300th Post

Hadley loves to hear stories, and she likes to hear them over and over again.  It can be a story from a book, which she'll memorize, and repeat to her stuffed animals, or it can be a "real" story - something from when she was younger or when Jesse and I were kids.  The one she asks me about most these days is about a time when I was in first grade standing in line to go out for recess and a bold lad decided it'd be OK to kiss the hood of my winter jacket.  It was not OK. 

I told Hadley this story in the first place to illustrate that not everyone likes to be kissed, or pursued for that matter.  Hadley can be a bit of a kissy kisserson and while I don't want to blow out the candle of friendliness, I also want her to understand that there are other ways to say, "Hey!  I had fun with you at the park!" besides giving smooches.  For crying outloud, this isn't France.  Don't they do stuff like that in France?

On Monday night, Hadley wanted to hear a story from when she and Harper were younger.  Because, you know, they're so old now.  So I told the two of them the story of the time when both were still in diapers and we went to the park.  I said, "All was going well until both of you pooped at the same time."

Folks, it's not just boys that think pooping and tooting and butts are hilarious.  I am sure to break up a fight, stop tears, turn the entire day around just by using any of the aformentioned words to my girls.  And I don't even need to use them in a sentence.  I can just say, "butt!" and the day just got better.  Needless to say, this story about me having to change two poopy diapers in the backseat of our car while the girls screamed was a real crowd pleaser with the H's.


I'm not always sure what Hadley as well as Harper, will take away from the stories I tell them. For example, I wonder what they think of what happened to us yesterday and how they'll re-tell it one day.  Here's what I have to say:

This is a picture of a balloon in Target.  It's Harper's balloon.  But that's not where I want to start this story.  I want to start this story a few hours earlier when the three of us got in the car to go to Romp n Roll.  As I'm getting read to pull out of our parking spot, there is a car that is driving in the lot, so I wait for it to pass.  Except it doesn't.  The car, moving at the quick clip of a turtle, stops behind my car.  When I write "stop," I mean the driver of the car turned her car off, and got out of it.  I just want to make it clear that she was in the middle of the street, stopped her car, and walked away, thus leaving me blocked in.

I roll down my window and say, "Excuse me, m'am?  I need to get out."

She turns around and says, "Oh, OK.  I'll be back in just a minute," and continues her stroll.

Would it help to illustrate my reaction here?  Perhaps some thoughts that went through my head at this moment?  Maybe it'd be best to just write what I said next.

"I need to get out now." I tell her.

Without turning around, the lady waves her hand over her head - AS IF TO BRUSH ME OFF - and says, "You can get out."

To which I reply, "You're a jerk."

Also?  This lady was maybe 70 years old. 

I felt so bad I texted my cousin Tara to tell her what happened and, always knowing the perfect thing to say wrote, "I just taught Aquazumba to a bunch of 70 yr olds....I get it."


After the girls class at Romp n Roll, they each get a balloon.  This balloon is played with and carried around for the remainder of the day.  Every Tuesday, for the entire summer, I have had lovely afternooons because Hadley and Harper play with a pink balloon with a purple string all day long.  When it runs out of helium, it becomes a dog to pull around on a leash.  When that gets old, I'm asked to cut the string off and it becomes a volleyball.   It's endless fun, I tell you.

We go to Target after the class and I say to Harper as I'm taking her out of the car, "Can we leave the balloon in the car so it doesn't get lost?" 

Because that would be AWFUL if it got lost.  But losing a hold of it and watching it float up to the ceiling?  That's much better.

We're standing in line paying for computer paper when just that happens.  I see it float past my face and think, "Oh, that's Harper's balloon.  That's not good."  I don't attempt to grab it, though.  My reflexes aren't what they used to be.

Harper watches it and then says, "Mommy? Can you reach your hand up to the ceewing and get my bawoon?"

"No, Harper, I can't.  I'm sorry.  We've lost the balloon." 

Harper turns around to take Hadley's balloon.  Because, gee, I lost mine, so Hadley won't mind if I just grab hers.  This was not OK with Hadley.

