What's up with us

Today was my second day of class. I like my classes. They're going to require a lot of work. I'm also going to have to spend quite a bit of effort convincing my groupmates for one class that I'm not actually insane, in spite of the evidence I provided on Monday.*

Cook's job will be ending at the end of next week, and he's spending all his afternoons with Skipper now. (He is still doing his consulting gig, though, and will restart his job in January.) I will be starting my job on Thursday, and will be gone from 7 AM to 6 PM.

Dutch seems happy to be back at daycare. Some clinging has been happening. Skipper hates daycare. Much screaming has been happening.** Skipper also refuses to take a bottle. I'm sure she WILL take a bottle when she gets desperate (ie on Thursday), but it's hard on everybody.

Dutch has an eye appointment on her birthday, and we'll just have to wait until then to find out what's going on. On reflection, I've decided that it is very likely strabismus, which seems to be what Cook had when he was a kid.*** Dutch has decided that she wants pink frames on her glasses.



*There was a LOT of babbling. I'm pretty sure that I talked about my breasts, too.

**This is why I'm acting like an insane person. Knowing that my baby is crying her heart out while I'm in class or at work seems to have that effect on me.

*** There was an operation AND a patch!

Not the eyepatch. Please.

Dutch and Skipper had checkups today. Skipper is thriving and remains totally normal every which way. Dutch has rocketed off the charts for height, and is also thriving except! EXCEPT!!! ... she has to go to an eye doctor very very soon. She apparently can see very well with one eye, and very poorly with the other eye.* I wasn't at the appointment, and Cook wasn't very clear on the details, but it looks from the paperwork he brought home like they think she has strabismus.

I am shallow, apparently, because my absolute first thought on hearing this news from Cook was "Oh, no! Dutch will have to have braces AND glasses!" and my second thought was "I'll be damned if I don't find her the most flattering, attractive, and fashionable glasses we can possibly afford. We've got to save her from junior high misery!" After that, I had some questions about the actual implications for her health and vision.

Dutch is stressed about it - not about the eye doctor or the impending glasses, but because she FAILED A TEST.** Cook said that she had a hearing test after the eye test, and she was super-tense, with her little shoulders hunched up in anxiety.


* You may be asking yourself "How does one fail to notice that one's child is practically blind in one eye?" I'll get back to you on that.

** You may be asking yourself "How terrible a parent must one be to fail to notice that one's child is practically blind in one eye AND to have produced a child who's terrified of doing anything any less than perfectly?" ... All I can say is that Cook and I, both of whom have terrible eyesight and major fear of failure, have absolutely no idea. It's probably something in the water.

Another installment in the Boring Movie Series

Here are three videos from today, in which Skipper eats her first non-breast-milk food, and plays with toys. Exciting! Two thumbs up!

Daycare Days

Skipper doesn't care much for daycare. The teacher cheerfully told me that she thinks Skipper is now crying about half as much as when she started. She's been there for five 2-hour sessions so far, which isn't very much. The place is lovely, and the teachers are super-nice, so I'm sure it'll all work out... right? RIGHT?!

I've been spending a lot of time there, watching the other babies, and it quickly became evident that Skipper is the least relaxed baby on campus. There's one baby, round as a Weeble, with a Blagovichian head of hair, who smiles and laughs and wobbles his way around the room, whom I secretly covet. (Not that I'd get rid of Skipper, who has my heart in her sweaty little hands, but I'd like to just add Weeble-Baby to my secret baby collection.)

Anyway, I'm sure Skipper will settle in eventually. I'll be able to visit and nurse her three days a week, and Cook will be picking her up early enough that she'll do at most five hours of daycare at a stretch for the rest of 2009.

On the first day of daycare, I picked up Skipper at noonish. While I was nursing her, I looked out the window to the playground, and saw Dutch sitting alone under a play structure, wearing her I Am So Sad (Sadder Than You Can Possibly Imagine) face. I went out to say hi, and she poured out a litany of woes,* the sum of which seemed to be that it was weird going back to daycare after three months off, and she felt kind of lost. That seems to have been the only glitch, so far, though.

That's the news from here.

*"My shoes hurt me! My dress hurts me! I'm hungry!" etc.

First she loses a tooth, now this.

If you live in a city, you probably pick up the free weekly every once in a while. I do. I don't consider myself a prude. But today when I found Dutch sitting on the floor, twisted in an awkward pretzel position, carefully studying the American Apparel ad on the back of the free weekly and attempting to replicate the model's pose, I felt a little queasy. I guess I do object, after all, to having my almost-five-year-old kid learning about womanhood from a sleazy retailer. Dutch's interest seemed to be entirely engaged by the model's contortionist abilities - "How does she get her legs to go that way?!" she marveled - but still. Ick.

