More "Stella-isms"

As evidenced by the post before this, Stella's way of making connections lately has had me cracking up. She's finally gotten to the point where her speech is not only used for asking for things in hopes of getting them or just recalling her day, but moving beyond and making bigger connections to things. Her memory has always been good and she seems to remember things that even I don't recall at times. But lately... oh lately...

Case in point #1:

In the car coming home from Trader Joes:

Me (to the car in front): Buddy, can you drive a little faster?
Stella: Mommy? You like talking to cars?
Me: Yes, Stella. I do. (We have had this conversation a few times before). 
Stella: I like talking to cars too.
--beat--
Stella: You truck! Drive straight! Stay on the road!

Case in point #2:

To encourage teeth brushing, we sing the "When you wake up in the morning and it's quarter to 2, and you don't have a thing to do, you brush your teeth shh-shh-shh- etc etc" The other night in the bathtub:

Stella (with washcloth in hand): When you wake in the morning, you brush your butt. shshh-sh-sh-sh-sh - you brush your butt.

Case in point #3:
(We were making banana bread this afternoon).
Stella: Mommy? When you go to school and teach your students, do you teach them how to mash 'nanas?
Me: Yes Stella, I wish I was teaching my students to mash bananas. I wish that were my job.
Stella: That would be fun.

Seriously, considering this horrible academic job market (year #3 folks!) I think those "Mommy and Me" cooking classes are looking better all the time. Anyone want to be a business partner to contribute start-ups costs? Don't you think these Santa Barbarians would totally fork over cash for something like that? Oh wait... they have people that "do" for them. They don't need to learn how to cook with their kids. Maybe they would send the nannies instead.

Not that kind of dancer….

A friend’s blog post prompted me to relay this on-going story about Stella. About six months ago, Stella came home from school and said to me “I’m a dancer, Momma.” Ok, Stella, yes, you are. Around the same time, my mom had sent some pajamas with a little ballerina applique on them. They now, of course, are her favorite pajamas, with the monkey ones coming a close second. “I’m a dancer” she likes to say randomly through the day, twirling and spinning and, if prompted by the appropriate music, lots of hip shaking and boogie-ing.

I’m not sure when one enrolls a child in dance classes (??) although by some friends’ stories, it seems that 3-4 seems to be the time that kids start to do these things. But I have been encouraging her to express herself through movement as much as she wants – either with music, or without. The local ballet company was doing a small showcase of their upcoming production in the local libraries last week, and after seeing that, Stella has increased the “I’m a dancer” rhetoric tenfold. She sweeps through the house, moving her arms purposefully and gracefully, and asks occasionally for me to pick her up “like the daddy dancer did to the mommy” at the “li-bar-bee.”

Yesterday morning, she almost made me spit out my tea, however. Trying to say quiet so Daddy could sleep in a bit, we headed to her room after the usual routine of cream cheese on toast to take off her pajamas and overnight diaper (oh when oh when will we be done with these??) Once in the nude, she began dancing through the bedroom, staring at herself occasionally in the small mirror I put up on her wall (for all those silly faces she likes making). “I’m a dancer, Mommy.” Yes, Stella, I really like the way you are moving so slowly, but shouldn’t we put on some underwear?

“I’m a naked dancer.”

Cue tea through nose.

Identifications

I teach college kids. Three years ago, even though I babysat throughout my youth, I don’t think I really knew *that* much about young children, much less how they make connections and their minds work. Every week, I continue to wonder at the connections Stella makes, her ability to remember things, and (after not speaking for so long) her articulation about the world around her. I’m not saying my child is brilliant. I’m sure she is just doing the things that’s she’s supposed to at this age, I just don’t always know what those are, so I’m continually amazed.

