It's the Dress

Today I am wearing one of the new spring dresses I bought last month during my epic new-clothes-shopping expedition. I am taking Julia to a dance recital this afternoon, and I told her that lots of people like to dress up a little bit when they go to arts performances like recitals and concerts and plays, because it shows respect to the performers for their hard work and willingness to share their talents with the audience. Needless to say, it didn't take much for Julia to jump on this bandwagon. The girl is three, after all: an excuse to wear a dress? Right with ya!

Anyway, what I was going to say was this: my new dress is one of those soft and comfy jersey knits that are so popular right now, with a trendy yet classic allover small geometric print. And I really like it, even though I realized earlier that it's one of those currently-ubiquitous empire-waist pieces that ARE PRECISELY THE KIND OF DRESSES THAT SHOW UP IN THOSE CELEBRITY "IS SHE OR ISN'T SHE PREGNANT?" GOSSIP-MAGAZINE PHOTOS.

So I am telling you right now: No. I am not pregnant. IT'S JUST THE DRESS.

I Will Not Be Petty. I Will Not Be Petty. I Will Not Be Petty.

One of my favorite bloggers, Sheri Reed of happinest and today is pretty (oh! such lovely photos! especially of those boys of hers!), calls it a g-list. G for Gratitude. You know, the things you're thankful for. I'm thinking maybe I need to end every week with a little g-list action. Gratitude Saturday? Gratitude Friday?

Today was an easy day in which to call up some gratitude. Sleeping in (sort of) till 7 a.m. (thanks to a little Tylenol PM. I can now see that I could easily become addicted to sleep aids. It is nice to sleep past 4:30.) Sunny and 70. Errands on foot, downtown, in the May sunshine. Taking tiny girls to touch the fountain. Family bike ride to the park. Hard run. Dramatic wind, clouds, sky, fields.

Speaking of hard runs, I did my old hill run today, out on the country roads near my house, the route I ran all last summer and into the fall until it got dark too early and I became afraid I'd be run down by trucks. Seriously, could Spring Creek Road/Hall Avenue have any more hills? How in the world did I ever power up those inclines three times a week last summer in 90+ degree heat? These days, after sacrificing a full third of my spring to a sinus infection, I can barely make it out and back in a lovely, dry 65 degrees. I keep expecting the cars that pass me near County Road 19 to stop and ask if I need medical assistance. That's OK, though; I'm having fun. The thing about hard, hilly runs is that, once you shut out all the inner running commentary about everything you think you should be worried about, reflectiveness kicks in and, particularly if the sun is setting or the deer are out or you can see a squall of rain on the horizon like a watercolor painting, your old, tired Ingratitude List might even get kicked right out of your head. You might even make a vow to never again engage in petty thoughts about what others have, and what you don't. You might remember that such concerns are really not indicative of your truest nature, and therefore they might not be what you really want to project to the world. You might decide to formulate a g-list for the past week. Which would surely include: spring weather. iced soy lattes. backyard play. the hilarious season finale of "The Office." the ability to run. good health. personal mail. green grass. the leaves coming out, at last.

Reminder; Meditation; Affirmation

In the 2+ years I have lived in this cool little college town, the one frustration I've had is that everyone I meet, every family I hang out with, seems to enjoy, um....how shall I put it?....a more financially comfortable lifestyle than we do. Bigger, nicer, newer houses, gorgeously decorated rooms, acreage or nice yards with huge expensive playsets out back. It's been a new experience for me, living in a wealthy little community. I grew up with little money, then I became a poor student, then lived in the (poor part of the) city. I'm not used to being surrounded on all sides by wealth, or what I consider wealth.

Now, let me be clear, here. I am very, very grateful for what I have. I know people, including several members of my own immediate family, who make do with far less than Christopher and I have in the way of income, and could never consider paying for salon highlights, even if only twice a year, or buying things like brand-new ride-on toddler toys and preschool scooters instead of secondhand toys from a local garage sale.