Today was orientation day at the daycare, so Dutch got to see many of her classmates. She's one of the oldest and tallest kids in the class, and speaks more clearly than many of her peers, so she looks much older than the others. She isn't, of course, but she looks that way. And she wants to be older than she is; she's already pulling hard toward adolescence. I can't save her from the sophisticated world of the modern American child. I guess we kind of just have to shove her out to sea and wave at her from the shore, and hope she has the right equipment.

The Prince and I

Last night Dutch and I played with her Cinderella and Prince characters. She decided that the prince was Cinderella's brother, and requested the "Prince goes to college" plotline that Cook invented a few days ago.* I complied. Cinderella made the prince come home from college to attend her wedding, and informed him that she was marrying him.

Me: I can't. Brothers and sisters can't get married.
Dutch: But there are no policemen here!
M: (laughing)
D: There is no law in movies!
M: But our children will be monsters.
D: (short pause)
D: Good BYE.
M: Now who will you marry?
D: Oh, I will find somebody on the computer.

This reminded me of this blog post, and this one, both of which made me laugh a lot.

*The prince decides to ditch Cinderella because he thinks balls and fancy dresses are boring, and he goes to college to study fluid dynamics.

They say the cutest things.

Today Dutch, who was sitting next to me on the bus, thoughtfully patted my flabby upper arm and said perkily "This is a fat place!"

"Uh-huh," I said.

"It's like ... a big dog belly!" she added.

She got four quarters.

Dutch didn't get pirate treasure or jewelry from the Tooth Fairy, in case you were wondering. The TF waffled about whether to pay up extra for the tooth lost 3 years ago, but decided to err on the side of cheapness. So - one down, eighteen to go!

High expectations

Ye shall receive

Oh you generous people of the internets! It has come to my attention that when I post my shopping list, it makes kind people send me gift certificates! I suddenly fear that I will receive 25 travel mugs for my birthday. I didn't mean to hint that I wanted my vast reading audience to get me stuff - I'm just thoughtless, not actually that manipulative. And you all are so nice. One of you, Mr. Currently Struggling About Whether or Not to Take a Lucrative But Morally Dubious Job, even tipped me off to an example of the beauty of the internet - a website devoted to the art of drinking coffee while biking.

I plan to spend my first (oh so very small) paycheck at a cool store where more stylish people than myself consign their clothes. So what I really need, actually, is somebody to come and give me advice about What To Buy. I have no style at all* and desperately need a personal shopper. Since everybody I know has more fashion sense than me, any of you who might be reading this are qualified. Let me know when you'd like to come.

Hey, did I mention I'd like to get a laptop, too? And a pony? With a farm to go with it?

Apropos of nothing, I was just reading a bodice-ripper (a pretty good one, too!), and it actually contained the phrase "heaving bosom." Hooray! I realized yesterday after accepting the job that my time for reading for fun is rapidly coming to a close, what with the job starting in two weeks and school starting in a week and a half. And, oh, yes, the move, in three weeks. So I'm trying to cram in as much reading (trash and non-trash) as possible, rather than spending my time, say, packing, or cleaning, or anything productive. Gosh, I'd better start rustling up boxes.


* My taste could best be described as "Clothes that aren't horribly uncomfortable, are cheap at the thrift store, don't need to be dry-cleaned, and aren't white, because all my clothes eventually turn grey and I can't be bothered to change my laundering habits." Though I do know enough to be able to recognize that Dutch's current outfit - hot pink t-shirt, green shorts, white knee socks, and ballet-shoe-slippers - is just not quite right.

Shopping my way through anxiety

This whole "working" thing has got me all stressed out. I will have real responsibilities! I will have to be away from Skipper for 11 hours two days a week! I will have NO FREE TIME! Not that my time is terribly free right now, but everything is going to get way more hectic in two weeks.

As usual, I am channeling my anxiety into consumption! These are the things I've determined I must buy:

A. Travel mug. I'll have to get up so early that I'll have no time to drink my coffee before leaving to catch the bus.

B. Clothes. My wardrobe is totally inadequate to the task of trying to convince business owners to bike to work every day. I am going to have to look more Fancy than I ever have before. Dutch is delighted

As usual, I am seriously overthinking this. I've done extensive research already on The Perfect Travel Mug (must be leakproof, must not be plastic, must not have annoying dribbly hole, must be easy to clean but not annoyingly wide, etc.). I just can't find it. My life depends on this, obviously.

