FOUR?

Dear Stella,

This morning, I told you the story of your birth. Actually, I started by telling you about the day before. Because this morning you woke up and told me there was no way you could wait until tomorrow for your birthday. So I explained how on this day, April 15, four years ago, I was in yoga class and couldn't wait for you to come out... the point, of course, of my story being that I couldn't wait either, but you came when you wanted, the next day. "And then what happened?" you asked excitedly. You didn't completely understand the concept of "Water-breaking" but you laughed that it happened at the dog park and that Scuppy wouldn't get on leash so I could drive home. 

I would say that that seems like only yesterday... but in actuality, it doesn't. It seems like a lifetime ago that we had you, that you have always been with us. And for the most part, I mean that in the best way possible. We love to hear you sing, your long narrative songs that seem to have no rhyme or reason but end up telling the most fantastical tales. We love to watch your interpretive dance - in the living room, on the bed, in the yard, in the lake (oh yes, this weekend there was dancing at the lake) - your free-flow form just making up, making do, and making joy. We love that you always want to help cook in the kitchen, and yes, I promise maybe this year I'll start to show you how things work on the stove because I guess the mixer and the food processor are just old hat now. 

I won't sugar coat this year and say it has been all sparkles and glitter. Because we both know it hasn't. But then again, it has been a great year of transitions. A new baby sister, a new place to live, and by your next birthday, we'll be celebrating it somewhere else. So considering the momentous changes in your short life, I think we've managed okay. I was told by someone that the day her son turned four, he magically became a different person. No more tantrums, no more acting out. We're hopeful that this might actually happen to us, but I have a feeling it won't. And I guess that will be ok. Your emotions lie so close to the surface, and for the most part, I don't we would have it any other way. Because although those emotions give us sweeping tantrums, they also give us the biggest heart, the greatest compassion, and the warmest love. 

To our dancer, our artist, our shining star, 

Happy birthday.

Better late than never...

My dear Louisa,

You turned one on Friday. Today is Monday. If you were on the only child (or in Stella's case) the first child, I would have crafted this blog post the day of your birthday, marking time, remembering the year that we have spent together. And yet, you have fallen into the stereotypical "second sibling" syndrome where some things end up being an after thought, and we rush through life, moving forward without much time to look back.

In some ways, that is very much who you are... moving forward with gusto and life. As your caregiver at daycare remarked on Thursday, "Oh my gosh, she is almost running now." Yes, at one year old, you are doing our full set of stairs without stopping, practically running instead of toddling, understanding EVERYTHING we say and voicing your opinion with emphatic shakes of the head (as in NO I don't want a diaper changer or NO I don't want my nose wiped). I think, in many ways, you are just trying to keep up with your big sister, but I don't think I can chalk up your rapid development to just that. You are, and will always be, my warrior baby. I knew that at 4 months in utero when you proceeded to kick and punch and make your opinions known, quite forcefully. I am here! it felt like you were always saying, I'm ready! Just let me at that world! And after spending a wonderful year with you, I can say that you embrace life in such the same fashion. Challenges do not seem daunting to you - you just consider the situation, and go and do it. Large box in the way in the kitchen? No worries, I'll just push it the length of the hallway out of the way? Something in my path to get to momma? No worries, I'll just climb over it. The bath water just turned on? Great, let me try to climb in that tub right now! New food in front of me? Sure! Bring it on.

And yet, for the most part, you have been the calmest child I could ever hope for. The first month of your life, your grammy kept saying "what a good baby" you were, and it's true. You hardly ever cry, and if you do, we know that something is wrong. You still love to bury your head in our shoulders, wiggling your butt to snuggle into a comfy position. Music comes on, and you immediately shake your shoulders with joy. And now that you've found the joy of being outside, I don't think we'll ever get you back in the house. (You are your sister's sibling after all).

I won't bring up that you're still not sleeping through the night... but that's probably because I've spoiled you a bit... and probably because I don't want to let you grow up just yet. Not ready to say goodbye to my "infant" and welcome a "toddler." But then again, you left infancy in the dust about 2 months ago. I am the one that needs to catch up now.

We are very excited for what the next year will bring. As one of your sister's book says, "This year with you my child, has been fun, it's true. I loved watching you turn one, but I can't wait for two."

Tutus at 8 am?

Yes please!

