Finally...the loot!

True to form, Helen was ready for "just one more house" though she also requested to be carried because her legs were "SO TIRED". And though the wee ones may disagree, I think the haul was sufficient. Plus, I got nervous and purchased an extra bag of candy at Target yesterday so we have a lot of left-overs.

As soon as Helen and Connor returned home from their final outing, Connor started sorting. Chip off the old block, that kid is. Sorting marks a long-held Halloween tradition for my sister and me. I have to say, the pile of "yucky candy" which was always reserved for my dad was pretty small. And mom, there were NO Mounds or Bit O' Honey this year.  Strange, I know. Please don't cancel your upcoming trip on account of this. There's lots of other good stuff!

Happy Halloween!
Elaine

First Grade

I had two first grade teachers. The first one, Mrs. R.,  was simply appalled that I was not my sister. My sister, who is among the funnier people I know when she talks, describes herself as terrified to talk in class. There she sat, day after day, among the smartest kids, always getting her homework done on time and generally doing her best to not be noticed. She's the kind of student who really gave a teacher a break.

I was not that kid.

As I remember it, Mrs. R. would come out to lean into my mom's car on a near daily basis to let her know what egregious crime I had committed in class that day. It got old for me really fast. And it didn't make me change my mind about the merits of talking in class. It even got old for my mom. One day, my mother instructed me to hurry up to the car after school as fast as I could so that Mrs. R. couldn't talk to her in the carpool line. Rather than dilly-dallying, as I was prone to do, I was to beat Mrs. R. by such a margin that my mom could peal out of the pick-up area before being noticed by the evil Mrs. R.

I love my mom for that. She somehow recognized that nothing was going to change. And she could either listen to Mrs. R. complain daily, or she could avoid her.

I really did not enjoy my first few months of first grade. But then, glory of all glories, Mrs. R's husband got transferred and I got a new teacher. Mrs. P. was, by far, the best elementary school teacher I had. She adored the challenging kids in class, which means she adored me. And I adored her. I was thrilled not to be compared to my sister. Here was someone who didn't even know my sister!

Mrs. P. taught me a lot of important lessons. And she really pushed me and my friends. Each week, she would send about six of us who were pretty good at spelling to the library with big words - ones with 10 letters in them! These were glorious words that were completely foreign to us. After receiving our words for the week, we would each paw through the giant dictionary guarded by the librarian and record the meanings of these incredible words. Then, we would return back to class and when it came time for the weekly spelling test, we'd be tested on these words instead of the regular first grade spelling words. I still remember learning the word exaggerate.

I was so proud of knowing that word. I was so confident that this unique word was known only by myself, Mrs. P., and the others in my spelling group, that I decided to go home and impress my parents. I looked right at my dad during dinner and casually queried "Dad, do you EXAGGERATE?". (And yes, I'm sure I said it in ALL CAPS because this was the money word, and I was on the brink of proving my brilliance to all of humankind - or at least my family.) And my dad responded "yes". And I was filled with glee because my dad  had just admitted that he exaggerated. Clearly, he did not know what the word meant. Because in my first grade mind, I had decided that exaggerating was a very bad thing to do. It was much later in life that I learned to blog. So, I savored his response for about half a moment, and then I decided that I needed to really, really nail him, making clear my eventual plan to dominate the world with my smarts. So my eyes bugged out of my head as I tried to maintain my cool and I asked "YOU DO?!? YOU EXAGGERATE?". And my dad, who apparently had a vocabulary that was as good as mine responded, cool as a cucumber, "yes, about how great my children are. I do it all the time".

Game. Set. Match.

To say I was crushed would be an understatement. Here I am, after all, more than three full decades after this moment occurred and I remember it like it was yesterday. I realized then that world domination might elude me for a bit longer than I had initially suspected.

Learning that I should assume others know as much as me - especially others who were my parents - was but one of the many important lessons Mrs. P. would teach me over the year. She also reinforced for me that controlled chaos can be a beautiful thing, that the world is huge - and she did her best to expose me to it, and that a sophisticated Texas accent is enthralling. I was mesmerized from her first "howdy, y'all'.