Then, as if she's been practicing for this moment all her life, Harper screams, pushes me as hard as she can, then throws herself to the floor.  At the same time, the cashier tells me, with a friendly smile, "You lost your balloon."

I'm sorry Harper lost her balloon.  I really am.  But I'm thinking the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we'll be able to forget this whole thing.  That's not what happens.  Soon, all the cashiers are noticing the balloon as well as several patrons.  Then maintenance is called.  It's a whole "to-do."  There are walkie talkies and everything.  All the while, Harper's screaming and reaching for her balloon, Hadley's holding on to hers for dear life, and I'm laughing slash crying because of the scene I've caused in Target.

Call me a suburban mom, but Target is my happy place.  When Hadley was first born, and I wasn't sure what to do to get the crying to stop, we'd go to Target.  I'd put her in the Bjorn, get a cup of coffee, and we'd walk around the store checking out the goods.  Once, I ran into another mom doing the same thing.  We were in the hair product section.  We smiled at each other, and then she said, "You looking for anything in particular?"  I said, "Nope.  Just walking around."  She said, "Me too." We both laughed and I felt so much better knowing I wasn't the only person who had no clue what to do with an infant; that there were others who were just figuring it out as they went along, too.


"We can get the balloon for you," a maintenance main tells me.

"It's OK," I tell him.

"It's not a big deal," and he walks to the back of the store.

Harper, Hadley, and I stand against a wall facing the checkout lanes.  Every single patron is looking at the balloon along with all the cashiers.  Mostly moms, I hear things like, "Oh man, that's not good," and "Who's crying?  Whose kid is screaming like that?  What is WRONG?"  I even heard, "Well.  What mother lets her kid bring a balloon into the store?  At least tie the thing around her arm!" 

When the man comes back with a claw type wand and begins to reach for the balloon, the moms have all kinds of advice, "That's not gonna work," "He should've put a piece of tape on it so the string can stick to the claw."  I'm sure he can hear all of it, as I can, standing there holding Harper whose eyes are bugged out with hope that this man will save the balloon.

And he does.  He brings the balloon down, and walks it over to Harper while the ENTIRE CHECKOUT AREA of Target is clapping: cashiers, kids, moms, everybody.  It was a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie.

"Thank you so much," I say to the guy, but I almost blurted out, "I called a 70 year old a jerk a few hours ago.  I don't deserve this." 

I guess that's not what it's about, though.  Even those of us who are in fact the jerks are shown kindness.  Whether we deserve it or not.

We get back in the car, and I turn around to the girls and say, "Whew!  What a day."  Harper eyelashes are crusted over from the dried tears and Hadley is thudding her balloon against the window.

"I think we should go to the park.  You guys think that's a good idea?"

"YEA!!!!!"

"But Mama?" Hadley says.

"Yes?"

"I really hope me and Harper don't poop at the same when we're there."

I'll try to keep my cool if that happens.

What To Do When Daddy Goes to Hawaii For a Week

Drown your sorrows in ice-cream.

Spend his per diem at Toys R Us

Go out with your six and under friends where the food and balloons are free and people are riding around on unicycles.

It makes the time go by much faster.

Hadley- 4,576 Momma - 0

Hadley: My skirt is prettier than Harper's.

Me: Hadley!  Don't say stuff like that.  It hurts peoples' feelings.

Hadley: Harper?  Did what I say hurt your feelings?

Me: Hadley!

Hadley:  Did it, Harper?

Harper: Nope.

Hadley: Well, then I'm sorry to Mama.

Essayer

Earlier this summer Jesse came home from work and said, "This weekend I'm going to paint our table." We've had the table since we were married in 1999, so I think he wanted to do something a little different with it. 

I knew that once Hadley saw what he was doing she would want to help.  She'd been wanting to paint her wooden dollhouse for awhile, so just as she was beginning to ask Jesse what he was doing and did he need any help, I set up paints, the house, and a bunch of newspaper. 

I encouraged her to plan out how she wanted to paint the house before she dipped her paintbrushes in the paint.  Hadley likes to mix all the colors thus creating black.  This would be fine except I knew she would be upset and not want to play with the house after it was finished.  Although, I could've stored it away and brought it out for Halloween. 