Also: in my heart of hearts, and during most of my waking hours, I am truly--I swear!--pretty anti-materialistic, modest in my tastes, and more concerned with inner peace and happiness than with the kind of car anyone drives or house they live in. I try hard to be a good person, to be fully happy for others' successes and hard work, to not begrudge anyone their own happinesses, to be thankful for and joyful about my healthy, beautiful girls and the larger fortunes in life.

But I would be lying if I said it didn't bother me to live in such an affluent community, where it's hard to feel "normal" among many circles of family social life, unless you have....more. Not that anyone I've met has EVER made me feel inadequate. The families in this town are extraordinarily friendly and supportive. I adore the moms I've met and befriended through baby class and preschool; I've had such fun with them, and each one is genuinely kind and lovely. This is all about me, I'll be the first to say.

I love this town, but sometimes I miss living in a modest, blue-collar working-family neighborhood in the city where four-bedroom houses with custom cabinetry and granite countertops aren't the norm. I don't like the idea that there's really nothing much Christopher and I can do to substantially increase our income; even if I went back to work full-time--something I am totally opposed to while I am raising children, which isn't to say I'm against working PART-TIME--a huge portion of my salary would have to go for daycare. Christopher and I will never earn the kind of salaries many of our friends and relations earn. We just don't have those kinds of careers. Which is fine, in one way: obviously we made our own choices for better or worse, and the folks around me with the gorgeous houses and wooded lots made others, for their own better or worse. What's hard about it is not so much the fact that we don't make much money; it's that we don't make much money and yet we live in a town where a lot of people make a lot of money. There's research about this--about how dissatisfaction with one's economic situation has less to do with the financial facts of one's family income than it does with who one is surrounded by: others with similar financial situations, or others with significantly higher incomes.

But there's a happy lesson here, amidst all the sleep-deprivation-fueled pessimism and transient dissatisfaction with my lot in life. The other morning I went on some walking errands with Julia and Genevieve, visiting shops and sites across our sweet little downtown, and encountered a post office employee who is familiar with my girls and me. As she weighed my package, she smiled at us and chatted with me, asking if I am home full-time with my babies, saying that the fact that she couldn't stay home longer with her own when they were small is her only major regret in life. I casually commented that I'm so glad to be able to be with them each day, but that it's not easy. The postal worker nodded sympathetically and said, "That's for sure, honey. Of course it isn't! I remember what that's like, when dinner at Subway is a big deal!" She chuckled. "Good for you, hon. It's worth it for those babies."

What a nice thing to say. Of course I know it's true, myself. I say it all the time. But it's still nice to be reminded in such a sweet, supportive tone, from a kind, grandmotherly stranger, no less. It was just a nice moment. It made me feel better about everything.

Did I mention that I really do love this town, and the people in it? I really do.

21 Months of Genevieve Rose

Genevieve turns 21 months old today. In the last month, she's eaten pretty much nonstop, fueling some mysterious almost-two growth spurt and going from long and lean to toddler-roly-poly, and added, among others, the words "Ernie," "Zoe," "oval," "undies," and "potty" to her vocabulary. OK, so you sort of have to be her parents to understand what she's actually saying, but take my word for it: she's actually saying Ernie, Zoe, oval, undies, and potty.

About that potty thing. Just this week she's become fascinated by the potty chair, insisting on trying it out whenever Julia's in the bathroom, and progressing in two days from sitting on it fully clothed to, now, sitting on it with her diaper off and--this part is crucial, don't you dare get it wrong--her pants put back on after diaper removal so she can pool them around her ankles as she sits. Then she makes you give her a little square of toilet paper, which she crumples up in her chubby, dimply hand and pats in the vague vicinity of her backside. Not that she actually does anything in the potty, of course. But having an older sibling around seems to be a boon when it comes to interest in a diaper-free existence.

On a less positive note, the last month has also brought a VERY ANNOYING, VERY FRUSTRATING, long-lasting bedtime-rebellion trend, which manifests itself in prolonged crying, screaming, and calling for Christopher and/or me to go in and save her from her nightly fate. I know I've complained about this behavior from Genevieve before, but until now it hasn't gone on for weeks on end. Also, for many, many months--a year or more--Genevieve went to bed at nighttime with no real protest (not counting that awful falling-asleep-sitting-up phase she went through last spring when she first learned to sit herself up from a prone position; remember those fun times?). I'd nurse her, sing to her, put her down, and she'd grin up at me and then talk softly to herself for a few minutes before falling asleep. This recent prolonged screaming--the angst, the tears, the raging against the dying of the light--it's so terribly maddening. Who wants to listen to a screaming baby all evening long? After listening to a cranky baby all day? Not me.