I carry a little piece of Mrs. P. with me to this day. I still think about all the fun I had in that class. I think about how my friend learned to read from dinosaur books because he thought the traditional reader was stupid. I think about the time that so few children showed up for class, Mrs. P. actually took us to her house to bake cookies. Seriously. We all piled into her VW bug (kids could sit in the front seat in those days - and seat belts and car seats were either nonexistent, or nobody bothered to use them) and she took off with us for the day. Can you even imagine that happening today? I remember that I used to take a nap at my desk often, and Mrs. P. didn't seem to mind. One of the other kids would wake me if the class was leaving the room, and Mrs. P. would always, always, always give me a hug and let me know that it was hard for her to wake up sometimes, too. I remember being so sad when I was in 6th grade and found out she was moving back to her beloved Texas. I cried and cried on her last day. I even remember the little thumbprint Christmas ornament that we made for our parents that year. She had each of us make a thumbprint, and then she turned it into an animal. Mine was a mouse with a little tail. I thought she was the most gifted artist in the world. A thumbprint - into a mouse? Who could be that creative?

Today, Connor began first grade. I'm pretty confident Mrs. H. is closer to Mrs. P. than Mrs. R. For his sake, I sure hope I'm right. I know firsthand that first grade can be a complete dud, or a completely magical year. Mrs. P. definitely turned on my love of learning. Please, Mrs. H., give it your all! You've got a great student in front of you.

Elaine

Mom Power, Inspired by Disney's New Movie - The Help

My friend Ellen and I took a rare Monday evening to head to the movies. We had passes to see "The Help" - and we both loved not only the chance to sit and eat sushi together before the movie, but also the chance to see a flick on the silver screen. Neither of us tend to do this very often.

The movie made me think about the powerful bond between a mother and her child - for better or worse. "The Help" points out that in the Jim Crow South, black Americans loved and raised white babies. Eventually, these babies grew up and would own either them, or the rights to their labor. It drives home the point about just how powerful a lesson is, when it comes from Mom. In many, many cases, a child was raised by a black American and the lesson of treating them as a second class citizen (learned from Mom) was more powerful than the lesson of being loved by the person that took care of them.

In this particular case, it's sad. Really sad. But it's also a refreshing thought for a working mom. That the lessons I try and convey to my children will be the most important ones.

Of course, I'm trying to convey the lessons of treating everyone with dignity and to always work against inequalities. I think that's where peace begins. And despite all the turmoil that surrounds us these days, I look at my children and know that the future can be good, indeed.

Elaine

Disclosure: I received two free passes to see a preview of "The Help". I enjoyed the movie - although any movie about the segregated South makes me cringe inside, and am told I'll enjoy the book even more. My sister saw it today and gave it the thumbs up as well.

First Impressions Are So Important

Helen seems to have mastered a very important lesson early in life. First Impressions Matter. It's something that I know well, but don't always follow. Take, for example, the time I went to a wedding of one of Ed's friends. I knew nobody there, except Ed, and he knew lots of people that he hadn't seen in a while. So, I did what seemed like a very logical thing to do at the time. I decided to make best friends with the bartender. While Ed reminisced about anything and everything with his high school friends, I sat and drank. A lot. This was a really bad choice, and I really am sorry, City of Albany. You deserve to be treated better than I treated you that night.

I believe this was the second time I met Ed's parents, and there's a pretty good story to go with the first time I met them as well, but I'm going to save that for another day when I feel like embarrassing myself. Anyway, this first story about impressions has a long way to go. The the next morning, Ed's parents, Ed, and I were heading to New York City to see a show on Broadway and Ed's mom had this great idea that we would all drive down together and then Ed's parents would take the train back to Upstate New York while Ed and I headed back to Arlington. It really was a good idea, except I was suffering A LOT from the previous night. I was in bad enough shape, in fact, that I didn't even offer either of Ed's parents a front seat of my car, and Ed absolutely had to drive it. When Ed's mom got in, I remember her commenting that the back seats were comfortable, and I had two thoughts. #1. There is no possible way I'm going to make it through this car ride and #2 there is nothing comfortable about the backseat of a Ford Escort. Clearly, Ed's mom is either the nicest or most unaware person in the world. Let's go with nicest.

As Ed was driving down the highway, it was all I could do to barely keep up polite conversation. At one point, I turned to Ed and asked him how far until the next rest stop and his answer was not very promising for me. So I directed him to pull the car over. Now. And let's just say, it was not a minute too soon and as many white lies as Ed has told in his life, I cannot believe he couldn't come up with one for this very situation like "ELAINE GETS CARSICK EASILY". Instead, as his parents sat in the backseat probably completely horrified at the road side spectacle that their son was dating, he turned around and said "someone had a little too much to drink last night". I'm sure they were impressed.

