Palm Waving

The last few lines of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" read as follows: "...and it was always said of him, that he know how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge..." Well, Easter has long been my favorite holiday, and when my girls were born, I promised that those words could always be said of our family about this Holy Week and Easter.

Both girls are named from books in which Easter and the Resurrection are central themes. They were books that were read to me as a child, and they became part of who I am. Lucy, of course, from C.S. Lewis's "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," and Elaine from a book by Patricia St. John called "Rainbow Garden." "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" is the story of the four children who found their way into the enchanted land of Narnia (led by Lucy); of the one of the four who became a traitor; and of the great Lion, Aslan, who laid down his life in order to save the children and all of Narnia. "Rainbow Garden" is the story of a lonely little girl named Elaine, who is sent from London to live with a minister, his wife, and their six children in Wales. As Spring comes to Wales, the truth of Easter comes to Elaine's heart.

I find a key word in parenting for me is "intentional." As my favorite parenting book puts it, "Children are like arrows. If you aim at nothing, you will surely hit it." Intentionality doesn't mean that everything works out perfectly, but it does mean that no matter what, we've made the effort in the hopes that some good will come of it. The books the girls are named from are more than just pretty stories. They are part of their faith heritage. So it is only fitting that this week is commemorated and celebrated at our house, with great solemnity and with great joy.

Today is the first day, Palm Sunday. I have a special place in my own heart for Palm Sunday because 35 years ago on this day (I was 3 in case you're wondering), my brother, who was 5, came home from Sunday School and told me, "Al, I don't want you to go to hell, so I want you to pray this prayer after me and invite Jesus into your heart." I didn't really know what that meant and I didn't know what hell was, but if my brother told me he didn't want me to go there, then I sure didn't want to go either. And that was the beginning of this great journey of faith for me. The road has been anything but straight, and many times I have veered from it. But as the angel told the apostles in the book of Acts when they were freed from prison, "Go and tell the people all the words of this life," and that's what I want for Lucy and Elaine--to know from me all the words of this life.

Our former church was quite large, and on Palm Sunday all of the children, well over 100 of them in their little choir robes, would march into the sanctuary, waving palm branches and crying "Hosanna! Hosanna!" Following them, the adult choir would come in, and all the congregation would rise and sing "All Glory, Laud, and Honor." I used to think that someday my own children would do that, but we've moved away now and our new church is much smaller. So yesterday I cut palm branches out of paper, and the girls sat at the island and colored them (not just green, lots of colors!). This morning, dressed for church, they marched through the downstairs, waving their colored branches and shouting, "Hosanna!" and "Praise to the King!"

It made my heart happy and reminded me of some passages from their namesake books.

(from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe")

“Aslan?” said Mr. Beaver. “Why, don’t you know? He’s the King. He’s the Lord of the whole wood, but not often here, you understand. Never in my time or my father’s time. But the word has reached us that he has come back. He is in Narnia at this moment. He’ll settle the White Queen all right. It is he, not you, that will save Mr. Tumnus.”

“She won’t turn him into stone too?” said Edmund.

“Lord love you, Son of Adam, what a simple thing to say!” answered Mr. Beaver with a great laugh. “Turn him into stone? If she can stand on her two feet and look him in the face it’ll be the most she can do and more than I expect of her. No, no. He’ll put all to rights as it says in an old rhyme in these parts:

Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,
At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,
When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death
And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.

(from "Rainbow Garden")

"I kept repeating over to myself the words I had seen in the churchyard—“fullness of joy…fullness of joy.” I felt that these words were the heart of some tremendous secret, and perhaps the missing words were the key. In where, or in what, could fullness of joy be found? And what was fullness of joy? Nothing I had ever known in my dull, lonely little life, and yet something I was crying out to know. And as I stood there, forgetful of everything, but longing, something happened. The sun pierced the mists outside, and the church was suddenly filled with a golden glory, transfiguring the stained windows, streaming on the bright heads and snowy surplices of the choir boys, warm and blessing us all. Just for a moment I thought I knew what fullness of joy must be like. It would transfigure everything, even the ugly things, and make all the dull, ordinary things precious and beautiful."

So, happy Palm Sunday to all and a blessed beginning to Holy Week. Hosanna to the Son of David!

A Little Wrap-Up

Just a few random thoughts for Friday. I filled up my car with gas and saw that the person before me had put $82.00 in the tank. Yikes. That is a lot of tubes of lipstick, even MAC lipstick, which I used to buy by the bagful (B.C., of course). (And yes, it's usual that I think of sums of money in terms of how much lipstick it could buy.)

I kept seeing this news headline this week, "Salvia is the new marijuana" only I kept reading it as "Saliva is the new marijuana" so I've been pondering the implications of that all week. I finally read it right, so now we can all rest easy because that was concerning me.

Yesterday the girls and I (after making the robin treats) got out photo albums from when they were both born. They love doing that. We got out Lucy's first, and when Elaine saw Lucy as an infant, she made that same noise that everyone makes when they see a baby, "Awwwww!"

Speaking of babies, tomorrow I'm going to a baby shower for a friend. It's her first baby. Each baby is so wonderful, but there is something undeniably exciting and unique about your first. I realized too that almost exactly five years ago, I was having a shower. Here's me at my shower (and Lucy!) (Pardon the extra big rim around the picture; don't know how to fix that.)

I asked Darren to scan the picture for me, and he did and emailed it to me. He asked me, "Did you get the picture I emailed you?" I hadn't yet, but when I got it later, I saw why he was asking. He named the file "Big Mama." Isn't that sweet? But then, this is the same man who, also when I was pregnant, would bump me out of the way in front of the bathroom mirror and say, "Move over, Bacon, there's something leaner."

Happy weekend!

And Behold, It Happened!

When I mentioned the first robin of spring yesterday, I had no idea those were prophetic words. But on the way to school, I slammed on the brakes because lo and behold, bouncing along merrily in someone's ugly, dormant, brown yard was our first robin! We were all very excited. And it wasn't a fluke, because we saw another one in our own ugly, dormant, brown yard today.

So of course we had to make our famous robin treats and have our annual Welcome The Robins party.

The Treats

The Celebrants

Spring is coming! Welcome, robins!

Pick Yourself Up, Dust Yourself Off, And All That Good Stuff

It's funny how soon something happy can just crash and burn, how euphoria can quickly become tarnished. Yesterday after seeing the horse (and he really was there! Lucy's teacher said he was there for Inventure, a special presentation and projects for the older kids that evening but that Lucy was welcome to come too) Lucy and I were so excited we galloped (ha ha) inside to Darren and Elaine.

"There's a horse in Lucy's school!" I told Elaine. "Do you want to come see him after supper?" Her face was wreathed in smiles at the thought of something so wondrous as a horse. "I wanna see the horse!" she said.

Everything was going wonderfully. Everyone was happy. The soundtrack from Jaws may just as well been playing in the background. "I need to wash my hands" I heard (what else is new?) After she'd been in there for awhile, I said, "Elaine, please put the placemats on the table and tell Lucy that supper is ready." "I wash my hands," I heard from the bathroom. I waited a minute or so, went in the bathroom, and repeated my request. "I wash my hands." I gently lifted her off the stool, turned off the water, and said, "Put the placemats on the table and go call Lucy." She looked me full in the face and screamed as loud as she could. "NO! I WASH MY HANDS!"

That sent Darren running upstairs from his basement office. He applied a little discipline, set her in the Naughty Chair, and said, "You tell Mom you're sorry for screaming at her." Usually when she sits in the Naughty Chair, it's only a few minutes before I hear, "Sorry. I'm sorry, Mom. I get down now." Not tonight. I gave her repeated chances. Finally I said, "If you can't say you're sorry, you'll need to go upstairs and get into bed until you can."

I took her upstairs, kicking and screaming, and looking like the exact definition of "2-year-old tantrum" in the Big Book of Stereotypes. All the happiness and excitement of the afternoon were gone. Remember how parents would say, "This hurts me more than it hurts you" when they disciplined you and we all thought that was the most ridiculous lie in the world? Newsflash, turns out they were right. It's so awful. This went on for almost an hour. In case you're wondering, an hour is a very, very long time.

In the meantime, I got Lucy fed and bathed. She said to me, "Mom, can I tell you something secret, just between you and me? I don't think Elaine deserves to go tonight. But I still want her to." Yeah, that pretty much summed up exactly how I felt too. I stood there blowdrying her hair, chatting cheerfully to her amidst the ear-splitting screams, while inside I was a) praying that God would soften that little one's stubborn heart and b) wishing I could just get in bed and pull the covers over my head instead of driving to school for the third time that day just to see a smelly old horse whom I now blamed utterly for wreaking such havoc on my family.

Finally, finally (with Darren's prompting) I saw a little tear-streaked, woebegone figure in the bathroom doorway. She sidled up to me, buried her face in my shoulder, hiccupped a few times, and whispered, "Sorry." Then she said, "Want my leeny-leeny (aka tortellini) now."

Eventually we got everyone fed and bundled into the car. When we got to school I asked the lady at the door who was welcoming everyone, "Where's the horse?" She looked at me like, uh lady, do you really think we'd let a horse stay for hours in our elementary school? and said, "I think the horse went home quite awhile ago."

You have GOT to be kidding me.