Hadley agreed to make a plan of how she would paint the house.  I was pleased to have the opportunity to teach my children the importance of a well laid out plan.

Then she started to paint.

Meanwhile, Jesse worked on the table.

I kept thinking of the end of the book Fahrenheit 451 when Granger and Montag are reflecting on their part in the world. Granger says, "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies....A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made.  Or a garden planted.  Something your hand touched....It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away."

I love that everyone in our little family leaves their mark around the house and on each other so that we are a little bit more like the other. 

I love that now that Hadley painted the dollhouse she plays with it more and the stories she makes up when she's playing with it are so much more detailed and (pardon the pun) colorful.

I love that after a week away I came home and saw the table and said, "Oh yeah!" with a smile, forgetting what it looked like and pleased at how nice it looked in the playroom.

Harper's been creating, too.  She's begun making "guys" and oh, do I love them.

I love that she gives them all shoes.  And look at the hair.  It's all slightly raised and not touching the head.  The above picture is of our family.  Note that Hadley, Harper, and Daddy all have large eyes and Mommy has....well, where are my eyes? 

Here's the artist at work.

This is a picture of Hadley working on shape puzzles early in the morning.  She studies a picture like an apple, or school bus on a worksheet then tries to duplicate it using magnets in the shape of triangles, squares, etc.  While she was working, I was reading my book for the Creative Nonfiction class I'm taking.  Hadley likes to be wherever the other family members are.  She doesn't necessarily have to be talking to them, but she likes to be near them.  So I sat on the kitchen floor and read while she worked on her shape puzzles.

I learned in this lesson that "essay" comes from the French verb essayer, which means to try. I highlighted the following words written by my teacher, Lindsey Crittenden: "An essay is an attempt, a trial...essays 'figure out'.....A successful essay doesn't need to answer the question it poses - but it does need to address and explore it."

I hope everyone in our family understands the thrill and the peace that comes with trying, with exploring.  I hope that each time we come back to a favorite toy, a piece of furniture, or a piece of writing we're working on that we find something new we hadn't seen before.  Maybe a different way to play with it, or that a table looks lovely next to a certain window.  Or maybe the next time we try to draw our "guys" we'll add fingers or perhaps a hat. 

Whatever it is, it's wonderful to be able to see a thing that's more like you after you've taken your hands away.

Aint Nobody Be Likin' It

Have I shared this story before?  I was teaching 7th graders and I had one kid who was a bit of a donkey.  He gave everyone - teachers and students both - a hard time.  I had the pleasure of having him in class during the last period of the day.  One afternoon this kid must have taken an extra dose of obnoxious vitamins because he thought it'd be funny to take a spray bottle I had on the chalkboard ledge, and spray me in the face with it.

One thing led to another and he was sent to the principal's office.  This happened at the end of the class period so after I dismissed the rest of the kids, I walked downstairs, fists clenched, to the office.  To say I was mad is an understatement.  This kid had been driving me crazy for months and this incident was the last straw.  So when I walked into the office and saw my administrator (who knew what had happened) I said in what might've been an overly loud voice, "HE IS GOING DOWN!"  (Who am I kidding? I sounded like I was an announcer at SMACKDOWN.)

And then I turned a corner and saw him.  He was curled up in a seat sobbing.  This monster of a kid who literally terrorized classrooms was crying so hard I barely recognized him.  He wasn't crying because he heard what I'd said (although, that couldn't have helped), and I'm sure it wasn't because he felt terrible about spraying me in the face with a water bottle.  He was probably crying because he knew he was about to get punished and it probably would be severe. 

All I wanted to do at that point was sit down next to him and tell him it would be OK.  That he didn't have to be scared.  I couldn't remember why I was so angry, and actually, I felt foolish for being so angry in the first place.

Hadley and Harper were invited to a birthday party on Saturday.  There was swimming.

"Oh heyyyyyyy guys!  I'm in here too!"

Big shots -

There was pizza.

There was an Ariel cake.

"Where'd everybody go?  Y'all don't want any more cake?"