After that, I felt much better. For the life of me, I do not know why Ed's parents didn't call him up after the trip was over and tell him to leave. Fast. And hey, maybe they did. He doesn't always listen so well.

Helen, on the other hand, has a different way of approaching first impressions. In her parent-child class, she spent the first couple of weeks being the victim. Whenever anyone would even look at something she was playing with, she'd loudly announce that she was playing with that and then spend several minutes telling anyone and everyone that "G was mean, he took my toy" or "V was mean, she took my toy". All the while, she was just building up a reputation. And, in classic girl fashion, each week at the start of class she would announce her grievances from the previous week. Because, you know, why let something go? Ever? (And if you happen to be a parent of only boys, say thank-you right now.)

This past Friday, after a half a year of parent-child class, she seems to completely have the benefit of the doubt. Whenever there's a bit of a tangle over a toy (which is inevitable in a room of 2 and 3 year olds), Helen loudly lays claim to the toy and the other parents and teachers can't move fast enough to find another toy to give to the other child and give Helen the toy in question.

As someone who knows Helen and her cries pretty well, I'm thinking that sometimes she's faking, and she has been the one who has just swiped a toy. But no matter. First impressions matter. And Helen always gets what she wants.

And even though my first impression (or second impression) wasn't so good in regards to Ed's family, I guess I got what I wanted, too. But I really do recommend Helen's strategy of making a good first impression. It makes everything easier. I'm totally impressed that she has figured this out already. (Although I thank my in-laws for not judging a book by its cover and not holding this incident against me forever. I hope to have their grace when Connor or Helen bring home someone just like me, and recognize it was a series of terrible events, not the norm.)

Elaine

From Left to Write Book Club: The Kids Are All Right

After Connor was born, Ed and I spent a fair amount of time discussing whether we would ever go through that again, and by that, I mean - sleepless nights, a child who would not allow me to leave the room without making his displeasure known, and did I mention the sleep? Wow, was Connor an intense baby.

When we bandied about the idea of another child, I kept returning to this. My sister will, at some point, be the only person who holds my past. She was there from the beginning, and I fully expect her to be around with me for a good number of years - quite possibly to the end.

She's great, but she's not perfect. Unlike many older siblings, my sister did not break my parents in, which is a bummer because as a younger sister, I shouldn't have had to tread on territory like breaking curfew and bending other random rules. This territory should have been covered with her teen years.

On the flip side, she helped me navigate through high school, she tried to keep me out of trouble (and this is where she will insert the story about how she rode her bike all the way to our elementary school and back one day when I left my lunchbox there, and my mom had frankly, had it with me leaving my stuff everywhere - she tells it in a selfless way, as if she were just being nice, but I believe having that lunchbox at home when my mom got home meant I got to spend the night with a friend, so in retrospect, I think she might've just done it to get rid of me for the night). And, my sister, who NEVER raised her voice, and never got in trouble, and was never mean to anyone once told this punk on the school bus to "SHUT UP" when he was making fun of me. And he did. I had been in a bike wreck and scraped my upper lip pretty badly. At one point during the healing process, it was all yellowy, and this jerk on the bus started taunting me about boogers on my face and my sister silenced him. I would've just ignored him and cried about it at home, but she stood up for me. And in doing so, taught me an important lesson.

Sure, we went through a few tough years, where I was trying to find my independent place in the world and she was in my way. And even now, life isn't always perfect. She happens to be very opinionated and those opinions can be based on her random thinking, rather than actual facts, and that can be annoying. Seriously. She'll still tell me I should not have given birth to my children at home. And those two birth experiences? They rank as the only reason I would ever even consider having a third child.

But no matter what, she holds my past. And it's a shared past, and having someone like that in life has been very important to me. It's a way to sort through history, with someone who views it through roughly the same lens, or at least with similar formative experiences.

The discourse over whether Connor would or would not have a sibling often ended with me saying "but if he doesn't have a sibling, who will he have when we die?" and Ed was all logical and stuff, and would say things like "not all siblings are friends, so having a second child does not guarantee bliss ever more".

I was reminded of just how important my sis is to me when I read the latest From Left to Write Book Club selection, The Kids are All Right. In this book, four siblings record memories from their childhood: before their father died, while their mother battled cancer, and after their mother died.