One thing I have been wondering about it is the insistence on animal recognition. I’m totally guilty of this. I guess it’s because so many children’s books have animals as the main characters, but seriously, does Stella really need to know what a rhino is? Chances are, she’ll be lucky if she even ever sees one of these things in a zoo. (Oh how we miss the awesome zoo, San Diego). Of course, I continue to ask when we see pictures, when she gets her monthly “Wild Animal Baby” magazine her grandparents graciously send her, etc. Then again, her little brain is such a sponge right now, why not? So I’ve also started on making sure that she learns the names of the things around her. Luckily, the barnyard animals actually do live in our neighborhood, so the fact that she now knows the difference between a “hen” and a “rooster” and a “coop” and a “sty” seems appropriate. She knows that Shasta and Cortez have hooves, muzzles, and manes, and that pigs and goats have hooves too, but not dogs. Dogs have paws, Mama. She can recognize by sight and sound the woodpeckers that nest in the palm trees, the hummingbirds that go to the feeder, the mourning doves that perch on our telephone wires, and the blue jay that likes to throw all the bird seed out of the feeder. The crows, the rooster, the ducks, the goose, and the turkey are old hat to her now, and when I casually ask “what was that?” she looks at me like, really? Come on, I know that’s the darn turkey. She asks now so I have started specifically identifying flowers and plants on our walks by name, so we’ve added gum tree, agave cactus and birds of paradise to our roster as well. Sadly, if we move anywhere else in the US, none of these things are going to be as commonplace again. The crux of living in Southern California. The weather and surroundings are beautiful; the people, not so much.

I list all of this not as showing off, but more as a reminder to us of all the experiences that she has had here in our little neighborhood that sadly, she will not remember hardly at all, and even more sad, my brain will probably fail me and I will not remember either! And yet for all that she does do to stupefy Steve and I, her occasional tantrums, screaming matches, and throwing herself on the floor and crying remind us that yes, she is indeed not yet 3. There are times when I forget, when I’m in the middle of having a perfectly normal conversation with her, and believing that she is more mature than her years, and then she has no concept that I can’t read a book to her while I drive from the playground , and then all hell breaks loose and I try as hard as I can to focus on the road while she screams from her carseat.

Ladies who lunch

Finally downloaded photos from the camera from last night and found these… Stella and I had a tea party with her animals one morning. She has been very big into playing dress up, but we don’t have a lot of the typical “princess/ballerina/dress/sparkle/tulle/netting/glitter” outfits common in little girl households. (Although I have been scouring thrift stores recently for them and it appears they don’t seem to carry them unless it’s Halloween. Go figure). This particular ensemble came from my good friend Ali’s mom, who found it at a thrift store last year when she was looking for costumes for a play. Our other dress up outfits consists of Christmas dress hand-me-downs that Stella never wore. Hey, they’re frilly!

I also had to share Stella’s choice of outfit to the birthday party this weekend. Again, all her choice. I chose not to fight it and just let her wear what she wanted. It’s a look, isn’t it?

And the beat goes on…

I can’t say there has been anything amazing to report lately. I’ve reached the third trimester of the pregnancy, which means I’m more cranky, feeling like a waddling whale, annoyed with the ungainlyness that comes from trying to get up off the floor after playing with Stella, get myself out of the car, walk up a hill that should not make me feel out of breath but does, and the one I loathe most, having to get up to pee in the middle of the night when there is no other reason for me to be getting up. It’s one thing if I have to get up to find Puppy for Stella or Scupper has a late night “I will poop all over your floor if you don’t let me outside” moment, but it’s another when it’s blissfully quiet and I wake up because my bladder is singing. Ah well. All in all, this pregnancy has been pretty good, I haven’t pondered over things too much, and last month, staved off a pinched nerve that was preventing me from sitting, standing, walking, or doing anything comfortably. (With Stella, I ended up being fairly crippled for a good 3 weeks). We are not any closer to a name – which kind of makes me feel bad. I though we had one a few weeks ago, and then I realized today it just wasn’t a strong name. This baby needs a strong name. I pictured her going into a business meeting or an interview at age 25 and introducing herself – and then I realized, this name isn’t going to cut it. So back to the drawing board.

