past or present. I marveled at how skilled the k teachers were in corralling those kids and directing their energy positively.

Summer vacation is really not that long this year. Z starts first grade on August 16, not even three months away. She's eagerly awaiting zoo camp and the Y summer break camp. There's a trip to Tahoe over the 4th of July weekend. Plenty of ice cream and popsicles that require eating. Forlorn plots around the house that are crying for some kind of plant life; we'll experiment. Movies to watch, snails to examine, seasonal fruit to eat, Giants' games to attend, ribbons in swim school to get. And then we start our first grade year with eyes wide open, happy to be learning and being with old and new friends.

the catch-up and current events

It's been a while since my mind has been clear enough to post. Work was a priority - one massive project after another. One more deadline this Friday and no - I repeat, no - deadlines next week. I'm trying to line up some interviews for potential new staff. I need to trek to a few art stores to source portfolios to hold our collateral (oh, twist my arm). So, fun projects lay in the horizon to break up the routine.

During this time, I read a lot in between deadlines. I had no other way to destress. I picked up Hand Wash Cold by Karen Maezen Miller, a Zen Buddhist priest. Reading this book centered me, calmed me, readjusted some debilitating negative emotions within me. I'm still referring to various chapters when times get rough.

A bright spot to spring was our family camp excursion to Camp Jones Gulch. A big success all around, except for the bunk beds. I must be getting on because bed comfort was never a strong suit with me, but waking up completely sore was not the most amazing experience ever.

We hiked, explored the woods, poked around streams, kissed banana slugs (well, Mr. O did), played games, swam in the crazy cold pool (all but me, I knew better), gorged on classic camp food, watched part of 'The Princess Bride' on movie night, climbed a terrifying 42-foot tall rock wall (none of us made it to the top), rode horses, observed chickens, admired the garden and compost heap, and other things too numerous to list here.

One lovely memory from our long weekend was Z waking up at the crack of dawn and pulling opening the gingham curtains of our ramshackle cabin to see what was outside. She lay there for a good half hour, peacefully observing.

School is winding down for the year. Summer day camp starts next week for the minis. I feel that this is really going to be a kick-ass summer, even though it is foggy and damp in my part of town.

the kindergarten follow-up, two weeks later

So far, Z's kindergarten experience is a positive, exciting one. She loves it. I'm glad. And relieved. And feeling validated about our school choice. The only thing she's complained about is the lack of a two-hour nap time. This is from the child who refused to nap from day one.

1st day of kindergarten

Z started kindergarten today. She’s been outfitted with a new matching backpack and lunchbox set. With a horse theme. I said she should pick her clothes out, and this is what she chose.

Unfortunately, that outfit wasn’t much protection against the morning chill while we were waiting in the schoolyard. Z was complaining that her legs were cold. She eventually decided to lay down on the asphalt on her backpack, like a turtle that got flipped onto its shell. Fortunately it was soon time for the morning assembly. The entire school formed a large circle, said the Pledge of Allegiance, and listened to some announcements from the new principal.

Everyone walked en masse to the kindergarten pod. Z was on the subdued side of her personality but was responsive. We saw her settle into the circle of kids for circle time and waved goodbye when the parents were asked to leave.

Her verdict when we picked her up? “It was okay.” Which means success!

earth hour = lovely blip in time

We had the lights off and a single Method lavender lemongrass candle burning while watching "Mulan" on tv. Which, yes, sort of defeats the purpose, but laying in the big bed with the kids snuggled in on either side in the semi-darkness made for a cozy, lazy, winding down moment. We don't get enough of those.

I have been thinking about memory and what we retain from our childhoods. What would my two remember? Would they specifically remember that moment of warmth and love, or perhaps an impression of that coziness? Am I doing enough to create those positive memories? I am astounded by how much Z remembers from being three and heartened that they are primarily good memories - having ice cream, going to the playground, playing in the backyard of the Chicago house, her bedroom there, making snow angels. I can't shield her or O from the necessary components of growing up, though. Eventually, they will encounter grave disappointment, heartbreak, and loss. But from their positive memories, I hope they develop a foundation of trust in me, that they know that I would not turn them away or judge when unhappiness occurs.