This book not only reminded me about my own sister, but it also made me panic several times, as I thought about what would happen to Connor and Helen if Ed and I were to die. And even though the thought of leaving Helen and Connor alone in the world at some point makes my heart hurt, I do feel good that, in all likelihood, they'll have each other.

No one could possibly understand them better than their sibling.

I received a free copy of this book as part of the From Left to Write Book Club. We write posts inspired by the books, not reviews. I laughed, I cried, I thought a lot about my sister and my own mortality. It's a great read. Now that I've read it, I'll be passing it along to a friend.

The Great Obstacle Course Birthday Party

Dear Connor,

For the past five years, Daddy and I have been alternately creating and running obstacle courses. We started out creating them. We went from our simple life of hanging out in Adams Morgan, entertaining at home, and seeing tons of incredible live music. A particular Wolf Trap experience with Bruce Hornsby playing piano might possibly have restored my belief that God does, in fact, exist. And then, five years ago, we started jumping over hurdles that we never even imagined in our pre-kid days. It started with figuring out how to feed you, how to get some sleep, and then we mostly sat back and watched you knock down one milestone after another. We’ve had a totally lucky run, and Daddy and I both know it. I often think I’m the luckiest mom on the planet, although it didn’t feel that way when your sister was spitting everywhere and you were trying to see how long you could go without sleeping or eating.

But these days? Connor, you are a mostly reasonable person who I enjoy being around. And you always wear your hat without complaint, and I appreciate that. It’s fun to hear you propose solutions to problems (many of which make at least some sense), to watch you swim around the pool playing games, and to watch your many puppet shows (although this last activity would be a lot more fun if you focused on PLOT as much as you focused on SETUP).

I don’t particularly enjoy all the rules you have for EVERY.SINGLE.SITUATION. I met a guy in the lap lane the other night while I swam during safety break. He was very intent on (1) telling me how I had violated lap-lane etiquette by joining him and another swimmer without confirming “circles” or “sides”, (2) describing in great detail what exactly lap-lane etiquette is, ad naseum, and then finally (3) nearly refusing to let me leave his presence because he had a lot more to say about the rules. I (1) apologized, (2) listened for what seemed like way more time than the conversation was worth, (3) asked him what exactly he wanted me to do now, and then (4) joined the lane next to me instead, much to his chagrin - because it wasn’t supposed to be as easy as just asking the lady next to me who was gawking at the ridiculous conversation I was in if I could join her and the other dude in her lane. I was supposed to know some secret handshake and write “I understand AFC lap lane etiquette” on the board 200 times first. Before I just switched lanes, what I wanted to do was (1) tell him to suck it, (2) let him know that you can’t split a lap lane in half with three people, you HAVE to keep to the right in a “circles” formation, and (3) offer that if he wanted rule-making time to equal swim-time, he should go talk to you, since you seem to really enjoy the making rules portion of life. I can almost imagine the debates the two of you could have. Unfortunately for him, you’re smarter than he is. But seriously, I hope you don’t get to be his age and still think that discussing and making rules is the best use of your time. As I often tell you, sometimes you just have to live life!

About ten months ago, I read a post about an obstacle course birthday party that a friend was having for her son (though at the time, I hadn’t yet met her). I knew then that this was the perfect party for you because you love to run races, and you love having rules to follow (see above). I tucked the idea away in my brain so far, that when it came time to plan your birthday party this year, I came up with the idea of having an obstacle course birthday party, knew it would be perfect, and patted myself on the back when Ed bought into it completely. Only later, when Ed and I were thinking about the design, did I go back and read the post referenced above, and realize that I had actually left a comment for Stimey telling her I was going to steal her idea, unless she became a party planner in time for Connor’s birthday. She didn’t, I did. And even though it turns out to not be an original idea at all, it is still a good one. Behold, the power of the internet!

A week before the party, your dad and I built the obstacle course, with your help. It was immediately apparent that you loved it, and the boys next door loved it as well, which gave me a good feeling about the whole thing.

I also baked a vanilla cake with cream cheese vanilla filling (which was fabulous), and then frosted the cake to look like our backyard, with the obstacle course set up. Several adults at the party recognized what I’d done. And I can thank the ladies from Georgetown Cupcake for teaching me that trick to make grass out of icing. Ed took a very nice, very fuzzy photo of the decorating phase to commemorate our work together, which almost ended in a big pile of unrecognizable goo when you saw we had left-over frosting. You immediately said “let’s put big globs of frosting all over the cake”. Absolutely not. Next idea, please.