We went into the gym and looked at the books kids wrote (they were great), the science exhibits, and the social studies projects. I said to Lucy, "Luce! Someday you'll do projects like this!" and she wailed, "But I don't know how!" as if I expected her to construct a suspension bridge out of cardboard and dental floss by herself tomorrow.

When we went out to the car I said to Elaine, "I'm sorry, sweetie, that you didn't get to see the horse. I guess he went home for his supper and to bed." "You teased me, Mom" she said dejectedly, as if the entire horrific evening was some sort of elaborate practical joke I'd played on her.

But now...today is a new day. There are new games to play, new pictures to color, a chance to do everything over. Maybe we'll see the first robin of spring today! They seem to be more reliable than horses.

Do You Think He Had An Appointment?

Little things can make me ridiculously happy. Like the fact that there is Easter candy in all the stores (and in my pantry), and I can eat Brach's peacock eggs (with real fruit pectin!) and Hershey's marshmallow eggs any time I feel like it. Like the fact that it is sunny and 44 degrees here, and I kept the window rolled down all the home after dropping Lucy off at school this morning.

And like when I picked Lucy up from school (and prepared to wait in the carpool line), there was a horse standing in the schoolyard. After standing in the yard a few minutes, the horse then slowly walked across the lanes of waiting mothers in their cars, whinnied softly, walked in the front doors of the school, and disappeared down the front hall.

It was the best thing I've seen in ages, and I smiled all the way home.

Then and Now

I was talking to a friend at work who has three small children at home. He said, "Before we had kids, you just did stuff. You had things you needed to accomplish, like, wash the kitchen floor. And you just did them. But now you have to think and plan how and when you're going to get the floor done. It's challenging." I thought about it for minute. (OK, I'll be honest. I first thought, "You wash the kitchen floor? There's a MAN who washes kitchen floors?") But then I thought, it's very true. Each task that needs to get done needs almost a military campaign before it can actually happen. And the counterpart to that is that your life is also now haphazard.

Take, for instance, getting ready in the morning. Something I never really thought about previously. I would get up, work out, shower, do my hair and make-up, get dressed, and be out the door at the exact same minute on the clock on the stove every day (I had to catch a train). Every day. The same.

Here is a sample of getting ready in the morning now (taken from real-life events). The alarm goes off. Repeatedly. Darren groans, "I'm so tired. Are you tired?" Me: "I'm exhausted and I'm not even out of bed yet." The alarm goes off a few more times. Me: "We have to get up now." I hear Elaine from her crib, "Mommmmmmmmy, OUT! I wanna eat!"

I get up and cobble together what I plan to wear and drape it over the bannister (note: on mornings I go to work, the clothes are slightly better than what I wear at home. But only slightly. I've been known to hold something up, think "This really needs ironing," then think, "Oh well, it's only work," and go on my way.) Lucy comes in the bathroom while I'm brushing my teeth and says, "Can I get dressed?" "Sure," I say, and she comes back with a pink-flowered t-shirt, a red and black plaid skirt, and a purple-flowered sweater. With a Strawberry Shortcake barrette of course. She looks like she's going to interview at clown school but oddly adorable. In the meantime, I've been staring in the mirror, wondering how it's possible that I could simultaneously need anti-acne cream and anti-wrinkle cream.

After showering and getting dressed, Lucy asks if I'll brush her hair. Usually when I get within 6 inches of her hair with a brush, she starts to cry and says I'm hurting her. But today as I brushed she said, "You're brushing my hair like a gentle dove this morning, Mom." We listen to Elaine as she shouts random things from her crib. (I'm oddly reminded of the mentally ill man in the bad neighborhood where we used to live, who invariably roamed the streets at around 6:00 a.m., shouting out his thoughts as he went.) Lucy looks at me and smiles and says quietly, "She's such a little bandicoot, isn't she?" (She's learning about Australian animals. I had to look up what a bandicoot is. Here's one. Now picture it in pink-striped pajamas.)

We go in together to get Elaine out of her bed. Her hair is standing on end, and she's got one leg hoisted over the edge of the crib, sort of like a cat burglar making his escape. (As I read over what I've written so far, there's apparently a penchant in our family for metaphor and simile.) I get her out and lay her on the guestroom bed to change her diaper and dress her. "I want Zoe!" she proclaims (she has a Zoe sweatshirt, size 18 months, that she would wear every day if I let her). I talk her into something else, and amazingly, she complies. Now all three of us are dressed and ready to meet the day.

I will not lie. Sometimes I miss the days of peace and order, the perpetually clean house, the luxury of not having to speak to anyone before I'd had two cups of tea. But life is different now, and my mornings are punctuated with the singing and chattering of two little girls. I must admit, if it were silent, I would miss that.

Now That's Just Sad

Somehow we have ants in our house. Big, ugly, black carpenter ants. We can't figure out where they came from or where they're concentrated either because they just randomly appear--under the coffee table, in the kitchen sink, outside the upstairs bathroom. They're equal opportunity offenders. And being the houseful of (mostly) girls that we are, each time there's an ant sighting, it's cause for alarm.

Here's a typical scene:

Me: AGH! There's one of those grody ants. Somebody get a shoe--right away! (we never seem to have any of the hundreds of shoes in the house at hand or on foot). Get a napkin! Get a kleenex!

Lucy: (scream) An ant! Get out of this house, ant! We'll kill you! (Should I be alarmed about this type of militaristic rhetoric?)

Elaine: Mom, Mom, Mom! A bug! Get it! Step on it! Yucky!

So, yesterday we were playing out this same scene because we spotted three of them in three different places while running around trying to find the implements to hasten their death. (I'm sorry if anyone reading this is one of those St. Francis of Assisi types. Trust me, I'm an animal lover too. But insects belong outdoors. They're only asking for trouble by entering my house. They should know better.)

I said to Lucy, "Honey, please. Just run and get a tissue and squish that living room ant with it while I get this one in the kitchen with my shoe. You can do it, I know you can."

She said (in a teary, dramatic voice), "Oh Mama, I can't. I need YOU to do it. You're so brave! You're just the bravest person I know!"

So, yeah. I killed all the ants. My girls are now safe again. I'm brave like that.

A (Sort of) Typical Morning

A few weeks ago, Lucy slipped and fell on the hardwood floor. She said she hurt her mouth, but she didn't cry for very long and seemed OK, so we thought everything was cool. About four days later, I noticed that her top front tooth was gray. Ergo, a trip to the dentist (which we needed to do anyway). Now, being us, of course we don't have a dentist here in town (we've lived here only three years, you know). We kept our previous dentist (good dentists are hard to find), but that means we drive an hour and a half to get there. And the only appointment he has today is 8:30 a.m. I'll let you do the math on the time we have to leave here.

I was up at 5:30 to get ready, and when I was done I heard moaning and crying from Elaine's room. I threw open the door and demanded, "Who is fussing in here?" She was lying face down on the bare mattress because for some unknown reason, each night she likes to remove her sheets after I've put her in bed. She popped her head up and gave me a big grin (fake crying to be sure). She immediately stood up and said, "I throw Jackie out of here," then unceremoniously dumped her baby on the floor. I asked, "Where are Jackie's clothes?" "De're in de wash," she answered (I'm raising a Chicagoan for sure).

She then held on the rails of her crib and began to bounce up and down. I picked her up and she hugged me tight and said, "I love you too much, Mom" (by the way, in case you're wondering, this is a GREAT way to start the day). I said, "Go in and wake up Lucy, OK?" I then heard her stomp off in her footie pajamas and yell, "LUUUUUUUUUCY! Time for supper!"

When we got down to the kitchen (and after starting the car--sing it with me now, I'll be SO GLAD when winter is over), I said, "We have to have a simple breakfast this morning since we're in a hurry. Would you like yogurt and apple bread or berry bars?" Lucy said, "I'd like apple bread, please!"

Elaine looked me straight in the eye, smiled that naughty smile, and said, "I'd like cotton candy, please."

Won't the dentist love that?

A Mirror Reflection

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a birthday party Lucy attended that had a Hannah Montana theme. I felt a little bad afterward because I wrote about it in a flippant way and denigrated it, and, if someone reading this has made the call to let their little girl like Hannah Montana, I would never want to be hurtful and ungracious in my speech.

Then I had a friend email me and say something like, "Don't you think you're setting yourself up for a backlash down the road?" and yes, maybe that could be true. Some of our cousins weren't allowed to have sugar and candy. They went on vacation with us once when we were all little. My dad bought us a bag of those delicious, sugary orange slices, and our cousins, apparently crazed with years of sugar deprivation, ate most of the bag (OK, and I'm still a little bitter about that). I know there's a certain principle of denial--if you're too stringent about something, then you're just asking your kid to stage a complete rebellion and embrace it as soon as they're able.

On the other hand, there are certain battles I have to pick as a mother, and this is one of them. Oh, not just Hannah Montana per se, but fighting the insidious creeping truth in our society that a) little girls are sexualized beings and b) the outside is more important than the inside.

I read an article in the NY Times last week on this very topic. Here are a few quotes: "But today, cosmetic companies and retailers increasingly aim their sophisticated products and service packages squarely at 6- to 9-year-olds, who are being transformed into savvy beauty consumers before they’re out of elementary school... We live in a culture of insta-celebrity. Our little girls now grow up thinking they need to be ready for their close-up, lest the paparazzi arrive...At Club Libby Lu, a mall-based chain and the most mainstream of the primping party outlets, girls of any age can mix their own lip gloss and live out their pop idol fantasies. Last year, the chain did about a million makeovers in its 90 stores nationwide...Many of those were Hannah Montana makeovers, which entail donning blond wigs, makeup and concert costumes like the ones the girls’ idol wears...."