Today was filled with loving moments as well as impatience and anger - all in a day's work when you're alone with two highly energetic children. At the end of the day, we came back to love in the form of snuggling on the bed, O kicking me sporadically. 

school, glorious school

The dust has settled. We got our first choice public school and were waitpooled on all four of the privates to which we applied. Happy, of course, that we have a solid school in pocket, but a little sad about losing the chance for a unique educational experience for Z and O, at least in the elementary years. People have tried to be upbeat and reassuring that the waitlists could clear over the summer, but I see this one opportunity dimming. We'll try again for middle school, but it will be no less difficult, if not more so.

I was seduced by the offerings from the privates. Beautiful campuses, warmth and a sense of community, a fully-loaded curriculum, and - if I had to be honest - a chance to give my kids a leg up in the world. It was a glimpse into an entirely different experience that neither D nor I had as children. It was a gift we wanted to give Z and O, and it was frustrating that we couldn't pull it off. 

We're being philosophical; God is pointing us toward the public. To reinforce that notion, there is a preschool next to the school's campus. I'm touring it in a few weeks, and if my gut says go, I'm submitting an application for O. The ability to minimize the impact of the double drop-off/pick-up is infinitely valuable.

I'm trying to not see this as a closed door but a turn in the road. It's hard not to feel a sense of loss, though. I'm wondering if the mere fact that my older baby is starting kindergarten in a few months is the root of my emotional reaction to the process. 

In the meantime, I'm indulging in fantasies of volunteering in the school library and chaperoning field trips.

her work

I gave Z one of my file folders in an attempt to corral all of the paper she generates. It's a sage green folder that I got during one of the Paper Source warehouse sales (and reason #59 why I miss Chicago). These include half-finished coloring pages and worksheets; she's taken to calling these her work. O accidentally found her notebook, another bargain though from Barnes and Noble, so between the worksheets and filling up the notebook pages, she's got a lot to do. 

Her preferred media is ink. She found some gel pens that I had purchased a couple of years ago so I could write on chocolate brown envelopes for some holiday cards or something, and she has a rather large carousel of Crayola markers at her disposal. 

Watching her work reassures me that she'll be able to do many things when she's older. My job is to remember to leave her alone and let her explore and make her own mistakes. 

a beautiful moment

Both kids are napping, both cats are napping, and I can hear the wind whooshing through the trees in the backyard. It's an all too rare moment of stillness in the house. I'm enjoying it by being quiet and still myself.

And apparently my very loud typing (my computer is in the master bedroom, where Z was crashed out) has now woken up the Z. She's happily eating an apple and two Bonbel circle cheeses for a snack.

no cliches

but it's an awe-inspiring thought that my children will remember Barack Obama as the first of many presidents in their lives. It makes me misty with joy and trepidation. And I'm proud that I did my tiny share by way of tiny, tiny donations and voting. I even dragged the kids with me to the polls, during the primaries and election night. If they need to remember my crazy moments and that being one of them, hell, I'll take it.

trying not to overthink it

Z is in the playdate phase of the private school admissions process. My gut tells me that she's been doing well and that all we need to do now is sit back and wait until March to see what the results are. My brain, however, enjoys tormenting me with thoughts like "this is a waste of time", "we have no chance" and "she will be miserable here and tell you daily as you're bleeding money for the tuition and extras".

My gut tells me that the decision will be obvious and easy; the right school will be made beautifully clear to us. Clarity of the path has been a hallmark of the major decisions that I've made. But try telling my mind that.

birthday festivities

It's that time of year again. We weren't planning on having a party for Z but did anyway. It was on the 28th (coincidentally her due date), and thankfully we had a great turnout even though having a party during the winter break is a risky endeavor. The last thing you'd want to do is scar a child for life by throwing a party where no one came.

The cake was an ice cream cake from Baskin-Robbins. Classic was the way to go - chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I try to stay away from themed or branded birthdays, but I couldn't resist getting some Curious George paper goods and masks in lieu of hats.