You clearly love being five. Your party with friends was held a few days before your actual birthday, and you let everyone know you were still four. But when you came back in town after a vacation in Cape May where we celebrated on your actual birthday, the first thing you said to a friend of yours when you saw her was “I’m FIVE now!”. She was freaked out enough that she immediately reported the news to her mom, who took it in stride.

As a five year old, you have decided that you would like a position on “the committee”. At present, the committee is composed of two people, your dad and me. Whenever a decision needs to be discussed, it gets referred to committee, and an answer is given after the committee has time to meet. I regret to inform you, but there are currently no available positions on the committee, so you’ll have to apply again at a later date. You asked if you could join the committee when you were eleven and again, I let you know that you would be told if any committee positions became available, at which time it would be appropriate for you to put in an application.

You passed your eye test at the doctor’s this year. I believe this means you have better eyes than me, because I don’t think I would’ve passed an eye test at age 5. I know I didn’t pass it at age 7, when I got my first pair of glasses. Up until that point, I had no idea that anyone could see what the teacher was writing on the board and that it was possible to see individuals blade of grass, instead of one big fuzzy field. Last year, you failed your eye screening, but I didn’t believe it, so I took about 10 months to get you an appointment with an eye doctor, and then you ended up being totally fine. But your eyes could go South at any moment, warned the doc.

But...back to the obstacle course.

This was, by far, the best party your dad and I have ever planned. We tested the course the week before the event,  and the your dad remembered to mow the lawn a couple of days before the event. I got to show off my mad obstacle course running skills as I demonstrated the course to onlookers.

The course started with a balance beam, then a bar to jump over, and then a slide down the ol' slip-n-slide.

Then, folks had to climb a little plastic play structure that's about 4 feet tall, and reach over and bang a coffee can. That coffee can was a stroke of brilliance from you dad.

There was more over and under, through a pool, and tossing a ball. Everyone completed at least most of the course, with several people completing it several times.

After that, we tossed water balloons and tried to fill a bucket of water with a teeny, tiny cup.

If I were on the verge of sending you to a new school, I would be totally flipping my lid. But, because you'll be staying at your current school one more year, I'm going to save all the worrying for a year from now.

We're having too much fun, Connor. More than we deserve, I suspect.

Love,
Mommy

Happy Month 31, Helen.

Helen,

You bring a smile and great energy to everything you do, and that lights up the whole house. Your dad commented this past month that it was impossible to not be happy in your presence. And I agree! On his recent visit, Grandpa "Rod-o-nee" pointed out that rarely do you walk somewhere. Instead, you prefer a sort of hybrid running, skipping method of locomotion.



You continue to LOVE babies, so much so that many people comment to me how you look ready to be a big sister. But I quickly point out that you are definitely the baby of the family, and being displaced would not be a good thing in your mind. Almost always, they nod agreement. (And the saying "it takes one to know one" definitely applies here!)

You have tremendous upper body strength. The only time Mrs. Perine, my gym teacher throughout elementary school, ever took note of me was the day we had to climb the peg board. The peg board is a wooden board with about 40 peg holes, and you climb it by hanging from pegs and moving them up one notch at a time. I could climb up and down the peg board faster than anyone in the class. She had me demonstrate this ridiculously useless skill to the older grades one day. Perhaps you are planning on being a peg board star yourself. I have to say, not once in my life has this skill been useful, but I still remember feeling pretty good in gym class, if only for a day.



For Mother's Day, you and Grandma built me a planter. This photograph is the only proof that it once had four legs. Now, it sports three, as it has since being placed on the windowsill.



You love all things fancy, including plastic champagne glasses. Looking back at this picture, it's not clear to me you were drinking the non-alcoholic stuff. KIDDING. I am not that lax of a parent!



You still talk non-stop. I remind you regularly that I can only listen to one person at a time, so everyone has to take turns. You have another solution. Wear everyone around you down until no one else tries to interrupt your verbal hegemony. Whatever works, I suppose.

