Quake at the sight!

RC, explaining why she needs the bigger whiteboard:

I want to write big, enormous, trembling things!

New Year's Contemplation

So...not a lot of new posts around here for a while. I can't say it's for lack of things to write about, because we have those aplenty. There is the usual conga line of excuses: too busy, too tired, small crazy people crawling all over my keyboard; but the truth is I'm also a little ambivalent about the whole thing.

A blog, like any diary or journal, is a place for contemplation, for open expression, for confession, even. Part of what makes it possible for me to put these thoughts out for public view is the blanket of anonymity I can pull around myself. Much like the grille in a confessional, this screen lets me be perfectly candid and completely concealed at the same time. I could be any parent; every parent.

But is that true for everyone who might read these posts? More specifically, is it true for those who are most dear to me and whose opinions are most important, my children? True, the oldest one is just learning to read and the youngest is still vacillating between looking at the pages and chewing them, but the internet is forever. These words will still be here when they're old enough to understand.

When I'm moved to write, it's about the crazy, strange, or downright frustrating moments of my day...but these aren't the normal moments. Normally, my kids are good kids, they bring me happiness, delight, and of course, some grey hair. That's okay; I don't begrudge them the grey hair...I drove my own mother to purchase several boxes of L'Oreal Preference Dark Ash Blonde in my youth.

If my kids read this blog when they get older, will they understand that? Will they know how much I love them, how happy I am that they are exactly who they are, even through my kvetching? That though I rail against RC's dawdling, I love the fact that she is so perceptive and can appreciate everything around her to the fullest? That even as Mouse drives me crazy with her stubbornness, she also amazes me with her determination? I complain to release my frustration, and what's left...is gratitude.

thank you for my children
thank you for my children
thank you thank you thank you

Laundry list

Mouse cannot stand to have dirty clothes on. You would think this would be a blessing, and if you voice that opinon in my house too loudly, you will be escorted to the laundry room to deal with the pile of tiny pink clothes. It would make more sense if she was generally clean in her person, but I've seen her freak out about spots of yogurt on her clothes, while her face looks like she's got a new probiotic masque from Elizabeth Arden. I think I'm going to cave in and just allow her to run around totally starkers, which is what she really wants to do.

The only good news is that Mouse doesn't make me pick up dirty clothes. After ripping her offending outfit off, she dutifully brings it over to the laundry chute and tosses it in.
Followed by her diaper.
And her shoes.
And my shoes.
And any toys lying around.
And maybe my cell phone, if she can reach it, along with my keys.
What this means is that whenever anything is lost in the house, the first place I look is on top of the laundry pile.

I suppose I should be thankful that the furniture is too big to fit down there, or we'd all be sitting on the floor.

Even flags need encouragement

RC has recently started summer school, which we refer to as "Kindergarten Camp". Last night I heard her reciting something, standing tall, hand over heart, and realized that they had been teaching the kids the Pledge of Allegiance. Head held high, she began:

Congratulations, to the flag...

... aaand milk shoots out my nose.

Everybody must wear Crocs...

Mouse has developed an obsession with Crocs. Because of an earlier trip to the beach, all of us acquired the ubiquitous squishy shoes. Knockoffs for the parents, originals for the kids. Now that pool season is in full swing, the Crocs are back out of storage and on the shoe shelf. And every time mouse sees them, she has to put hers on. On the wrong feet. This is no mistake; if I put them on the right feet for her she kicks and yells and yanks them off and puts them back on her way. Then, she gathers up another pair of Crocs, stumps around the house to find the owner, and hectors them until the shoes are on. This includes grabbing your existing footwear and yanking it off, then picking up each foot and jamming the Croc on. If you don't go along with this forced shodding, she complains, loudly, until you comply. Mission accomplished, she returns to the shoe pile for the next pair of Crocs and repeats the process until the house looks like the set for a commercial.

I'm thinking of hiring her out as an enforcer for the company. Goodness knows she intimidates the heck out of us.

Social mores? I gotcher social mores.

RC, to our neighbor who inexplicably walks to the subway station barefoot and in the middle of the road:

Hello! You should be wearing shoes, actually!

How do I explain that she's absolutely right, but she absolutely shouldn't say that? Or should I just be happy that I can use her to say the things I can't?

These are not my real children.

RC got out an assortment of toys for Mouse to play with this morning. Our exchange:

"RC, do you want some breakfast?"
"No thanks, Mama. I'm going to sit here and read while I watch my sister play with the toys I got out for her."

So, I'm not delusional? My oldest has just decided to provide a daycare environment for my youngest? For FREE? I assume a request for a horse is in the offing.