Really, she did like it. Our current favorite nighttime reading material includes "Curious George Learns the Alphabet".

And what's a birthday post without some cake eating?

photos courtesy of Derrick Wong

best moment of the day

Because D-Money is home for the holidays and can wrangle O, Z and I had a luxurious half hour of mama-daughter time, which we spent reading. We like Richard Scarry's books for his nearly OCD attention-to-detail illustrations and spend more time talking about the pictures than actually reading. 

I like these impromptu moments. Some nights we don't even get to reading, unfortunately. And I wonder if the kids will remember these positive times or the times when I have had it and lose my temper. 

important now

[psst...the pic on the left will make sense if you read the last paragraph in this post first]

This fall I've been consumed with the whole process of finding a school for Z and O. They're spending the next, oh, six or even nine years there, so it behooves us to pick a solid one.

The public schools that we've toured are pretty darn swell. We looked at one top SF public and came away underwhelmed. It's not to say it didn't deserve its good rep, but in comparison with others we've seen, it was comparable to a host of other district schools. We have one that is our top choice - we plan on eventually moving to that neighborhood, the principal is down to earth and straightforward, the parents who led the tour we were on were also down to earth, and the kids looked like they were having a good time. So we'll turn in our app with seven choices and try to forget about the process until late March when the results roll in.

We've toured four private schools as well. They also have their strengths, and, to be honest, they will be a better fit for the kiddos in the long run. However, the admissions process is competitive, based on a number of factors including parent interviews and screening of the kids. It's more personal and, as a result, generates many feelings of insecurity and inadequacy, at least on my part. We'll do our best to provide thoughtful answers to the essay questions, be ourselves at the interviews and tours, and submit our apps, then wait for the March letters.

All in, we're applying to 11 schools - 11 schools that'll work for our family. It's an incredibly stressful experience; even though we've done our research and due diligence, what if we're completely wrong? Part of the whole torment of parenting is that feeling that somehow you're going to screw things up no matter what your good intentions are.

***

I took Z to a family open house at one of the private schools. It was two hours; I fully expected to stay a hour tops. But Z had a ball. We hung out in the kindergarten classroom for a good hour, took a snack break, then headed up to the library. We didn't even hit the art room (I'm starting to suspect that she, like me, likes to create in solitude) and revisited the kindergarten classroom to close the day. I rarely get to see her in action in this kind of setting, and I have to say it was pretty neat to see her pretend play with these old school Fisher Price Little People toys. We're talking the ones from the '70s, like this a-frame house that I had when I was not that much older than her. Now I kind of want to find one just to have. I know, good luck with that, right?

just like home

The dust has settled from our near cross-country move. Camping out in an empty house for a week whilst waiting for your goods to show up was an experience. It wasn't horrible, but I have no desire to repeat it.

The kids are sharing a [very pink] room and have adjusted quite well. Better than I had hoped. They are stressed out, though. Naptimes are random and unpredictable, middle of the night awakenings more common than not, tantrums more explosive, appetites wane and wax. Despite the disruptions, they've been flexible and forgiving. It is wonderful to open the doors separating the master bedroom from the deck that leads directly to the backyard and have dinner there. The kids next door have taken a shine to my kiddos, and it's sweet to hear them playing together, albeit in our respective yards.

My happiness at being here is tempered by melancholy. I miss Chicago and the friends I left behind. I have great love for a number of people, places, and things. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to live there and to develop relationships with all sorts of wonderful characters. I have to believe that these ties I established will never be severed. We may drift apart but will come back together. I have friends from the LA years whom I've rediscovered recently. I hope that holds true with my midwest peeps. For me, it's always about the people.

to Z on her fourth birthday

success!,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

My memories of you. Falling asleep on my chest after nursing in the waning hours of the night. Your tentative delight of being in a warm bath. Your exertions and accompanying vocal effects when you were trying to lift your head for the first time. The grin when you took your first steps toward me. The refusals to nap. Eating lunch at Café Selmarie and then spending endless minutes in the toy shop up the street. Your curiosity and calm when your brother made his first appearance into the world.