I was talking to my friend Sarah last week, and her daughter is one year older than Lucy and in kindergarten. She recently got two invitations to birthday parties: one was a My Little Pony party (perfectly fine). The other was a pajama party where the girls would be given makeovers and they would watch High School Musical. (Girls of 6 need makeovers?)

I know mothers of boys have their own parenting issues to deal with with that gender. This is what mothers of girls have to contend with. How do I bring them up to have fun (because admittedly, we love clothes and shoes and purses around here! As I type, they are dressing their Maggie Leigh doll together...) but not to cross that line? That line that tells little girls that their outer wrapping is more important than their soul? That line that tells 5- and 6-year-olds how to dress and act in order to attract the opposite sex? Yikes. Or..."Grossy" as Elaine would say.

Other people have written about this topic far more eloquently than I have. But one of the topics that is taking up my space in my brain lately (and really, these girls hog up about 97% of what's in there!) is the tricky proposition of teaching, and more importantly, modeling for them how they should live and view the world--especially as women.

The other day, I read in my quiet time about how whenever Moses came down from talking with God on the mountain, his face shone with God's reflected glory--so much so that the people were afraid, and Moses covered his face with a veil. Paul later used Moses as a reference point in 2 Cor. 3:18 "We, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit."

My most recent prayers for both myself and my girls is that when people see our faces, our lives, that they won't see brown eyes or blue eyes or dimples or the annoying glasses I've been forced to wear recently, or whatever cute (or not cute!) clothes we're wearing, but instead they'll see Jesus. In our words and our smiles, they'll see His glory. His kindness. His gentleness.

It's an ongoing process. A lifelong one, I think!

When Bloggers Meet...

(From left: Me, Ann-Marie, Juliet) The should-be winners of the Sequence match

(From left: Brett, Gary, Darren) The Cheaters (Brett exempted)

...and two random cute girls in their green velvet Sunday dresses...

After the weekend...

Friday night, Darren decided he wanted to take Lucy to a hockey game. She was all excited to go even though she didn't even know what hockey is just because she loves hanging out with Dad, and any sporting event with him means copious amounts of junk food for dinner. After they left and I got Elaine down to bed, I made myself a delicious bacon-avocado-tomato sandwich on sourdough bread with chips and washed down with pop with a dessert of Easter candy and ate it all in bed while watching an old Miss Marple movie. To me, it was the height of social splendor and there's nothing I'd rather be doing more on a Friday night.

Saturday Darren and Lucy went bowling, another first for her (too bad, no pictures). She came home all excited because she'd gotten a spare, which now places her bowling at a higher level than anything I've ever achieved.

Elaine and I stayed home, cleaned the house, and chatted as we often do. A few weeks ago, we took the girls out to breakfast but didn't tell them before we got there. We pulled into the parking lot of Perkins, and Lucy said, "Are we going out to breakfast? Can we eat at this restaurant?" as if this wonderful idea had just occurred to her. I said, "Well, you can, but not Elaine. We're leaving her here in the car." I keep forgetting Elaine's not a baby anymore, because she really understood that and burst into tears. I had to apologize and say, "I'm sorry, Smoochie! I was just teasing you! I would never go to breakfast without you!" Throughout the rest of the day, she would occasionally say (in an accusing voice), "You tease me at breffuss, Mom."

Anyway, now anytime I tell her "No" about anything, even legitimately she'll say, "Don't tease me, Mom!" as if she can't imagine that she would ever be denied anything, so I guess we're still working on comprehension. I should probably stop teasing her for now, but it's kind of fun so I'm finding it hard to resist. On Saturday she wanted to go to the store with me, and I said, "Nah, you just stay here while I go." She looked up and said, "Don't tease. You're wicked, Mom." OK, then.

Saturday night Juliet from "Retired and Loving It," her husband Gary, her daughter Ann-Marie from "The Left-Handed Rabbit," and her husband Brett, all came over for pizza and games. We've known Juliet and Gary for a little while now, but we hadn't met Ann-Marie and Brett in person yet. I told the girls they were all coming, and I asked Elaine, "Are you going to be nice and friendly and talk?" She said, "I will peek at them." That's pretty much just what she did. Lucy however talked Juliet's ear off and discussed the intricate plot points of Strawberry Shortcake's Berry Blossom Festival and showed both Juliet and Ann-Marie her room.

We dispatched the girls pretty quickly to bed, but I think they knew they were missing out on having fun because Lucy asked, "You're having PIZZA?!" and when I tucked Elaine in she asked suspiciously, "You goin' to bed too now?"

We all had the aforementioned pizza and Gary's made-from-scratch apple pie. Then we had a Sequence cage match, which the women narrowly lost because Gary and Darren engaged in table talk. Cheaters.

I'll have a couple pictures tomorrow...

What Makes Me So Happy

Pretend There Is Tickertape and Confetti Here...

It's my 100th post! It only took me a year and a half. And, as promised, here are not 100 things about me.


1. I have Coulrophobia. On at least three separate occasions while driving, I have looked in my rearview mirror and seen a clown in the car behind me.

2. If it were feasible, I would take a sabbatical from my job and do this instead.

3. My name is in the acknowledgments of two published works. One is a doctoral dissertation on Laura Ingalls Wilder (I was 8 at the time of acknowledgement). The other is a book I did research on for work 12 years ago. It's called "Control Self-Assessment: Experience, Current Thinking, and Best Practices." And yes, it's every bit as exciting as it sounds.


4. In college, I worked at a marketing and incentives firm. I worked for either 4 or 6 hours at a time, depending on my class schedule for the day. I made copies. It was in a loft, and it had a kitchen with a full-stocked fridge of pop and a movie theater popcorn machine. So for my freshman and sophomore years of college, I made photocopies 4-6 hours a day while surviving on movie theater popcorn and orange Diet Rite.


5. When Darren and I were putting me through grad school, I worked for a man described in Crain's Chicago Business as "Who's Who: Movers and Shakers under 40." I was his personal assistant. My duties entailed the following: picking up his dirty laundry off the office floor (he would change clothes in front of me, like I was Miss Moneypenny or something); standing in a line of at least 30 men, the lone woman, on Valentine's Day to buy roses for his wife; studying for and taking the commercial real estate exam in his place to renew his license; making a trip to Sam Goody Music to buy Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" album so that he could sing "Go ask Alice...she's 10 feet tall" with accompaniment.



6. Most nights when I get in my bed, I sing, "I love my house, I love my nest, in all the world this nest is best!" (That won't sound quite as strange to fans of P. D. Eastman's "The Best Nest." Or...maybe it will anyway.)


7. With the exception of "Angels of Harlem," I cannot stand U2. I know this is a universally unpopular opinion. But...I can't help it. Bono reminds me of Rasputin.


8. If I could be any character in all of literature, I would be Miss Marple.


And lastly, 9. I had to find some justification for coloring my hair every 10 weeks. (Professionally, of course. I've tried things at home...with disastrous results, proving the maxim "Those who know go pro.") But the cost is prohibitive, and every time I come home Darren says, "How much did that cost?" and after years and years, it's just wearing me down, giving the answer. So, from now on, I'm just going to quote this poem each time I get it done:

Never shall a young man,

Thrown into despair

By those great honey-coloured

Ramparts at your ear,

Love you for yourself alone

And not your yellow hair.

But I can get a hair-dye

And set such colour there,

Brown, or black, or carrot,

That young men in despair

May love me for myself alone

And not my yellow hair.

I heard an old religious man

But yesternight declare

That he had found a text to prove

That only God, my dear,

Could love you for yourself alone

And not your yellow hair.

(See? I promised I would get some Yeats in there today!)

And there you have it. My 100th blog post. Thanks to anyone who's actually still reading it! I'll be back next week with more funny tales of Beezus and Ramona as I've taken to calling the two sisters who live at our house. Oh, and three bloggers will meet IN REAL LIFE this weekend as well! I will write with all the details...stay tuned!

Wherein I Think We May Have Dropped the Ball...

I could write a post called "An Ode to the Flu," but I will not. Because no one wants to read that post. But...we have been living with the flu this week. And apparently some fortunate, blessed mothers like me actually do get to call in sick from their mother jobs because my own sainted, blessed mother moved in with us for three days and took care of everyone. She just left today, and I felt like crying I've become so used to her here. She brought homemade chicken soup. With homemade noodles. I laid in bed and slept for two days while she took care of my (also sick) girls. Wow.

But...we seem to be mostly better now. Sometime in my delirium I was composing a blog post in my head that had something about "Waiting for Godot" and Pelagius and some of Yeats in it. But alas, I've forgotten it. Aren't you devastated to have missed that?

However, one thing I don't want to forget about is Darren's and my first parent-teacher conference that happened last week. We were so giddy. It was kind of surreal. I actually took off work for the day to attend a 20-minute conference. We're walking into this elementary school and saying to each other, "We're actually someone's parents! Here for the parent-teacher conference!"