There was a pinata!

"What do you mean I have to give this bat to her?  I don't care who's birthday party this is."

"That's cool.  I'll just stand here."

"Not gonna move."

"I'm having a hard time understanding the taking turns aspect of this game."

CANDY!

"Hold up, girls!  Let me get in on this!"

"That's what I'm talking about."

And then there was this perfect shot of summer:

Does it get any better then letting the sun dry out your bathing suit while you swing and eat a lollipop?

Well, it's nice to have your sister share in on the joys of summer, too.

And then. 

It was time to go home and Hadley and Harper decided they were having none of that business.  Harper screamed SCAAAREEEEEMED  bloody murder letting the greater DC area know there is nothing wrong with her vocal chords.  And Hadley?  Hadley argued her way out of the pool as I dragged her out.  She clawed, pinched, and screamed at me while I dried her off, and while I turned to put the towel away, she jumped back into the pool.

Oh yes she did.

The girls screamed all the way through the parking lot while Jesse and I tried to collaborate on discipline.

Jesse: OK, I told Hadley no TV and no treats tomorrow and you told her no TV for a week, plus no chocolate milk.

Me: I canNOT believe she jumped back into the pool after I dried her off.  What have I done wrong that prompted this kind of behavior?  I NEVER acted like this....especially at 4.

Jesse: I think we need to focus on what we're going to do about it.

They didn't seem to care that they weren't going to watch TV or get any treats, but we did find something that proved to be a worthy punishment.

We told them we were throwing away their party favors.

When I told Hadley we were going to throw them away her screaming turned to sobbing.  Hadley rarely cries, and when she does it's the saddest cry you ever heard.  Through tears she asked, "Can I look at the party favors before you throw them away?"

And that's when I rememberd my student crying in the principal's office.  It just didn't seem to matter what she did.  She was so sad and I am her mother and now I've made her miserable. 

I wish we could do it over.  I wish I could find the perfect thing to say so that the girls won't scream and yell and treat me like Voldemort when I say that it's time to go.  I wish I could've managed the classroom better or been a better teacher so that I never had discipline problems. 

I took a "Writing for Children" class taught by Erica Perl a few years ago.  We wrote stories and shared them with the group.  I wrote a story with the student I'm writing about in this post as one of the main characters.  I called him Steven in my piece, and he was wild and obnoxious and funny. I shared my first draft with my classmates and then did some revisions.  I took Steven out, and after sharing the second draft everyone said, "Where's Steven?  Why'd you take him out?  We loved him!"

I have a hard time with discipline.  The hardest part is that I see that Hadley and Harper and the boy I'm calling Steven aren't who they are so much more than their actions in these instances.  I hate treating them based on their actions but I guess sometimes I have to do it.   That doesn't mean I love or admire them any less.

It also doesn't mean that these things don't make for great stories, and maybe they're a teeny bit funny a few days (years?) later.

Sing Anyway

I was terrified of Psalm 23.  It wasn't the shadow of the valley of death part, or the eating with one's enemies part.  It was this: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."  When I was memorizing that as a six year old, all I could think was, "Why on earth would anyone want to say they don't want the Lord?"  Seemed like we went to church to tell God how much we did need Him and here I was saying that even though he was my shepherd, I didn't want him.  And what was a shepherd anyway? 

Despite my lack of understanding of Psalm 23, I memorized its verses and said it on a Sunday morning with my fellow first graders in Mrs. Stevens' class. I said them because I loved Mrs. Stevens and I liked the phrases "green pastures" and "leads me beside still waters."  I liked that scene.  I also liked being in a group saying the words together.

It wasn't until later that I realized the idea that because God is my shepherd, I don't need to want.  It was quite a relief to me when I understood that I didn't have to proclaim I didn't want God (Although, I haven't kicked the habit of wanting......a bigger house, to be a writer, to know how to highlight my own hair, to have my children listen to me.....). Today, I am thankful for both my understanding of the Psalm as I am for the memory of me saying it when I was a first grader. 