The limitless love I have for you is tinged with exasperation at your burgeoning defiance, fear that you are prone to giving up too easily, concern that I’ve passed along my obsessive-compulsive, perfectionist, fear of failure tendencies to you. You exhaust me with your sheer joy and the ebb and flow of your energy. Yet, somehow, you’re able to step up to the challenge at precisely the right moments and wow me with your empathy, your innate understanding of the world, your capacity for deep wells of emotion.

You have already called me your best friend and that you always want to be with me. Although I make light of it, I am touched by the pureness of your love for me. I've done nothing but bring you into this world, and I'm not sure if I've fully equipped you just yet. I will try not to screw it up, though I’m afraid eventually I will disappoint you. It is inevitable. But, I will always be your mother and your safe haven.

happy birthday, little man.

happy birthday, little man.,
originally uploaded by urban mama.

I’m gonna tell my son to grow up pretty as the grass is green
And whip-smart as the English Channel’s wide...
Liz Phair, “Whip-Smart”

Mr. Guy,

I cried when the nurses put you on my chest for the first time. Maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting you for another two weeks. Maybe it was because your sister - all 21 months of her - was present for your birth since the sitter came down with strep and was sitting in an emergency room waiting for treatment. And maybe it was because it was the start of an incredibly complex relationship between me and you, mother and son. You were born when a show called “The Sopranos” was big and that deals with the ramifications of a twisted mother/son relationship, among other things. You’re not allowed to watch it until you’re at least 18, by the way. I don't need you going all AJ on me.

I promise you that I will never hold you back from what you want to do, unless I sense that what you’re about to do has nothing to do with what you feel in your heart but more about what other people are telling you to do. I had a friend once whose mother was slowly dying of cancer. He wanted to move across the country to live out a dream but didn’t want to leave her. She made him go, saying that it would be selfish of her to keep him tethered when he had an entire life to life. That’s how I feel about you and your sister. You have grand opportunities waiting to be seized. Don’t hold back.

For now, as you turn the Important Age of Two, I will delight in your open mouthed kisses, your tackle hugs, your fake whiny cry which sounds a little like a broken ambulance siren, your anger at being thwarted from causing yourself real bodily harm, your willingness to try anything on my plate - even the garnish, your persistence and patient determination in opening doors you’re not supposed to open, and your mischevious, grabbing life by the balls, joyful disposition. In the words of Marge Simpson, you’re my special little guy. And yes, you can watch “The Simpsons” before you’re 18. It’ll probably still be running.

the eating habits of the very young homo sapiens

O has the palate of a burgeoning gourmand. He has sampled lobster and requested more after the first taste. He has been witnessed running around with a chicken and apple sausage clutched in a pudgy hand. He likes a bit of avocado with his soft tacos. He is not a fan of fast food, though like Jeffrey Steingarten and the late, great Julia Child, he loves McDonald's fries to the exclusion of any other offering from the golden arches. In fact, he prefers Boca burgers. There's nothing in the world that smells like a toddler who's had a load of garlic-infused soy.

Z, on the other hand, is a fan of processed foods. The faker, the better. She does love any sort of fruit - fresh, dried or hanging out in liquid, which offsets her love of the dinosaur-shaped mystery chicken nuggets. I considered it a major coup that she'll eat the chicken from the chicken chow fun we order from the local Chinese takeaway. It's difficult for me - someone who loves everything from four-star restaurant fare to $1.50 greasy cheese pizza slices - to accept this resistance to the myriad possibilities of food. As long as you need to eat, you may as well have some fun keeping yourself alive, right?

All this talk about food is making me hungry. Where are the wasabi peas?

parlez-vous français?

I am pleased to report that one of Z's favorite songs right now is "Sympathique" by Pink Martini. Lyrically, I think it's about ennui; my French skillz are less than poor, so I'm not the most reliable translator. There is something about smoking: "Et puis je fume". But the tune is catchy so we sing the song phonetically in the car and call it a day.

In related news, O has a huge aversion to Prince in all of his incarnations. Any Prince or The Artist Formerly Known As Prince song elicits shrieks of dismay and protests. And a general, emphatic "no!"