So, we met with Lucy's teacher and saw her progress and all the things Lucy can do now. Get this--she journals. Except she can't write yet? So she dictates to her teacher. It was one of the cutest things I've ever seen. They were learning about dinosaurs, and she drew a picture of one and then journalled about it. Her dinosaur was "planning to fly to London and England." (As Darren says, "Hello, apple? Meet tree.") Her teacher commented about how, well, kind of...advanced her vocabulary and manner of speaking is. I said, "Kind of like a little elderly lady?" and she burst out laughing. Then she said, "You know, one thing that you may want to work with her on--she doesn't know her address or her phone number."

She doesn't know her address? We've forgotten to teach her our address? Oh.

Then a day or so later, and I'm not sure exactly how this came up, Darren asked her, "Hey Lucy, what's your middle name?" "[our last name]," she stated positively. "No, that's your last name; what's your middle name?" "Lucy!" she said (in a voice that sounded kind of like..."you moron!")

Then I chimed in and said, "No, Lucy, your middle name. What's Elaine's middle name?" "Frances." "Right. And what's yours?" She thought about it for awhile and said, "Cocker." This is because ever since she was a baby her godmother called her "Lucy Cocker Spaniels." (hi Jennie!) We finally had to tell her that her middle name is Nan. Then, as if sort of clearing the mists of time from her mind, she said, "Oh yeah. It's Nan."

I've always rebelled against being one of those flashcard moms or pushing her academically or robbing her of her childhood or whatever, but man. I guess I needed a parent-teacher conference to know that my daughter doesn't actually know her name and address. As always, I'm blazing trails in underachievement! So, we'll be working on that.

In other news, this is my 99th post. Apparently in the blog world when you reach your 100th post you're supposed to write 100 things about yourself. I don't even know one hundred things about myself (it's a perk of being shallow). But maybe I'll come back in a day or so with 7 or 8 things about myself. You know, in keeping with my reputation for underachievement. And I may even throw some Yeats in this time.

Whatever...

Last Thursday at swimming, Lucy got sick. It's Monday, and she's still sick. By Saturday night I wasn't feeling so great, and by Sunday afternoon, neither was Elaine. The job of "Mother" does not allow for sick days, I have found. Last night I left a message for my boss (my editorial boss, not my mothering boss), saying I need to work from home today (she's always nice about this, and believe me, I'm more than a little thankful for it).

But...today. Yet another winter day. Stuck indoors with a sick toddler and sick pre-schooler. You know what? They're not particularly gracious or accommodating when they're sick. Also, they're kind of demanding. Just picture if you will lots and lots of inconsolable crying, screams of rage, seemingly thousands of requests such as: "Mom, can I please have some juice?" "Mom, I need you to come up here." (I climb up the stairs) "After I watch this Muppet movie, can I watch Pooh?" (The Muppet Movie has just started. But...she needs to know the TV schedule for the day, I guess.) "Mom, can you please come up here? Elaine said your clock radio is a toy. Tell her it's not." And did I write some silly post last week extolling the virtues of age 2? Because it's a hideous age: "Want juice." "Want ginner ale." "Go swimming." "Wear my pajamas." "Scooch over, Mom." (pronounced "Stooch") "Want snack. In a bag." "Wanna treat." (Punctuate each of these with tears and flailing.)

I look over the house (the house I just cleaned oh so recently) and there are toys and DVD cases and unmade beds and tossed pajamas and cups after cups after cups in various stages of fullness. There are dirty dishes. I can see dried splashes of juice on the floor (that I just washed). And here's the thing--I don't even let my kids drink juice or ginger ale or wander around the house with drinks in their hands or watch TV non-stop 24/7, but right now my own resistance is so low that my answer to everything is just "Whatever." Yes, run around with the digital thermometer, repeatedly pushing its buttons so it will break and we won't be able to tell what your temperature is. And, oh, both of you fight over it while you're at it. Whatever. Yes, grab up my new magazine that just came in the mail and I haven't read it and it's all about the beautiful spring flowers that I'm convinced we'll never see again and stomp your feet all over it. Whatever. You want more juice? Spoon up concentrate from the can. Whatever.

This morning when Lucy made her first requests (and she really is sick and I do feel sorry for her) for juice and ginger ale, of course we were out, so I decided to run down to Hilander. I'm always in a hurry anyway, but I had to get back because I had to get online to get my assignments for work for today, so I was in an extra hurry. It looked rainy and foggy out, no big deal, but apparently it was also very icy because the next thing I knew, I was face down on the driveway. I'm convinced there's a literary metaphor there somewhere.

I kept on with the day. I took a trip to the library during my lunch hour because we've exhausted all the DVDs at our house, and I took Elaine with me. Oh, take a toddler who's barking like a sea lion and has a nose like a river out to the library? Whatever. (Also, can I throw these questions out to the cosmos? Why is any random space at the library, even ones not particularly close to the door, handicapped? And why, when I asked a librarian who was peacefully shelving books and not under any apparent strain if the kids' DVDs were with all the other DVDs did she say 'yes' even though that was completely untrue?) Whatever.

I'm sure some people might think I'm Queen Complainy from the Ha-whiney Islands in this post, and maybe you might be right. And maybe someone thinks, "You've just got two kids! I've got 4! or 5! or 8! Get a real problem!" I can't help you there. I've never been good at math, but here's one equation that applies to my life: 2 kids + 2 hands = Alice's hands full. I also consider my 60% workweek my third child, but maybe that's another story (which, by the way? My job assigned me a significant project filled with errors to edit by the close of business--and got it to me to start at 11:00 a.m.) Whatever.

Also, it's now snowing heavily out, and I still need to go to Super Wal-Mart (and oh how I love a trip to Super Wal-Mart. Except...NOT AT ALL) and pick up groceries because we're out of most things we need (except juice and ginger ale!) WHAT A DAY.

Then I am reminded of the words in Isaiah 40:11 "He tends his flock like a shepherd: He gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them close to his heart; He gently leads those that have young."

I'm so glad for that. I'm glad that there is a special place of pity and kindness in the Shepherd's heart for exhausted mothers. When I'm running around and trying to keep it together and am pulled between so many people and responsibilities and I end up face down on the driveway, I am so so thankful that He doesn't look down at me and say, "Whatever." Instead He says, "Come unto Me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest" (Matt. 11: 28).

No, That's Peter Gabriel

Usually when we get in the car, the girls immediately shout out requests of what music they want to hear. However, the CD player isn't working and we were in a rush to get to swimming yesterday and I didn't have time to coordinate "the map," so we were listening to the radio. (Silence maybe, you ask? Unthinkable!) I turned on this station where you just might get a good 80s song, and oh, I was not disappointed. About the second song in, I had to burst out laughing because it was "Shock the Monkey" by Peter Gabriel (and no, to this day, I really don't know what it means, but that's not unusual with a lot of his stuff).

My freshman year at Moody I lived on Houghton 4W. I had come from a fairly conservative background, but Moody was definitely a bit "more" than I was used to. There were a lot of rules, and one of them was that if you were going to listen to secular music in your room (and somehow this didn't apply to classical) that it should not be played loud enough so others could hear it out in the hall. That was actually fine with me because it wasn't much different from home and hearing my dad yell any number of times a day, "Turn that racket down!"

We had a meeting on our dorm floor the first day of term to go over all the various rules. For some reason and to this day I have no idea, one of the RAs took an instant dislike to me. I didn't talk, I didn't ask questions, I didn't raise my hand, I didn't smirk--I can't explain it, but she did not like me. For my entire first year there, she made it her mission to put the smackdown on me, and usually it was about music. We all used to laugh that she was standing with a glass pressed against my door to see if she could hear any music out in the hall. Almost not one day went by without her irritated knock and then thinly veiled polite request that my friends and I stop talking/laughing/turn down our music etc.

Now I had the sweetest, most laid-back roommate, Tonya, who was also possibly the world's heaviest sleeper. Her bed was near the door; mine was on the far side near the window. One morning, my clock radio, which was right by my bed, went off. It was Peter Gabriel singing "Shock the Monkey." I lay there in a stupor, half sleeping, half listening--it was pretty early. All of a sudden: the irritated knock (I promise, you could tell her knock from anyone else's). This couldn't be happening. Tonya slept on peacefully, and I lay still, hoping she would go away (you know, like Randy in "A Christmas Story"--"Randy lay there like a slug: it was his only defense.") She didn't go away; she burst into our room, angrier than she had ever been before (apparently the strains of "Shock the Monkey" totally pushed her over the edge).

She walked over to Tonya's bed, shook her rigorously by the shoulder, flung her arm in the direction of my bed/my radio/Shock the Monkey, and demanded, "IS THAT CHRISTIAN?" Tonya raised herself up slowly and looked over through half-closed eyes and said, "No, that's Alice," and rolled over and went back to sleep.

Yup. It's still funny 21 years later. So yesterday as we're driving to the swim club and I'm laughing, I see in the rearview mirror two little blond ponytails, bobbing up and down in time to the music. I turn around and see her clapping her hands, kicking her feet, and jigging for all she's worth in her carseat.

Yeah, "Shock the Monkey" is pretty good, baby girl. But just wait until you hear "Sledgehammer."

Of Lyrics and Lions

The other day in the car, Lucy asked, "Mom, is Jesus a lion?" I answered, "Well, in the Bible there are lots of different names for Jesus, and one of them is 'lion,' so while He is a man, He's also called a lion."