To be fair, Genevieve's spirits have improved this past month. The nonstop tantrums aren't quite so nonstop. The teething has waned. The few new words have helped a lot. But Genevieve's still a firebrand, and she tends toward the surly. Look at her wrong, ask to kiss her, and she's likely to wrinkle up her nose at you and yell, "NAAAAH!" If you're particularly offensive, you'll probably get a swat or a shove. The other mamas at our new baby playgroup don't believe this, because in large groups Genevieve is typically mute and unanimated, but truly: get in her way, once she knows you, and she'll let you know you'd better STEP BACK. And FORGET ABOUT THE KISSES AND CUDDLES, TOO.

It's all OK, though, because she is who she is. Christopher made up a rhyme not too long ago: "Vivi, Vivi, you're so nice! Can I kiss you once or twice?", and Julia loves Genevieve so much that she has reinterpreted it, adding a line so that the last part isn't a yes or no question. Julia says to her, "Vivi, Vivi, you're so nice! Can I kiss you once or twice? Can I kiss you once? Or twice?"

Because who wants to take no for an answer from Genevieve? Not me.

What-to-Do Wednesdays: You Tell Me

OK, so What-to-Do Wednesdays is supposed to be a weekly idea for a fun activity to keep the wee ones busy for a few minutes while Mama drinks some coffee (or, more frequently, helps with the activity).

But people, this week I'm lying down on the job. (I wish I were ACTUALLY lying down, but whatever.) And I'm sorry about that.

We had a terrible day here yesterday, the kind of day you wish you could erase from your parenting memory forever. No one got hurt, no one ran away (though I was sorely tempted), and I'm sure no permanent damage was done to any of our psyches. But it left me so stressed and exhausted that it was probably not a coincidence that at my last-evening hair appointment up in the suburbs, I not only spent a ridiculous amount of money for my hairdresser to pretty me up with way more blonde highlights than usual, I also had her chop off nearly three inches of my (previously very long) hair. I think I was searching for some kind of liberation, and thought that a little less blowdrying might serve me well. Or maybe I was just craving some self-care.

Every now and then I feel like I'll go crazy if I don't get, say, a night in a hotel with black-out curtains, or a parents' weekend away without the babies, or even just eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. But I always feel too broke (please, no comments about the highlights, above; I can't take it today) or too confused or too tired or too babysitter-less to make it happen. But then I end up more tired, more stressed, and with even less relief in sight.

A friend just told me that she and another friend were talking recently about how it seems like any minute now this day-to-day parenting life should start feeling easier--fewer diapers, after all; less nursing; more self-dressing skills, right?!--and yet it doesn't. More accurately, surely sometimes it does. But the day-in, day-out fog of taking care of preschoolers-and-under is certainly still in full form, and we're all still in the thick of it. I've been told several times in the last few months alone, by moms of children older than mine, that I'm "right in the middle of the hardest part", and that "it gets way, way easier." I don't doubt that "easier" is a relative term, and that five-year-olds and seven-year-olds and, good lord, fifteen-year-olds--are difficult to parent in their own ways. But I do take seriously the affirming smiles and nods of the kindergartners' moms, the moms of second-graders, when they express relief that they're no longer "in the thick of it," whatever that thick of it happens to be for all of us. It means maybe I won't always be this tired and desperate for self-care.

You tell me, Internet. How do YOU take care of yourself, when the nights are too short and you can't sleep past five and your to-do list is too long and you've got birthdays to plan and errands to run and cooking to do and that damn salmon pasta salad that's going to go bad before anyone can stomach making another meal out of it? You tell me.

(Nearly) The End of Year One

Next week is Julia's last day of preschool for the year. I kind of thought that I'd be wearing short sleeves, and going coat-less, by the penultimate week of preschool.