The most impressive thing you have accomplished this month is that you can go the occasional afternoon without a nap. You make up for it by sleeping late the next day. I find this awesome on both counts. This ability allowed us to attend the Washington National Cathedral's Flower Mart one Friday afternoon. I'm sure it was less crowded then than it would have been on Saturday. It had a ferris wheel. That was child-sized. So you and Connor could ride it without me. Yay! You and Connor enjoyed switching seats when it was at the peak. Your mischievous grins made me laugh. We also got to go sailing one afternoon. I feel like we have turned a corner in the world of parenting and scheduling. Thank you.

You remain a master at saying "cheese" whenever a camera approaches. Oh, Helen, if I could bottle your joy and sell it I would be a rich lady.



Love,
Mommy

Happy (belated) Father's Day!

This year, Ed and I decided to join a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture). For a fee, we receive a random box of produce weekly. And, as a bonus, we get to visit "our farm" whenever we want and pick stuff. I can't even believe I am now part of the world that thinks this could possibly be a fun activity. After all, I am the child of a woman who, together with her sister, picked 50 pounds of strawberries a few weeks ago, in a couple of hours! FIFTY! I have memories of strawberry picking day in our house. Mom would drag us out to a farm and we would hunker down and pick strawberries while my dad got to hang out in some air conditioned office for the day. It was one of the few days when we actually got bonus allowance - yeehaw! Of course, I consumed more than my fair share of mom's homemade strawberry jam, and other treats, so don't feel too bad for me.

Anyway, I digress. We decided to make our first visit to our farm on Father's Day. They were having a fishing contest and our u-pick allotment of strawberries was quite generous. The plan was to pick some berries, check out the farm, and have some good old fashioned father son fishing. Only problem was, Connor loves to play with his fishing pole, and even Ed and I are not so stupid as to have the hook and line attached to it normally. So, we got out to the farm and didn't have a hook. No matter. After picking 9 pints of strawbeeres, we fed dried corn to some animals, climbed a hill full of tires, slid down slides, and Connor pedaled around in a tractor. Ed tried to ride with him (they were plenty big), but Connor told Ed that he would prefer to do it by himself because Ed was too big. He also told me that someday, he hoped he could go picking strawberries with grandma all by himself without me. You betcha, buddy.

But the best part of the farm? They have a huge ol' "kernel game". This is only cool because when Connor was less than a year old, and he enjoyed just sitting around, I filled up a little tub with popcorn kernels for him to play in (it was too cold to go outside). It was a great game - until Connor realized he could throw the kernels all over the basement. Oops. When I told my friends about my invented game, not a one thought it was a good idea. They uniformly looked at me and said "you did what? what were you thinking?". I'm telling you though...it was fun!

And Helen's way of celebrating Father's Day? She said "mama" for the first time. Not as in, an actual word identifying me, just the syllables that Connor and I have been trying to get her to say for quite some time.

Elaine

I am so winning "mom of the year"

Many years back, my mom started doling out "daughter of the year" awards. They come up in the context of "you know, you could be daughter of the year if you X" - and usually the request is something trivial, and doing it is well worth the glory of having a shot at being "daughter of the year". (For the record, several years ago I wrapped up "daughter of the year" for life by knitting my mom a sweater. She didn't even believe I knit it because I foolishly put fancy buttons on it. So there I was, watching her unwrap the gift and she's all "thanks" and I'm all "thanks?!?" I just spent a year of my life knitting that sweater and "thanks" is all I get? So I blurt out "I knit that thing" and my mom says "oh, you did not" and then my dad pipes up "yes she did. I saw her finishing it up yesterday" - because you see, when my mom and I give gifts we make, an essential ingredient is that pins or knitting needles still be in them when the gift is given because we couldn't possibly finish on time, and this one time, I had managed to finish it a few hours before my mom opened it. Anyway, after I showed her the flaw in the back, she believed me and then I pretty much had "daughter of the year" wrapped up for eternity.) (And, ahem, Helen or Connor, when you read this, feel free to start knitting because I will adore a sweater from my children, much like my mom loved hers.)

Anyway, since I have clinched daughter of the year, I have decided to go for mother of the year. So, a week ago last Monday, Connor is totally fine in the morning, and then when it's naptime, he has a cow and says his ear hurts. I'm thinking to myself that he is faking because he's seen Helen go to the audiologist and Connor would like to have broken ears too. Plus, he would have an addiction to children's Tylenol if he could get the top off the bottle. So, eventually I give in and give him half a dose of Tylenol, he naps, and is completely wound up and happy for the remainder of the day. On Tuesday, the same thing happens. Because he has swim lessons Tuesday evenings, and because he keeps identifying the same ear as hurting (which has not been true in the past when he's told me his ear hurts) I decide to take him to the pediatrician.