A day or so later, she asked, "Can we hear that song on the map about Jesus being a lion?" [Sidenote: She calls the iPod the map. I think because it's hooked up in the car and lights up--like it's some sort of both musical and GPS system. Which by the way would be really cool and useful if it were true.] I couldn't think of what song she might mean. We've got only one song about lions, and it's about Daniel in the lions' den, so I tried that one. "No, no, no--I want the one about JESUS the Lion." This went on for awhile, but I could never find the song she wanted.

Then last night on the way to church, the song "Thy Word" came on and she shouted "This is it! The Jesus lion song!" To my knowledge, there's nothing in this song either about lions or even about Jesus specifically; it's "Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path." So I listened to her sing and this is what I heard: "Thy Word is a lamp to my feet and a lion by my bed." (She really sang it with gusto too.) Now normally I would correct her right away especially since we're dealing with a Bible verse and not something by Elton John or someone, but I listened to her sing the remainder of the song: "When I feel afraid / think I've lost my way / still You're there right beside me / Nothing will I fear / As long as You are near / Please be near me to the end..." and I just left it. There will be time later to tell her.

It's not as though she is singing an untruth. The idea of the Lion of the tribe of Judah watching over her bed is apparently comforting to her and actually enormously comforting to me. It also immediately reminded me of a lovely letter written by C.S. Lewis, which I hope it won't be violating a bunch of copyright laws if I post it here. He wrote to a 9-year-old boy's mother because the boy was concerned that he loved Aslan more than Jesus.

6 May 1955

Dear Mrs. K:

Tell Laurence from me, with my love: 1/ Even if he was loving Aslan more than Jesus (I'll explain in a moment why he can't really be doing this) he would not be an idol-worshipper. If he was an idol worshipper he'd be doing it on purpose, whereas he's now doing it because he can't help doing it, and trying hard not to do it. But God knows quite well how hard we find it to love Him more than anyone or anything else, and He won't be angry with us as long as we are trying. And He will help us.

2/ But Laurence can't really love Aslan more than Jesus, even if he feels that's what he is doing. For the things he loves Aslan for doing or saying are simply the things Jesus really did and said. So that when Laurence thinks he is loving Aslan, he is really loving Jesus: and perhaps loving Him more than he ever did before. Of course there is one thing Aslan has that Jesus has not--I mean, the body of a lion....Now if Laurence is bothered because he finds the lion-body seems nicer to him than the man-body, I don't think he need be bothered at all. God knows all about the way a little boy's [or girl's!] imagination works (He made it, after all) and knows that at a certain age the idea of talking and friendly animals is very attractive. So I don't think He minds if Laurence likes the Lion-body....

3/ If I were Laurence I'd just say in my prayers something like this: "Dear God, if the things I've been thinking and feeling about those books are things You don't like and are bad for me, please take away those feelings and thoughts. But if they are not bad, then please stop me from worrying about them. And help me every day to love you more in the way that really matters far more than any feelings or imaginations, by doing what you want and growing more like you." That is the sort of thing I think Laurence should say for himself; but it would be kind and Christian-like if he then added, "And if Mr. Lewis has worried any other children by his books or done them any harm, then please forgive him and help him never to do it again."

Will this help? I am terribly sorry to have caused such trouble, and would take it as a great favor if you could write again and tell me how Laurence goes on. I shall of course have him daily in my prayers. He must be a corker of a boy: I hope you are prepared for the possibility he might turn out a saint. I daresay the saints' mothers have, in some ways, a rough time!

Yours sincerely,

C.S. Lewis

Music and a Blog

If anyone ever asks, "What's your favorite music?" or "What's your favorite group?" pretty much anyone who knows me knows the answer is this. More than any other music I've ever heard in my life, this group has impacted me. They're phenomenal. They're simply the best. That's not even an opinion, it's just a fact. If you haven't heard them, you're missing out.

Since I'm constantly scanning their site to see when they'll be in concert again near me (we once drove three hours with tornadoes touching down around the area in order to see them), I came across the blog written by the wife of Todd Smith, the lead singer. All of it is so worth reading, but especially this and this.

I hope everyone gets a chance to read those entries and, if you haven't already, to get some (or preferably all) of their music.

They Should Come With Warning Labels

There is no other age like 2. I personally think it gets a bad rap (while no one except other mothers warns you about age 3). The family doctor we had growing up said, "There should always be a 2-year-old in the house." And I guess he really lived by that maxim because he and his wife had nine kids. All this to say, I love having a 2-year-old around the place. Every day there's something new and funny. I loved when Lucy was 2, but Lucy has always been kind of a genteel lady, sort of a child channeling Maggie Smith or something, ever since she was born. With Elaine we're getting the full 2-year-old lifestyle. She's either at 100% joy or 100% despair, 0 mph or 90 mph, at any given time.

We get to experience tantrums almost every day. They're usually pretty mild and short-lived though because I live by the John Rosemond principle of "any attention, whether positive or negative, to a tantrum is like the proverbial match to gasoline." So when Elaine gets distraught because say, she has to stop washing her hands after an hour or so at the sink, I just walk away saying, "Look within, Laine. Depend on your inner resources and get over it." She usually does pretty quickly until something else comes her way such as Lucy getting to pray first for lunch or not being able to pull all the wipes out of the dispenser to wipe the floor with.

We're trying to teach Lucy that while we don't have to walk on eggshells at this house just because a 2-year-old lives here, we don't need to unnecessarily aggravate her either. I think she's catching on because yesterday she found a magnadoodle at my parents that Elaine had been playing with previously and discarded. (This can definitely set her off--if Lucy plays with anything that has even passed through her hands in, oh say, the last week and a half.) I saw Lucy tiptoeing by and she whispered to me, "I want to show Manga this cute picture I did. But I have to do it without Smoochie seeing, otherwise she'll just freak out and burn herself with fire."

This morning I went to get Elaine out of her crib. She greeted me with, "I want candy." "Absolutely not," I responded (hey, I secretly admire this. You can't blame a girl for trying.) "I wanna flush my teeth," she replied. (You might think this means "brush my teeth" but it actually means floss. Yes. Our 2-year-old flosses her teeth, unprompted, on an almost daily basis.) "That sounds like a plan," I said.

I'm enjoying these days. Her growth and development are just whizzing by me as fast as she races Lucy to sit in the favored chair at the kitchen island. (The chairs are all identical. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to this other than the fact that it is originally Lucy's place to sit and Lucy likes it and that.must.not.be.allowed). But for all her feisty, funny moments, there are times of almost unbearable sweetness. Sunday she came up alongside me and whispered, "Jesus loves me, Mom. Bible tells me so," and laid her head against my arm as if she was enjoying just thinking about it. And today while I was dressing her, she threw her arms around me and said, "I love you, Mama! Dese tights are too big!"

Yes, I think age 2 gets a bad rap. I'm soaking it all up and loving it. And am dreading only a little age 3.

What We Did With Our Weekend

This day I anticipated being at work. However, on Friday when I went in to the office, I discovered we have the day off for the holiday. I called Elaine's daycare to let them know she wouldn't be there, and they said they were closed. I guess everyone honors presidents except for me. Normally, an unexpected holiday would be cause for happiness. Unless you're a mother of toddlers and preschoolers who have been indoors all winter. What are we paying these schools for if not to give me some respite? Every time I turn around there's another holiday. In two weeks, it's Pulaski Day, which is the biggest scam ever. I'm all for honoring heroes, but really? He was that much of a standout among every other soldier in every other war that he gets his own holiday? Now I'm sure the thousands of people who read this blog will write in to tell me why he deserves it, but all I can see is another long day of playing Candyland and breaking up fights over Cinderella dresses stretched in front of me.


Anyway, over the weekend, Lucy went to another birthday party. It was a Hannah Montana party. We were talking before the party, and Lucy said, "I like Hannah Montana too." I said, "No, honey, she's too old for you." "Well, can I like her when I get old?" Oh. Busted. So, I had 0.9 seconds in which to mount a rational defense of why she can never like Hannah Montana, which didn't include the logic, "Because it's lame and cheesy and they sell her merchandise at Wal-Mart." We actually had a good talk about people who focus only on what's on the outside and how we should try to focus on what's on the inside. And not dress in gold-sequined mini-skirts.

That evening Darren and I had a Valentine's party to go to at church. It did not have a Hannah Montana theme. We had a great time and were one of the couples selected to play the Not-So-Newlywed game. We would have at least tied for first except for the fact that Darren completely choked. The question (for me) was, "What would be your husband's dream job?" I said, "Something with woodworking, installing wood floors, etc." Now. This man watches "Yankee Workshop" and "This Old House." He has told me numerous times, "If anyone ever asks what I'd like to do, tell them woodworking and home improvement." When the big moment came, what did he say? Farmer. But...we had a great time anyway. I'd probably write more about it, but right now I've got two girls in the chair with me trying to push the keys on my laptop. I'm surprised I've gotten this much down. (I bet Juliet will post about it at her blog, with pictures!)


And........This is what Elaine did with her weekend.



And yes. In the last shot, she has just had a bath and her hair washed. Paging Howard Hughes.

OK. We're outta here and off to my mom and dad's. There are different toys and better food over there. And I hear they honor presidents over there. Maybe my mom will make cherry pie.

You Know, I Don't Think He Would Do That...