It's hard to believe that my oldest child's first year of school--if only the neighborhood co-op nursery school--is ending. To me, she and her little classmates look the same as always; but then I see home video of last September, when preschool began, and see that she looks completely different now: so much taller, so much of the toddler belly and the plump baby cheeks and chubby arms gone! Her classmates, upon closer inspection, are all longer and leaner as well, with different eyes, more confident smiles. They're all little kids now, no toddler left in them. How did that happen?

We've all changed, even the parents. As for myself, I came to this first preschool experience cautious and concerned ("Remember preschool orientation and how nervous we all were?!" a friend of mine asked laughingly the other day, and yes, I do. "I was a wreck! By the end of the line of forms and sign-up sheets and the tables of t-shirts for sale, I was sweaty!"), and I'm leaving as the president of the board. I have three more years ahead of me with girls in this school; I'm happy and relieved that it feels like home, a safe place to leave my babies for a few hours a week, to learn, among other things, who else can love them.

The preschool year closes out with "Track and Field Day" this Thursday (wouldn't you just LOVE to see that?!), and with a family ice cream social next week on the last day of school. Where I'm sure a few other mamas will get a little nostalgic too, thinking of that week last September--those tables of forms and t-shirts, the sign-up sheets, the nerves.

Tuesday Do-Little Dinners: Salmon Pasta Salad

Over the weekend Christopher accidentally bought a gigantic salmon fillet. I mean, he meant to buy salmon (on the grocery list); it's just that he didn't realize how huge the salmon fillet he was buying actually was. I made two meals with regular baked salmon as an entree, and yesterday I decided to use up the leftover fillet by tossing it with some pasta. However, in doing so, I accidentally made way too much pasta, forgetting that a.) Genevieve hates pasta, and b.) we weren't having an entire other family over for dinner last night. Apparently we are going to be eating salmon for the rest of our natural lives. Because that bowl of salmon pasta salad I threw together yesterday afternoon? ENORMOUS.

Anyway, I might as well use my culinary experiment as fodder for Tuesday Do-Little Dinners, no? If YOU happen to have any leftover salmon at your house, you might try tossing it (cooked and flaked, of course) with cooked pasta, green peas (frozen, but thawed), chopped tomatoes (use canned until it's proper tomato season, but drain WELL), green olives, and a dressing made from olive oil, lemon juice, dried or fresh dill, minced/pressed garlic, dijon mustard, salt, and pepper, and then chill the whole thing before supper. If you were me, you would then wish you had also included slivered red onion and/or more garlic and pepper. You would also toss some grated Parmesan cheese into the bowl.

Sorry, I don't have exact amounts for you. It doesn't really matter; just use as much or as little of everything as looks good to you. Although if you're using a full box of pasta (my fatal error), for the dressing you might try something like 1/3 cup oil, 1/3 cup lemon juice, 1-2 T. mustard, 1 tsp. dried dill, 1-2 cloves garlic, 1/2 tsp. salt, and 1/4 tsp. pepper. Whisk together, then taste it and adjust to your own liking. You may like more dressing than this amount, also. Do as you please; it's easily expandable.

Serve with a green salad and some breadsticks, and although it's tasty, hope you don't have to eat it for the next three days straight. Yikes.

And This is Why I Am Mostly Vegetarian

Apparently this morning at the grocery store, Julia and Christopher had a little conversation in the meat department. About things like, oh, where meat comes from. And how the meat and fish we eat were once living animals.

I don't think the whole idea bothered Julia all that much. Tonight at dinner, as we were tucking into the salmon fillet I had broiled with Parmesan cheese, lemon, and dill, Julia exclaimed enthusiastically, "Mama, yum! This is REALLY GOOD dead fish!"

Um, thanks?

The Quest Continues

I have been busy with my continued quest for a new swimsuit. People, it hasn't been pretty. Yesterday the one I ordered from Land's End arrived in the mail. Despite the fact that I dutifully went by my measurements when picking a size, the suit was so small it actually hurt. IT HURT, PEOPLE.

Um, yeah, the Land's End swimsuit is going back.

That is all.