Stella went to her first birthday party this weekend. She was obsessed with the helium balloons. I think I’m going to get her some when Bittle is born, because they kept her occupied for the duration of the party, and then when we got home. Scupper, of course, popped it later in the evening, but it ended up being quite a hit. A bag of party favors from the event included some small plastic bugs, which were pretty fun… and a candy ring pop. Stella has never had a lollipop or hard candy (or soft candy for that matter!) in her life. Let’s just say this ring pop was the MOST FASCINATING THING EVER to her. She cried a bunch of tears on the way home from the party when I burst her bubble that she was not going to get to eat it before nap time. But after nap time, you bet your sweet Bippy that she remembered about it. She was actually pretty good and kept putting it back in the foil wrapper on and off all afternoon. I don’t even think the thing changed in size, which frankly, was fine by me. I put it away after dinner and thought, oh good, out of sight, out of mind. This morning, she had a bowl of granola, milk, and bananas and then came into the kitchen when I was rinsing out the bowls. “I’m so full, Mama. My tummy has lots of breakfast” – oh good Stella, glad you enjoyed breakfast. “I think I can eat my ring pop now.”

WHAAA??

Pretty sneaky little one. Um, no. No ring pops at 7:30 in the morning.

That also did not go over well. I think Halloween this year might be, shall we say, interesting?

When was Christmas again?

Some of the family members have been asking about Christmas photos. Oh right. Christmas. When was that again? Seems like a lot has happened in three weeks, but we did have a wonderful week. Steve was home between the holidays, and this year, Stella seemed to understand more about the holiday season, about the fun of giving gifts (and lots of baked goods!) to other people and not *always* expecting gifts to herself. (Although the constant arrival of the UPS man to our house, whether the box was for her, Steve, or the neighbors, still prompted, “a present? for me?”). For us, the Christmas season became fun again, watching it through her eyes… the picking out of the tree, the making of Christmas cookies, the decorating the tree with ornaments basically on the lower half, and I think, quite possibly her favorite, looking at Christmas lights. Luckily, our little cul-de-sac and the adjoining neighborhood over the bridge had quite a bit, so we started taking “nighttime walks” with Scupper after dinner to check out all the lights. “It’s so beautiful!” she would cry, “Mama, did you see that one?” She learned about “chasing lights,” got excited by those awful blowup figurines, and my personal SoCal favorite, “Mama, look at the Christmas palm trees!” So here’s a sprinkling of our holiday fun, in pictures.

Picking out the Christmas tree at the local farm, and of course, the fun way of getting it home on the van.

Sugar cookies – notice the official “Christmas frog” in the pile. She enjoyed these a bit too much!

The bike waiting under the tree… (we found it on craigslist and Steve repainted it and put star stencils on the frame. She was pretty excited. and oh yes, she asked for blue.) Stella also has been fascinated with trumpets as of late (because of seeing angel figurines with trumpets) so Santa brought her a kazoo. Um, why did Santa do that again?

It was the season for hats as Scupper begs for the beef jerky Santa brought Steve in his stocking.

The remnants of Scupper’s Christmas duck. I think it took him about 35 minutes to disembowel it while Stella went for her first “ride” around the house.

Cooking up lunch for us at her new table top stove.

Off they go for a first ride…
We also went to camping with friends from San Diego. I’ll post those pictures soon.

All I ever learned, I learned from my kindergarten teacher mom

So obviously I’ve been becoming increasingly introspective lately. (See recent post below). This may be boring for you blog readers that come to see cute pictures or funny stories of our kid. Sorry. Bear with me. Currently, Stella is in the “I can’t handle you saying no to me so I’m going to lay myself on the floor and scream” phase which is not at all cute or funny. It is, in fact, frustrating and exhausting.

But with the third trimester starting next week in my pregnancy (how the heck did we get there so quickly??!!) I have been thinking a lot about motherhood, about daughters, and about how those daughters will grow into young women in this society that we live in. Not only have I been pondering their future, but also our collective past, the women that also make up who they are, their grandmothers, great-grandmothers, and so on. What type of influences have they had on the way I have chosen to live my life? How might they influences the girls? (wow, feels really wild to say that… the girls…sorry. still getting used to it.)