Change

So. Skipper has started daycare.* I have been offered a part-time job** and will probably take it, though not without queasy feelings.*** Dutch has a loose tooth.**** We're moving in less than 4 weeks.***** School starts in less than two weeks. Cook's job will be finished in probably three weeks.

What's up with you?

* In a very loose sense - she spent 45 minutes there without a parent today, and we'll probably try for 2 hours on Monday.

** I haven't been keeping this a secret. I applied two days ago, interviewed yesterday, and interviewed again today.

***I'll probably elaborate on all this later, but it involves very low pay and a VERY long commute.

**** Dentist Google says almost-five is within the realm of normal for natural tooth loss. Which is good, because the first tooth she lost (at age 2, in a playground mishap) was seriously traumatic for me. Normal is nice.

*****AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

It's official

So we're moving. We really are. We're moving from a very small two-bedroom apartment to a house. A SHARED house. We're going to live with Emma Goldman and Brendan Behan, with whom we've celebrated a number of holidays and eaten a number of large meals. We will have three rooms and a bathroom to ourselves, and share the kitchen, dining room, living room, yard, and basement storage. (Storage! Hooray!)

We're looking forward to it, in spite of some reservations about the normal issues* involved in sharing living space. Cook and I last lived with people other than each other (and our offspring) in 1998. Now we'll be dealing with those normal issues with the offspring in tow, which means we'll have to make sure the kids don't make life miserable for Brendan and Emma (both of whom Dutch adores and would love to follow around all day every day, talking incessantly), and we'll also have to do a lot of parenting in front of witnesses. It could be good for us. It could be good for Dutch and Skipper to live with other adults, too. It'll decrease our ecological footprint. We'll be able to garden! There's a dog!

Anyway, we're moving in early October, most likely. I'm dreading the physical move, as we are moving into an upstairs space with an awkward stair situation. Should be fun!


* Chores. Dishes left in the sink. Having to wear clothes when going into the kitchen to make coffee in the morning. Having to say "good morning" in a non-cranky way when going into the kitchen to make coffee in the morning. That sort of thing. But we'll have separate phones. We even have separate refrigerators, which is kind of awesome.

I'm on blogging hiatus - family visits, hot weather, etc. Until I think of something to say, here's a picture for you: Skipper with her yuppie squeaky giraffe.

Feathers

Friday night, Dutch went on a sleepover. A SLEEPOVER! Best Friend invited her. They'd been stewing over the idea for months, and I'd been dragging my feet. Almost-five is very very old and sophisticated, of course, but I'd thought sleepovers would start when she was more like seven. Dutch had never spent the night away from us before, and I was skeptical that she'd be up to it.

Dutch and I talked a lot about what sleepovers entail, how she might miss us, what she might do if she missed us, etc. Dutch was confident she'd be fine. She left at 5, very excited. At 8:30 (an hour after they went to bed), we got The Call - Dutch still wanted to stay for the night, but was very sad and wanted to talk to me. She was almost unable to talk, because of the tears backed up in her little body, and managed only to choke out one of the most heart-breaking paragraphs in the history of my life with Dutch: "Mama, I MISS you! I WANT you! I NEED YOU!!!" And then she left the phone, because she was so desperately sad. I almost burst into tears myself. But she told Best Friend's mom that she wanted to stay, and Best Friend's mom challenged the two girls to race to be the first one to fall asleep. That was that.

We didn't hear from them again until I finally called to check in at mid-morning. Apparently, the first thing Dutch said on waking was "I LOVE sleepovers!" They made waffles and watched "Pinocchio" and Dutch bragged about how brave she was to sleep over. All was well until Dutch had the come-aparts and had to be rushed home around noon. She was exhausted and grumpy when she got home, and started crying all over again. Much cuddling was administered.

I remember my first sleepover. I don't know how old I was, but I remember how stressed out I was after the other kids fell asleep. I thought I was going to be alone and awake ALL NIGHT. I waited some excruciatingly long time, possibly five minutes, and finally went down the hall for comfort from my host's parents. In the morning, I felt immensely proud of myself, like I'd survived some tremendously strenuous rite of passage. Then I discovered the true beauty of sleepovers - you're briefly immersed in another family's life, which is in some ways better and in some ways worse than your family's. This is a valuable lesson, and builds all sorts of character and whatnot. AND if the other family eats Honey Nut Cheerios (and your family only has regular bland Cheerios) for breakfast, you're in clover.