There's this very funny chapter in Laura Ingalls Wilder's "On the Banks of Plum Creek." After the harvest, Pa has created a huge straw stack in order to feed their oxen (Bright and Pete) for the winter. Laura and Mary discover the straw stack, find it irresistible, and climb up it and slide down it until all the straw is scattered everywhere. Pa reprimands them, but they do it again. The second time he is very stern with them about not sliding down the straw stack. So the next day, instead of sliding down it, they climb up to the top and roll down repeatedly. He questions them at the end of the day if they had slid down the stack, and Laura says, "No, Pa. We didn't slide down.....But we did ROLL down." Then she said Pa turned and looked out of the window for a long time. His shoulders were shaking a little, and the girls wondered why he was standing so long with his back to them.

I always really liked the part about sliding down the straw stack when I was younger, but it wasn't until I was an adult and reread the book that I could appreciate the part about Pa. I've had a number of occasions where I've had to turn my back to the girls or sometimes even dash out of the room for a few seconds because what they've done or said is naughty but also? It's just.so.funny.

Last night before bed, the girls and I were sitting in the rocking chair, reading. Elaine can't seem to sit still for very long, so she wiggled around until finally she fell out of the chair onto the floor. She looked up at me accusingly and said, "You pushed me, Mom!" I said, "Elaine, I would never push you. You fell out of the chair." Next she looked at Lucy and said, "Lucy did it!" to which, of course, Lucy shouted, "I DID NOT!" Without skipping a beat, Elaine said, "Then Jesus pushed me."

In the Spirit of Valentine's Day

Throughout college I half-heartedly sort of dated this guy who drifted in and out of my life in inconvenient intervals. By my senior year he was finally gone for good, and I was wearing black on Valentine's Day and saying things like, "Romance is dead. It's been homogenized and sold off by Hallmark and Disney, piece by piece." And by the last month of school when a guy in my music class asked me out, I inwardly groaned. I mean, I had no objections to him personally or anything, but I had no interest in anyone who would only be Transitional Man at best.

Then my RA said, "Oh Alice, just go out with him. Show him Moody women aren't all bad." With that dubious gauntlet thrown down, I took the challenge. I agreed to go out with him, and we stayed out all night talking. There just wasn't enough time to get everything we wanted said. We've been talking ever since. A few years after that, he worked two jobs and sold his beloved drums to buy me a diamond ring (and for any O. Henry fans out there, no, I didn't cut off my hair and sell it to buy him a chain for his pocket watch).

Seventeen years later, he still tells me he loves me every day, and he shows me in many ways. Just the other day he got up and went outside in the bitter cold at 5:30 in the morning to make sure the iPod was working in my car so I would have music to listen to on the way to work. He is kind and generous and funny and takes really good care of me.

So, happy Valentine's Day, Scooby. Thanks for showing me romance isn't dead. I'm glad you weren't transitional.

Love,

Me

A Little Something to be Happy About

First ponytails ever...

PMS*

This is what has happened so far this morning. I didn't quite make it to the 6:00 a.m. club; it was 6:20, which was pointless basically since Elaine was already awake. But I still tried. Then Darren wanted me to help him with something on the computer, and he left me with a barrel of complicated instructions. I was trying to follow all said instructions with Lucy sitting next to me saying, "What does 'I don't know' mean? How do you spell 'one'? How do you spell 'two'? Can I work on my valentines for school now? Can I wear my pajamas until it's time to go to school? What do you get when you put zero and one together?"

Then I went upstairs to take a shower while Elaine decided to come in the bathroom and wash her hands and brush her teeth. She does these activities in the spirit of someone with full-blown OCD. Brushing her teeth takes at least three separate applications of toothpaste (well, it would take more but that's all I'll allow). Same with soap for washing hands. When I finally turn off the water, there is much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth until I distract her with the possibility of getting lotion on her hands. On the plus side, it occupies her fully while I'm in the shower (OR SO I THOUGHT).

As soon as I got out, I smelled something horrible, even though I'd just changed her. I took her into her room to get cleaned up, and I saw that she had gotten ahold of a cassette tape of a children's novel that I love and am saving for her when she gets older (it's only available on cassette) and had pulled all the tape out. So before changing the diaper, I sat down and slowly and carefully rewound all the tape.

We finally all got dressed and came down to breakfast. They decided they wanted porridge just like the three bears, so I made Malt-o-Meal. They got that down with only about three fights in between.

Did I mention it was only 8:30 AM at this point?

* PMS = PLEASE MORE SPIRIT

A Valentine-y Weekend

This weekend marked my first days in the 5:00 AM Club (TM Girl Talk blog, which is a fantastic place to visit if you haven't already, and you can find out all about the 5 AM Club there). In my case, it's more like the 6:00 AM Club, but I'm working on it. Anyway, it was a great start to the day. Lucy came tip-toeing downstairs around 7:00, and I heard Miss Thing chatting away up in her crib, so I went and got her too, and we started on our Valentine cupcakes (after a brief prayer that we would all be kind and not fight. Don't laugh. There was frosting and candy and sprinkles involved in this operation. Fighting opportunities abound.) Let me back up: each year on the Saturday before Valentine's Day, my dad takes all of us out to lunch (usually Cliffbreakers), and we all exchange cards. Then we stop back at our house and have dessert. The cupcakes turned out very cute, and there was no fighting. (I would have taken a picture, but the card on my camera has to be cleaned off before it will allow me to take any more pictures so that's one thing I've got to get to soon.)

Because I got up so early, I got a lot of cleaning done as well plus got the girls bathed and dressed and the table set for our little dessert party (ding ding ding! THIS is what can happen when you get out of bed in the morning!) Since it was (was? IS) so cold out, I had warm pants ready for the girls, but Lucy said, "Mom, I want to wear a dress and tights" and Elaine said, "Me too. Tights. Dress." so they wore that instead. We had a great lunch and a beautiful view of the frozen, snow-covered river. Everyone liked our cupcakes too!

Before we had lunch, Darren had gone to help some friends from church move, and Pastor W. was helping as well. He asked us spur-of-the-moment if we could come for dinner, so that was a nice social addition to the weekend as well. The girls had never been over to his and Vicki's house, and they wanted them to come and meet Lucy the Dog as well. Lucy the Girl loved Lucy the Dog, but Elaine was not sure at all. It took awhile for her to warm up to her, but eventually she peeked at her, then watched her eat her dinner, then finally got up the nerve to pet her.

Vicki has worked with Elaine in the nursery, but I think Pastor was under the assumption that Lucy is quiet and Elaine is silent. [I'll pause a moment for a group laugh.] Elaine set up her Samantha doll on his lap right away. He kept her there for longer than most men would, then gently moved her over to the couch. It took Elaine about 12 seconds to realize that, and she went over and moved her back to his lap. Lucy went on some long 4-year-old stream of consciousness to him that involved opening Christmas presents a day early to cupcakes to the fountain at the restaurant where we had lunch to Stuart Little and any number of other topics in between. We had a great dinner, then I had brought some (new) activities for the girls to do to keep them busy "and so we don't get bored" (according to Lucy). They were supposed to play by themselves, but they spotted an easy target in Vicki, so she got the added bonus of glitter painting and decorating a Strawberry Shortcake sticker book.

Sunday we spent just trying to stay warm, and the girls indulged their mania for the movie "Meet Me in St. Louis" by watching for the gazillionth time in the afternoon. They know all the songs and spend a lot of time casting themselves and various people they know in all the different roles (though Lucy always gets to be Esther and Elaine always gets to be Tootie). Lucy informed me that that's who they're going to dress up as for Halloween this year (she likes to think ahead). We'll see.

So, that was our weekend. Oh and apparently Juliet taught Elaine how to say "hillbilly." I'll be waiting to hear it from her, since I'm sure that's inevitable (since she already told me the other day that something was " 'diculous.") Thanks, Juliet! :-)

ETA: Oh and if there was ever typecasting? It is Elaine as Tootie. We have found her alter/movie-ego. If you haven't seen Meet Me in St. Louis, you must. It is so much fun. And if you have--watch it again. I am.

New Friends, Old Friends, and Imaginary Friends

I never wanted to have a blog. It feels sort of dorky, and I hate the word "blog" too. I was just one of those moms who was always lamenting that my kids said funny things, and I wasn't writing them down. That would mean I would have to be organized enough to have a notebook and a (working) pen at all times, and I'm just not. So my friend Jacqueline said, "You should just keep a blog, Alice. No one needs to read it. It's just an online journal, and it's much easier." Now in some ways, I'm kind of a Luddite. I hate cell phones (well, really any phones) and I lurve good quality paper and getting handwritten letters and writing thank you notes and stuff like that. Oh, how I love the email though. Now that is instant gratification--and I can type a lot faster than I write. So, that's basically how I ended up with a blog. I love the instantaneous nature of them saying or doing something funny, and I can just dash it off immediately and publish it. And the fact that I can post pictures is an added bonus too.

In the process of starting my blog, I've stumbled across many, many others, and now I'm a blog addict. I love peeking into the metaphorical windows of people's lives. I've got people I've never met who feel like good friends. I've got good friends who I can keep up with because I read their blogs. And I've met friends through (and here's another word I hate) the "blogosphere."

[Wake up! I'm still talking about blogs on my blog!] On the side of my page, I keep a blog roll. This is by no means all the blogs I read. I read a bunch of theological blogs, but I've actually stopped lately, because man. Those guys are MEAN. And argumentative. I prefer my roll because they're all funny and some are inspiring, too. Plus, the people who comment are nice and not jerky. That's basically my criteria. A couple of them are my famous imaginary friends: James Macdonald (Walk in the Word) and Beth Moore (Living Proof Ministries). They've got beautiful, fancy blogs (especially James--with music and audio/video clips!), and of course there's a lot of good stuff to read on there too.