My grandmother never went to college. She graduated in June 1929. When did the crash happen? Yup. October 1929. Pretty sucky time to be 18 and want to make something of yourself. And being 7 of 9 kids in upstate New York, well, college was a luxury one couldn’t really afford. You can fill in the rest of the Great Depression narrative. But going to school was important to my grandmother and she made sure that her 3 children went to college. And now those three children all have Masters degrees. Pretty awesome, I think. She was also a spitfire. Even in the last years of her life, debilitated by a stroke, her mind was quick, her comments witty, and her jokes piercing. I’d like to think that Stella has that spitfire in her as well. I also know she gets a double dose of it because Steve’s grandma (Ruth, Stella’s appropriate middle name) was also a ball of energy and fire. I wish I could sew and knit voraciously as my grandma did, but I do have her entire collection of knitting needles that remind me each time I make something, I’m continuing a long tradition.

Which brings me to my mom. I am lucky in that the book “All I ever needed to know I learned in kindergarten” directly applies to my life because my mom was/is a kindergarten teacher. How awesome is that? So really and truly, even if she wasn’t *really* my kindergarten teacher, I learned all I really needed to know from her. How to be compassionate. How to share. How to be nice to friends. How to be silly. How to think of others. How to make someone feel special. How to always give hugs just when you need it. How to love reading. How to love singing songs. I know I wouldn’t be the mom I am today without her as a model. What does Stella love to do most? Sing silly songs. (Um, like all the time).  Read. Give big hugs. I talk to my mom almost every day. I think Steve was a little taken aback by this years ago. (Really? You call your mom every day?) But she’s one of my best friends. I feel the need to check in, tell her what’s going on, and she graciously listens to each little detail, no matter how small, and this, these stolen moments on cell phone minutes, keeps me sane. It’s like a big mom hug over the phone. A reminder that I’m doing ok. That I’m following in the path of a long line of women who loved their families so much at times that maybe they should have loved themselves a bit more. (Isn’t that what we do as women though?) But in the loving comes acceptance, for who you are and what you are capable of. Part of a family of women who chose motherhood not to complete themselves, but to to move themselves in ways they knew not how, and in the doing, found a great joy.

But this is not just about my upbringing or my mom’s or grandma’s upbringing, but also about how I am just who I am. Which is nothing that my mom or grandma or great-grandma really had anything to do with. Sure, my Babci (my dad’s grandma) was an amazing cook and maybe some of my skills extend from there, but she did it because she had to. And that’s what women did. They cooked to feed their families, especially large Polish ones. I cook to feed my family but I also do it because I love it. Really, no one spends 2 hours in the kitchen making only five 8oz jars of blood orange marmalade on a Sunday afternoon because they really *have* to do it. But the pressure I put on myself to always get things right? The high standards to which I hold myself accountable? The internal drive to always be doing something, researching anything new? Nope. That’s all me. My hard-wiring, if you will. Maybe my schooling had something to do with it and the constant desire to be as good or better than my peers (who were all so good to begin with, it was really hard to compete!) The arts, and now for me, academia, does that to you…nothing like auditions and call backs to make you want to be better than someone else so you can get the part. Nothing like fighting 200 people for a job that you know you could do with your eyes closed if someone just gave you the chance.

And now to the future. To a little girl who currently has used all of our clean washcloths and hand towels to cover her stuffed animals up with blankets before they go to bed, including the plastic fish in the bathtub. Yes. Really. That was not me teaching her that, I can tell you that much. She has, as of late, been found at preschool each pick up wearing sparkly dress-up clothes. That she might have got from me… But what of a few years down the road? What of middle school? She must grow into an independent woman just as my family let me do the same.  It’s not that I want to shield her from the world, but as a female in our society, advanced though it has become since my grandma’s time, how do I teach her to love her body for what it is? To always believe that women are as smart and savvy as men? To demand as much respect in the world, the workplace, the home, as she deserves? I feel I learned those things from the women in my family (oh the stories of how my mom bested –secretly and not so secretly - the administration at her school are worth a memoir in itself. I’m serious. It would sell like hotcakes.) I can only hope that Stella – and Bittle – will find their own way, with a long line of strong women behind them.

Ride ‘em cowgirl.