And, alas, Connor has a pretty bad infection in the right ear (the one he kept pointing to), and a minor infection in the left ear. Off to the pharmacy to get my mother of the year award kid's prescription.

Within a day, Connor reported that his ear was no longer hurting, but he was incredibly excited that he got to keep taking his medicine for 9 more days. If only Helen would take her reflux meds as easily as Connor takes antibiotics, and if only her ear problems would disappear so quickly.

I guess this is a lesson in believing Connor.

Elaine

In celebration of life

January 25, my friend Laurie gave birth to her second daughter, Mia.

February 3, my cousin's daughter, Sadie, died.

Laurie lives only a few blocks from me, and gave birth at home. As it turns out, the same midwife who caught Connor caught Mia. During Laurie's labor, her husband called to see if I would come over just to bring a different energy to the atmosphere. I had told them both before the birth that I would be more than happy to be involved in any way Laurie thought would be helpful. To make a long story short, it was really cool.

I arrived at Laurie's after she had been in labor for a few hours. Connor and Helen were both in bed and I told Ed I'd probably only be there for an hour or so because I wasn't sure how long she'd want me there. Truth be told, it was awful timing for me. Connor had been sick and a true grump, Ed and I were both on edge, and we were feeling really overwhelmed. But I wasn't going to tell a man with a wife in labor that I couldn't come after they had been so good to pick-up Connor around 7AM the day Helen was born to care for him, and so I went. Plus, I felt at least partly responsible for Laurie being in labor at home without meds since I had told her how great giving birth at home was about 1 million times. I was also very excited that Scott had called because I thought I could be helpful and really wanted to be there.

I could never possibly describe it fully, but seeing a woman in labor is incredible. The moment it starts, everyone knows what the ending will be - a baby will be born. But nobody knows how long it's going to be, what twists will happen, or how many special moments will be recorded along the way. I should point out, that I'm one of those people who thinks it's just amazing that a tiny seed can be planted in the ground in May and a couple of months later a tomato will be there. So you can imagine how amazing I think a little human growing inside a person is.

My mom gave me some great advice about weddings one day. She told me that there was so much hulabaloo leading up to a wedding, that by the time it comes, it can go by so fast that the actual day doesn't end up being nearly as glorious as it seemed it would be with all the planning. I'm not sure she would remember saying this, but it was at the time my sister's wedding was being planned and I remember it. When my own wedding came, I decided I was going to take my mom's advice (which I believe was to focus on the event, not the details) and enjoy that day to the fullest. After Ed and I hired people we thought would make a good contribution to the day, I refused to manage any small details. The day of the wedding, we were having photos taken at the reception site and the maitre'd asked me a couple of questions about details (I believe they had to do with placement of salt and pepper shakers, and possibly about when the bar would be open). I remember telling him "I'm sorry, I'm not going to answer any questions. Ed is in charge of all wedding day details. I'm sure your instincts on this are better than mine anyway." I said this not because Ed cared at all about any detail (except that the bars be OPEN at all times), but because I knew there was no way the maitre'd was going to bother Ed, so I was freeing the maitre'd up to do his job, and he wouldn't have to worry that I was going to have a meltdown because some tiny detail wasn't perfect. It worked perfectly. The maitre'd never asked Ed anything, and by avoiding concerning myself with any particular detail, I have no memories of anything going wrong, and I have a ton of fabulous memories about the day. I wouldn't change a thing. Not because it was perfect, but because everything important turned out perfectly. I really felt like a guest at my own wedding rather than feeling the need to orchestrate anything.

A child's birth is also something that should be remembered like a wedding. And similarly, you spend a lot of time planning for it - both in the conception phase and then during pregnancy. The problem is, you can't offload caring about details - particularly when you give birth at home. In short, your partner can do an awful lot, but he's not the maitre'd of the event. He can help make sure there is adequate food and liquid in the house. But only the laboring woman knows the right time to call the midwife and birth assistant. Most importantly, nobody can labor for you. In short, I would've loved to be a spectator at both of my births, but I was so focused on conserving energy and getting through the pain, that I couldn't really sit back and take in all the little things. Other people could, and did, but I was working really hard. Certainly I had a few moments at the beginning to be in awe "holy cow! I'm having a baby!", but once the serious business of labor began, there was no pause button.