Then there are my non-famous imaginary friends: Amanda at Baby Bangs (she's Beth Moore's daughter and very, very funny in her own right), Melanie at Big Mama, Veronica at Toddled Dredge, Sarah at In the Midst of It, Ree at Pioneer Woman, and (please don't miss this one) Jack at Confessions of a Trophy Husband.

Lastly, there are my real life friends: Juliet at Retired and Loving It, Ann-Marie at the Left-Handed Rabbit, Melanie at Apropos of Cole, and an old friend who is new to the blogging world, Alysa at Little Things In Life. Each of those is a great read, all diverse, all fun.

A word on Alysa--we met on our very first day at Moody Bible Institute. Neither one of us knew a soul there. We were standing by the elevator in Houghton Hall as hundreds of other girls laughed and shrieked and chatted around us. I'm not sure which of us uttered which words, but we looked at each other and here's how the conversation went: "I don't know anyone here." "Yeah, me either." "So, do you want to be friends?" "Sure."

And we've been the best of friends ever since (cemented over our love of 80s music of course). We had four years of MBI, then living in Chicago and being in the working world, then I got married and Alysa left to be a missionary in Irian Jaya, Indonesia, (shout-out to any other Moody students who had to read "From Jerusalem to Irian Jaya" in Church at Work in the World I!) When she came back from the mission field, she moved back to Chicago and married her husband, Jack. They have two children: Maddie Mae (who is 10 months older than Lucy) and Jackson (who is 2 1/2 months younger than Elaine).

We have been on this crazy friendship ride for over 20 years--through late nights and finals and many conversations at the Pizza Hut on Chicago Avenue and boyfriend disappointments to weddings and pregnancies (she threw me a shower when I was expecting Lucy, which has come to be known as "The Golden Standard for Showers") and raising kids together and the never-ending struggle of sanctification. Our conversations are now mainly confined to email since we both have crazy schedules and our older kids are in school. But last fall we started a tradition of a Moms Getaway Weekend, which hopefully we'll continue for years to come. (The agenda is basically: laughing, talking, eating, laughing, sleeping, laughing, and...well, laughing.)

Every once in a blue moon, a kindred spirit just drops into your life seemingly out of the blue, but then you realize God's hand has been in it all along. That's Alysa. I am so, so thankful for her. And I hope anyone who stops by here, also stops by her place too!

So...I guess this is kind of a public service announcement. For blogs. Which I hate. And didn't want to have. But I do. The end.

Right, OK then...

[prayer for supper from Lucy]

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for our food. Thank you for this lovely day. We got to watch "Charlotte's Web." And uh...now we're just focusing on eating.

Amen

Someone to Watch Over Them

I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping. I'm quite sure it's because of this. My old bosom enemy is back, fear. Sometimes during the day, but always at night. I used to have them regularly, those nighttime panic attacks, and now they're back again--heart pounding, sweating palms, my thoughts churning around and around and always taking me to the absolute worst places.

Last night while I was giving the girls supper, we were listening to an old, old, old, old album by Amy Grant called "Straight Ahead." (Definitely my favorite one she's ever done. Actually, it was the first album I ever bought with my own money, when I was a freshman in high school. I bought the LP--I've since gotten the CD. There're these hilarious photos of Amy inside doing glamour shots, clad all in denim and sporting red sunglasses. Oh, I do love the 80s. How I miss them.)

Anyway, there's a great song on the album called "Angels." Now, angels have kind of fallen out of favor lately--I mean, you just don't hear about them much anymore. Back in the 90s, they were huge. It was embarrassing. There was so much angel merchandise and angel-sighting societies and crazy superstition and middle-aged women testifying how an angel found them a parking space, you name it. But last night as we were listening to this song, Lucy said, "What does it mean, Mom? You know, when it says, 'Angels watching over me, every step I take'?" (A sidenote: at the supper table is where most of our deepest theological discussions take place. I just better be prepared to discuss death or heaven or something right along with the mac and cheese.)

So, I went to the real source and read her a couple of verses: Psalm 91:11 & 12 "For He will command His angels concerning you, to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone." Then I immediately thought of the verse in Hebrews about "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for thereby some of you have entertained angels unaware," but then I thought better of it, because right now I'm all about teaching her not to entertain strangers, so that's a lesson that'll have to come later with maturity. Frankly, Darren and I are still trying to get that one right--we've been burned a number of times by strangers who definitely were not angels.

Instead I turned to one of my favorites, Matthew 18:10, when Jesus has called the little child to stand amidst the disciples and tells them: "See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven."

I really didn't sleep any better last night than I have in the last few weeks. It's just going to take some time, I guess. But I am greatly comforted that those little girls have watchguards over them who always see the face of the Father.

Is that cool or what?

Wise Words from a Big Sister

The setup: Girls are sitting at the kitchen island, having breakfast. I have given them sliced bananas and toasted crumpets with butter and honey (they're on their seconds). I've also made some breakfast for their dad and am sadly wondering in my own heart when it's going to be my turn to get something for me.

Elaine: More, Mommy. More nana. More toast.

Lucy: Elaine, please don't urge Mom to keep getting you more things. Mom, can we have some tea?

-----
The setup: Girls are playing dress-up in Lucy's room. I hear a loud scream followed by sobbing.

Lucy: (crying) Mommy, I was just trying to help her get her Sleeping Beauty dress on and then show her how to make it not drag on the floor. And she screamed at me and wouldn't let me help her. She hurt my feelings so bad and she's ruined the whole dress-up time and Mom, she's just SO WICKED!!

------
The setup: Elaine climbed up on the toilet and started fiddling with the light switches in the bathroom. One switch is for the fan, which is broken and makes a horrific grinding noise if you turn it on. She turned it on to catastrophic results.

Elaine: (screaming) MOMMMY! SCAWEE NOISE!! AHHHHHHHHH! I WANT MOMMMMYYYY!!!

Lucy (after running over to turn the switch off): Elaine, I just saved your life. You really should thank me.

A good weekend and some random quotes...

Friday night we went to a play at Lucy's school, "Madeline and the Bad Hat." We had to sit on bleachers (there's a blast from the past), which were completely uncomfortable, but both girls just loved the play and sat mesmerized for an hour, so I didn't mind.

Saturday we went to a one-year birthday party for a friend. The girls made cards for him and brought him small gifts, though it took some persuading to get Elaine to part with the Curious George puzzle she was giving. I would ask her periodically throughout the party, "Do you want to give Caleb (she calls him "Clay-leb") his puzzle now?" and she would nod; we would walk over to him; she would stretch out her hand with the puzzle, then retract it, shake her head, and walk away. I finally just distracted her with some pigs-in-a-blanket and birthday cake so she would put it down.

I think this is common with most parents when they're expecting their second child, but you just wonder if you'll ever be able to love them as much as your first one. Then when they arrive, there is just no doubt. And each day as she grows into her own little person, I see how crazy I was to even think that.

Now when I'm in the kitchen, like I was yesterday on a big cooking jag (making beef stew and corn & potato chowder thankyouverymuch), all of a sudden I hear the sound of the kitchen stool being dragged over, then the sound of climbing up the steps, and a little blond gosling head pops up at my elbow and peeps, "Why you do dat, Mommy?" I talked her through what I was doing, and she grabbed the little cookbook that was on the counter and said, "I read dis to you. It says, 'Nine.'" (I'll be very sad when she can pronounce "th." I almost want Lucy to bug her just so I can keep hearing her say, "No bodder me please Lucy!") Then later I was peeling a number of grapefruit and she kept running in and saying, "Please Mom, I want some dat pumpkin" then after I gave her a mouthful she'd say, "I go play now!" until 30 or 40 seconds later she'd be back for more.

Both girls also started watching "Cinderella" together this weekend. Lucy's seen it before but had fortunately forgotten that we own it. I HATE that movie. It should really be renamed "A Bunch of Mice Get Chased by a Cat for an Hour and a Half." It's so annoying. But...they both love it even though Elaine can barely contain her distress and shouts at the screen, "No no you naughty cat! Don't do dat!"

Afterward I heard Lucy say to her, "Elaine, did you know that cat is named Lucifer? And after he was a cat, then he became an angel. Then he was turned into a snake."

Happy days...

If I had known how happy it would make Lucy for me to be a Mystery Guest, I would have done it a long time ago. I went yesterday right after the initial drop-off and stood outside the door to her classroom until her teacher summoned me in. Let me tell you, I've been less nervous on job interviews. Four-year-olds can be a tough crowd. She finally came out and got me, and when I went in, all the kids had their Madeline and Pepito hats on and their eyes covered. (Indulge me for a moment: It was just the CUTEST thing!) I went and sat in the Mystery Guest chair, and they got to open their eyes. Lucy was over the moon. She ran to me and threw her arms around me (and also? Don't think I'm not really savoring the moment. I know there will come a time when the last person on earth she wants to show up at her school is me). She got to sit in a special little chair next to me. Her teacher said, "Lucy, what is our mystery guest's name?" and she said, "Alice." Then her teacher said, "Well, what should we call her?" and she answered, "Mommy." (Yes, neither one of us does very well under pressure.) We finally all settled on "Madame Daniels." I brought some little things to pass around, such as a mini creche, some pot pourri, and a sign with "RSVP" on it, we talked about French words we already knew, and she was my proud little helper.