Hadley went to VBS last week.  When we sign-up, we get a t-shirt and a CD on the first day.  We did the program last year and the CD has been in our car ever since.  She and Harper loved the songs and were thrilled to get another CD with new songs on them.  We were listening to the songs on the way to VBS Tuesday morning, and I could hear Hadley murmuring the words.  I looked at her from the rearview mirror and smiled because she had her signature "I'm learning this stuff" face on:  eyes sort of glazed over, mouth open, eyebrows burrowed.  I knew that by the time Friday rolled around she'd be singing these songs loudly and with a passion. 

I was right.

I don't know how much of these songs she understands, but I do know she loved singing and dancing on stage with the other kids.  I know that she loved screaming "THANK YOU GOD" after learned phrases throughout the week such as "God Listens," or "God Loves You No Matter What." And while she was playing at home it was lovely to hear her singing the words to bits of the songs: "I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder, your power throughout the universe displayed" or "God is watchin', watchin' over you." 

Her experience with VBS reminds me of the book The Song of Francis by Tomie DePaola. (Perhaps this should be a post for my Sit a While blog, but I'm beginning to get confused about where to write what.)  In the story, Francis of Asissi is filled with the love of God and wants to sing.  However, there is no one to hear him.  An angel tells him to sing anyway.   So Francis does and soon, different parts of creation come to listen and eventually join in. 

I think Hadley (and Harper too - she knows the songs even though she didn't go to VBS) experienced that "sing anyway" concept this week, and I think I first experienced it in Sunday School years ago.  We won't always know the words to the songs we sing, and quite honestly, I'm not sure I'll ever understand God's love, His grace, His forgiveness.....for me the list goes on.  But we should sing anyway.  Or write.  Or dance.  Or bake something delicious.  I think it's in the trying and the joining in that we understand a little more of God.

My Kind of Town

Last week while we were in Chicago, Hadley and Harper found two of my favorite spots in my parents' home.

A vent and a window might seem surprising favorites, but here they are all the same.  That vent sits in what was my brother's room, and another one is on the other side where I would whisper to him from my room.  This was usually during time - outs when my mom sent us to our respective corners and it was through those vents we'd continue the fight.  Well, I would continue to harass Geoff while he simmered.  I loved lying on my stomach talking through what I viewed as a secret passage. Even in a time - out I loved being in my home and exploring. 

One night last week I was shuffling through some of my stuff in a bag that was next to that vent after I'd put the girls to bed.  Hadley strolled in the room, but instead of looking at me, she was looking at the vent. 

"What's up?" I asked her in a "you better have a good reason to be out of bed" voice.  It's very menacing.

"I'm a...."  she only half acknowledged me but continued to look at the vent.

"Yes?"

"Well, I'm.....just wondering how you're doing."

"I'm doing fine, Hadley, go back to bed."

Hadley took one more look at the vent then walked back into my old bedroom to go to sleep.  I went back to shuffling through my bag but because I was right by the vent, I heard Hadley's feet stop on the other side.  I realized she had discovered that she could hear me through it.

Harper, on the other hand, discovered one of my bedroom windows.  Every night, when she was supposed to be sleeping, I found her kneeling on her bed, lookng out of that window.  When I walked in to tell her to go to sleep, she'd say, "It's getting wate (late), Momma."  I agreed with her and glanced out the window to notice that Harper was watching the sky turn darker shades of blue.  I wondered if she was listening to the el shoot past as well, and if it lulled her to sleep like it had me.

If you were to ask Hadley and Harper what their favorite part of the trip was, or where their favorite spot in my parents' house is, I am sure they would not mention the vent and the window.  I have a feeling they'd mention with shouts that they loved going to see the dinosaurs,

or visiting the aquarium,

and the zoo.

I liked all those trips as well.  However, watching my girls discover and enjoy something that I enjoyed from my childhood was my favorite part. 

We can show them the Chicago skyline, walk over the bridges over the Eisenhower and tell them not to be afraid of the rickety whoosh of the trains.  We can show them museums, take them swimming and out for ice-cream.  All great things.  But I think what's most important is that we provide our kids with a safe place to explore.  It's nice when we share a common joy in finding a treasure in an otherwise everyday item.

I