So to have the opportunity to watch someone else's labor was very cool. I got to really marvel at all the little moments, but I wasn't in pain. I could provide support for Laurie and Scott, but after the contraction happened, I didn't need to start gearing up for the next one. Instead, I could sit back and say "wow - that's amazing. Your body is really working hard." I am so grateful for that experience. I finally understand why midwives do what they do. The hours are terrible, it can be hell on a family, and I suspect the pay is mediocre - but catching babies is meaningful work. And, my own bias is that doing this in a home setting is the most meaningful of all because the midwife, birth assistant, friend, whomever the laboring woman invites - enters the room with the laboring woman on her terms. So the contribution of being the midwife at a home birth is really crucial. She might be the only person with substantial medical knowledge around.

I went home to feed Helen once during labor, and then when it was getting really late, there was a moment when all of a sudden Scott went from sort of being on the outside worrying about Laurie to totally getting what his role was, and at that point, I went up to Laurie and told her everything looked great and I went home. Scott called once more when apparently Laurie was screaming at the midwives and had definitely hit a wall. I was feeding Helen though, so it took me some time to get over there. I waited to make sure Helen was all the way asleep before I headed back, and this was a mistake because I missed the actual birth by 4 minutes. But, it was still so cool to have been there earlier and to share a few moments with Laurie right after she'd given birth. I will treasure these memories always.

The next day, I told Ed I needed to be a midwife. I told him there was a 3 year Masters program at Georgetown for folks who weren't already nurses. I was totally ready to sign up. Ed is a very smart man. He would never tell me "you cannot do that". After all, he knows that I can be stubborn. Possibly my sister telling me I could never give birth at home is what kept me there when I had serious doubts with Connor and for a few moments, buried my head in a chair and thought to myself that I was never going to make it because it was SO.PAINFUL. But as soon as those thoughts entered my head, I knew transferring to a hospital would mean my sister was right and I was wrong about giving birth at home. I wasn't about to call her up from the hospital and tell her I was waiting for a baby to arrive while my anesthesiologist gave me an epidural. Nothing wrong with hospitals and epidurals - but I had told my sister they weren't for me and I wasn't backing down. So instead of telling me he wouldn't support me becoming a midwife, Ed said perhaps I should give it a little time, maybe become a birth assistant or doula first. I still think about it, but I am not nearly as convinced as I was that I need to be a midwife - though I do think I would be good at it and if I knew what I know now back when I was choosing careers, I would be a midwife now. The high of witnessing birth, was really high.

And then came the cruelest low. My cousin's daughter, Sadie, died after a two year struggle with cancer. Kids are not supposed to preceed their mom in death. It is not right, on any level, and there is no possible explanation that I will accept for this tragic event. If you find comfort in the thought that your god has some grand plan and this is all part of it, then your god is not nearly as merciful as my god. My god would never have a mission to prove something by ending a child's life. Which is just a very direct way of saying that I am unable to gloss over this loss with any supernatural explanation. I am, however, very hopeful that the next dimension will be much kinder to Sadie than this one ended up being.

I often wonder how my cousin manages to get through each day because I'm not sure I could handle losing either one of my children. I did not know Sadie well - only met her a few times at family reunions. My cousin kept folks updated on what was happening with Sadie, and I certainly cheered when good news came and sent all the good karma I could muster toward her when bad news came. The image I hold of Sadie is this unbelievably gorgeous Christmas card my cousin sent that featured 3 super cute photos of her 3 kids before Sadie was diagnosed with cancer. I often think of those photos when I think of Sadie because for me, it just shows how fast things can change. Nobody who received that card could've guessed that they wouldn't be receiving a similar card every year until the kids were teens and too concerned with their image to be the focus of the family Christmas card.

The take away lesson from both of these experiences? Kids are amazing. My kids are particularly amazing. I worked from home one day a few weeks ago and when I went upstairs for lunch, I looked out back to see Connor and the au pair playing in the sand and Helen sitting under the magnolia taking it all in. All I could think about was that I had no idea how many more days like this were going to come. My very flexible employer allowed me to cut my hours back again. I asked to do this because I don't want to miss too many days with my kids while they still think I'm really groovy. Ed has adjusted his hours, too, and he's home almost every day by 4:00. I don't know how long this will last, but I'm going to enjoy it while it does.

Elaine