What I did not expect was how much I would miss Dutch. It was different than being away from home while she's here with Cook. It was fine in the evening, when it was just remarkably quiet in the apartment. We got to spend some quality time with Skipper, which was very nice. But Dutch's empty bedroom really unnerved me. I had a harder time sleeping than Dutch did. When the girl herself arrived home, she smelled all wrong, like somebody else's house.

That's the story of Dutch's latest step toward adulthood, which is also, of course, a step away from me. So, you know... kind of bittersweet.

Impending

For those of you who are concerned about Dutch's warmth, the pool is heated to 85 degrees. (Fahrenheit.) Also, Dutch would like you all to know that today she was promoted to the astounding heights of the Seal level, after the heady excitement of Otter. She's taking Seal lessons in the fall, and will be learning how to BREATHE while doing the front crawl. I'm impressed, since she was reluctant to even put her head in the water at the beginning of the summer, and now can (sort of) swim. Seven weeks of swim lessons will take you a long way.

I'm working up (emotionally) to the start of daycare. Dutch starts at the end of September, and Skipper starts in the middle of the month (she'll go just a few hours at a time for a few days a week for a little while - they break in the babies that way, rather than having them all start full-time right off the bat, which would presumably mean a room full of screaming, stressed-out babies all day the first day). I can't wait for Dutch to go back, since she desperately needs the socializing, and it's clearly better for our relationship to spend some time apart.

My friend CM has just gone back to work (she has a real job, fixing broken people and stuff), leaving her own new baby in daycare, and she's inspiring me to try not to be crazy about this. (Not that she's finding it easy, but that she's doing it and not being insanely whiny about it.)

Because I have no job lined up (or even any prospects), and Cook is cutting back his hours at his primary job, we're planning to leave Skipper in daycare for no more than five hours a day for at least the first month, which makes me feel much better about the whole thing. It still hurts - FIVE HOURS A DAY! And she's so little! - but I'm also confident that she'll do well.

I definitely feel better about putting Skipper in daycare than I would have about Dutch at this age. Things are different this time around. I'm older and tireder, she has a different personality than Dutch, and I've got some experience with daycare now, not to mention an emotional investment in this particular daycare, to which I am deeply grateful for rescuing Dutch from a slide into Problem Child territory. I am confident they will do as good a job with Skipper as any daycare possibly could. Considering that much of Skipper's time is spent watching me do housework and/or argue with Dutch, they are likely to do a better job at some parts of her care than I do.

Multi-tasking

I haven't had much oomph lately for doing anything so demanding as editing videos or actually writing anything even remotely interesting,* but here, for your boringicity, are some recent videos. There's nothing like modern technology to expose how deeply boring you are.*

This is Skipper meeting a baby toy my mom gave to Dutch before she was born. A friend dubbed it "the mystical rainbow horse," a name that has stuck tenaciously. Dutch still is very fond of it, and only very grudgingly agreed to loan it to Skipper temporarily.

This is Dutch and Skipper at the pool, waiting for swim lessons.

This is Skipper and the Basil-Cam.

In un-related news, this week I saw a teenager on the sidewalk riding a skateboard while texting, listening to an mp3 player, and holding a cup of coffee. I think I'm at least a hundred years old.

* I am very very busy washing the dishes and scouring the internets for cheap baby-entertainment systems, while ignoring my children.

**Not YOU, of course. I mean us. My family, I mean. We're boring. Not you.

Text and subtext

I've enjoyed spending time with Dutch this summer. One of the things I like about her is her insatiable curiousity. That, of course, is also one of the things about her that drives me crazy. Yesterday she and I browsed through a table of cards outside a store, which had one of those witty signs announcing that unattended children will be given free espresso and a kitten. We spent about 20 minutes discussing the sign. What did it say? What's espresso? Why would they give you a kitten? Why don't they want kids to be unattended? Do they have kittens in there? Why did the store owner put that sign up? Is it a joke? What do people think when they read the sign?

She wants to know everything, particularly about the thoughts and emotions of total strangers. EVERYTHING. When I'm already cranky, being asked questions about strangers' motivation ("Mom, why did he put his hand in the bag? Mom, why is she listening to music? Mom, why did he say that?") makes me absolutely crazy. I usually end up saying things like "I DON'T KNOW!!!! I CANNOT READ MINDS!!!!!!"

I think she'll really enjoy watching reality TV shows.