The evil should monster

I should be researching food culture and the blogosphere right now. Hell, I should have done that a month ago and should actually be writing right now.

I should be writing lesson plans for classes 2 weeks from now so that I can get ahead.

I should be writing a lesson plan for class for tomorrow, or watching the film that I've assigned but actually have only watched scenes from, and thus, will probably end up "winging" class tomorrow which makes me feel awful.

I should be getting better from all the DOOM SICKNESS that enveloped our house, but instead, due to the 25mph winds here today, am full of snot and post-nasal drip because pollen is at an all-time high.

But in the face of all these "shoulds" I'm blogging about it. Basically whining about it. Because instead of putting all that energy into doing something, I am, in fact, seized with such lethargy and innertia that I can't do anything.

This is not a good place to be. What it makes me is a cranky mom.

I snapped at Stella three times in the course of 10 minutes this morning. Instead of calmly explaining why pushing her sister was not the most effective way of keeping her away from the toilet, instead of explaining why pushing her sister to the floor to keep her out of my sink drawers was not the most effective way, instead of explaining to Stella why trying to pick her sister up by the neck was not the most effective way of picking her up, instead of explaining calmly why almost 4 year olds don't really need "mousse" in the hair, regardless of the fact that Mommy used it to try to make her crappy hair look somewhat decent, which in the end did not work.... instead of using calm, I used loud. "Stella! Stop it!" "Stella, we don't do that to Louisa!" "Stella? What are you doing?"

I can understand why she has been so defiant these days. Who wants to be corrected all the time? I certainly don't. In fact, if she truly is my child, which I believe she is, then she wants to be right all the time. ;) So then the should monster rears its ugly head and tells me all day, I "should" be a better parent.

The amount of pressure we parents of young children put on ourselves is enormous. In fact, some days, too enormous to hold the weight and it all comes crashing down. Into yells. Into tears. Into tantrums. Into a big handful of cookies or a drink after the kids go to bed because self-medicating with either chocolate or bourbon seems like the best thing.

I didn't take the dog running this morning. I "should" have. And this is the only should I know I "should" have made at least a priority because maybe the 20 minutes, the simple quiet 20 minutes of a run all myself without any kids hanging off of me might have helped my mood. 20 minutes of "me" time. 20 minutes of doing something for my body to make it have the energy it needs to run around later after 2 children.

I know I'm not in this alone. But without a strong framework of friends or family here, we feel like we are flying by the seat of our pants most days... or adrift on a raft, floating aimlessly, wondering if we'll ever see land. No wonder Stella is at her peak emotionally most days. Without the interaction of other people from school, she's stuck with her family 24-7. We haven't had a little girl to play at our house since Santa Barbara... there, yet again, we "should" do better by our kids. But when her school best friend's mom won't even say hello to me, won't even look me in the eye when we cross paths at pick-up time, I'm not sure how to even broach the "hey, you want to come over for a playdate?" question.

This post has now become a jumble of thoughts... funny, I was teaching my students in Theatre History on Monday about the Surrealists... in a way, today feels a lot like automatic writing. The need to put whatever is in one's head down on paper, and looking back later for the illuminations that arise.

Related?

I always wonder if we look related... still not sure.

As an aside, Stella insisted that we take this photo on the new camp chair that Steve found left at the local baseball field... you know, lest you think that we have some random red frame chair in our living room.

From the mouths of...

Louisa knocks over Stella's play stroller with her stuffed animals in it, and Stella utters:

"Oh Bunny, I know. That was traumatic for you."

Steve and I almost lose it. "Um, Stella, do you know what the word 'traumatic' means?"

"No."

"Well, you used it properly. Do you want me to tell you what it means?"

"No."


***********

Before going to bed a few nights ago:

"Mommy, can I ask you a question?"

Sure.

"Mommy, why does the sorcerer turn the white swan into a black swan?"

What?

"the white swan? Why does he do that?"

Oh, you mean in Swan Lake? (which we watched like 3 weeks before and hadn't talked about it since.) Well, he's a mean sorcerer, and really the black swan is his daughter pretending to look like the white swan.

"Why?"

Um, because that's the story. The sorcerer wants the white swan to live in his lake forever because he likes her.

"But the prince likes her! That's not fair."

No Stella, it isn't.

"Good night Mommy."

When life gives you sand...

you make sand angels. Of course.