Then we herded everyone over to the table and passed out the French-bread-and-chocolate-bar snack. One little boy said, "You know what would make this snack even better? If you put two pieces of chocolate with the bread." I offered to become his honorary mother on the spot. Then Lucy's teacher asked me to give the correct pronunciation in French of various words, which I willingly did since she admitted she doesn't know French, therefore, she would never know if I was saying it correctly or not. So...a big success all around. When I was tucking Lucy into bed at night she said, "Mommy, I was so surprised when you were the mystery guest. And happy. I'm going to have a good dream about you tonight. When are you going to do it again?"

In other news, I don't want to complain, but I must go on record to say how much I loathe winter. Detest and despise it. My Spring countdown officially begins on December 27. I'm scanning the stores for Easter merchandise just to give my spirits a little lift. The all of two people who might have been reading my blog last year already know this since I wrote at least four entries on this topic. And yes, I still repeat to myself, "There is no after the snowsuit. There is only the snowsuit."

But to get me through these dreary winter days where I'm stuck indoors and can't go outside and don't want to go outside when I have to, this CD is helping me along. I highly recommend it. It's all piano music and has lovely spring-sounding, happy songs on it such as "Frog Park," and "Captain April."

And lastly, yes, Elaine is still with us. She hasn't been in the news much lately, I guess. She has a little best friend at church named Isabell, aka Issy. The lady who took care of them in the toddler nursery at church on Wednesday told me that she had smelled an unpleasant smell and asked the two girls, "Is one of you smelly?" and Elaine said, "Issy did it."

That's my girl.

C'est la guerre...

My parents were never those Type A high-pressure parents who demanded I get straight A's in school. They were the sympathetic, kind type who said, "As long as you do your best, the grade doesn't matter." Of course, this kindness was wasted on me since "do your best" translated into my head as "leave your books in your car or in your locker as long as you don't get an F." My high school career was spent thusly (and not necessarily in this order): 1) thinking about clothes/hair/makeup; 2) thinking about boys 3) figuring out ways to cut class and go to 7-11 on Main Street or Northside Park; 4) reading; 5) getting kicked out of the library, both at school and the public library; 6) procrastinating; 7) listening to Duran Duran and Phil Collins on my Sony Walkman, 8) talking on the phone; 9) looking at Seventeen magazine; and 10) cutting pictures of Huey Lewis out of Tiger Beat, Rolling Stone, and other illustrious music sources and figuring out ways to tack them up in my room without damaging the wallpaper and having my dad yell at me. There were other various activities in the same vein, but you get the gist.

In between my heavily demanding courseload of Independent Living, Speedwriting, and American Government, I took five years of French (the first year in junior high--amazingly, I wasn't in high school for five years). French was fun inasmuch as any class was fun for me--I liked picking up useful little phrases, meandering my way through "The Count of Monte Cristo," and not doing my homework. My friend Julie and I spent a good portion of our time writing and passing notes to each other (that could be added as another major activity to the list above), and somewhere in boxes we've kept old high school notes for posterity. It's astonishing how many of them (both of ours) contain the words, "I didn't do my French homework, did you?" (why we continued to ask each other when the answer was obviously "no" I'll never know). Our teacher, Madame Erven, would walk up and down the aisles checking homework, and would look at us sadly whenever she saw our empty notebooks. And if it was on a Monday, she would inquire reprovingly, "Le bon weekend?" which never failed to reduce us to giggles.

So, it might surprise you to learn that Lucy's teacher, having somehow gotten wind of the fact that I had taken five years of French, asked me to be the Mystery Guest in class this week. All of January, the class is learning about France. Despite my reputation for procrastination and underachievement, my desire to make Lucy proud and maintain my status in her eyes as Best Mom Ever won out, and I had great things planned. I was going to teach the children many of the words they think they know in English but are really French, such as art, blonde, ballet, restaurant, etc. (Don't think I wasn't tempted to discuss "aperitif" and "agent provocateur," but I resisted). And my coup de grace? I was bringing in a popular snack little French boys and girls have after school (so I hear)--French bread with chocolate bars on top. I was even wearing my Paris shirt with the Eiffel Tower on it.

Oh, mes amies, it would have been tres magnifique. However, when I went to drop Lucy off, the school parking lot was deserted. No cars. No children. No school today. Apparently that six inches of snow we had in the night had an impact on the school system. And...Mystery Guests are only once a month on a Tuesday! I'd already procrastinated until January, even though Lucy asks me almost weekly when I'm going to be the guest. Now I have to think up something new and fabulous for a later date. Quel horreur. (And as we drove away, Lucy was almost in tears and said, "I just hate it when there isn't any school!" Could this possibly be my child? She must get that from her father.)

Oh well, in the immortal words of Robbie Neville, "C'est la vie."

Edited to add: Lucy's teacher called me this afternoon. She wants to reschedule me to Thursday! Who knew pre-school was so flexible?

MLK Day

Lucy is learning about all the holidays both at home and in school, and it's fun. So when this third Monday in January rolled around, I tried to explain why she has the day off of school and I don't have to work. Here's how it went:

Me: We're celebrating the birthday of a man named Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lucy: Why? What does he do?

Me: OK, you know how some people have lighter skin like we do and some people have darker skin like Osceana and Ms. Jackie and Mr. Michael do? Well, it's kind of unbelievable, but some people don't like the people with darker skin.

Lucy: (openmouthed in surpise) Why? Why wouldn't they like them?

Me: I don't know; it's crazy. But Martin Luther King was a pastor, and he stood up and said it was wrong, and that everybody should like everybody else, no matter what color their skin is.

Lucy: Did Martin Luther King have light skin or dark skin?

Me: He had dark skin.

Lucy: And tomorrow we're telling him happy birthday?

Me: (deep breath) Well, yes, but...here's the sad part. Some bad people who didn't like Martin Luther King and didn't like people with dark skin shot him.

Lucy: They shot him? With a gun? Did they kill him? Is he dead?

Me: (now realizing I'm in way over my head) Yeeeessss. But honey, this happened a long time ago. Even before Mommy was born. It's really a good day. It's a day to celebrate the good things he did.

Lucy: THEY SHOT THE PASTOR?!? AND HE'S DEAD?

Valentine's Day can't get here soon enough.

A Farewell Friday

First off, let me just say thank you to everyone who read and/or responded to "The Unknown Name," either via the comments, email, or in person. Wow. The very nature of a blog is pretty much memememememe, and I certainly didn't want to make that tragedy all about myself. I have a lot of prayers about that situation, but the main ones are for the child and his family who were so grievously harmed. But to those of you who wrote wonderful words of encouragement and those of you who shared your own stories of suffering at the hands of an abuser, I am humbled and grateful. I think my friend Katie probably summed it up best in a note she sent to me: "I've been reading the Psalms this year and have been struck by several in the early teens that speak about the weak and oppressed - that not one injustice has happened - not a drop of blood or tear shed - will not fail to be accounted for. My stomach is sick over your story but I keep thinking that one day all of this horrible stuff WILL end. God on that day WILL say "ENOUGH"."

Also, regarding Baby Lucy and her open heart surgery: the surgery was successful in repairing her valve, and the doctors were pleased. She is being watched carefully in intensive care, and everyone is happy with her progress. Thanks to everyone who is praying for her too.

As for me, I have farmed my family out for the weekend and am on my own until mid-day Saturday. Tonight some friends (I actually have no idea how many) are coming over for dessert and to make jewelry (it's what we call "fellowship" in the Baptist church, ya'll), and tomorrow I will be able to sleep in as late as I want. I've got some library books to catch up on as well.

I took Elaine over to my parents' house yesterday, and she made herself at home there immediately. She had cookies and tea and then went upstairs and got down some of the dolls who belong to the girls but live with my parents (Allie and Louisa, named for me and Louisa May Alcott respectively, dontcha know). Then she told my mom she wanted to watch "teebee" (forever shattering the illusion for them that I don't let my kids watch TV). When I said goodbye to her, she ran over, gave me a brief hug, said, "Bye-bye, Mom. Go to the store. I watch this goose on teebee," and ran back to her dolls and the tube.

When I got home, I prepped Lucy for her visit to Darren's parents (my mother-in-law is watching her while Darren goes hunting) and said, "Lucy, I know you'll be a good girl and won't cause any trouble. See if you can be a helper too. You could say to MiMi, 'Is there anything I can help you with, MiMi?' Now, can you practice saying that back to me?" and she said, "Sure! 'MiMi, is there anything you can help me with?'" So, we'll see how that goes.

I'll be back next week with more mundane and mediocre tales, especially since I'm slated to be the Mystery Guest in Lucy's class on Tuesday. And again, to everyone who reads this, a warm thank you. Several of you also said some very complimentary things about my writing, which is always nice to hear. And one person pointed out that I was misspelling "connoisseur" in my profile, and I realized that I was also misspelling it on my Facebook page as well, so it wasn't just a typo, I actually did not know how to spell that word and was too lazy to look it up. Nothing makes you look more pretentious and foolish than running around using fancy words you don't even know how to spell or pronounce. As I say often, "I'm so glad I'm an editor. It's such a help in my daily life."

Have a good weekend!