There Are No More Babies in My House

O: I am not a tiny O anymore. I am a gigantic O who makes her own choices.

There are no more babies in my house.  O will be four at the end of the month and P is 20 months.  Somehow, last week, she stopped sleeping in the crib.  I'm still not sure how it happened.  I was cleaning their room and I started investigating what it would take to remove the one side of the crib railing. Next thing I knew, it was off and O, recognizing what a great fort this three sided crib/bed would make, quickly claimed it as her own.  I put the safety railings back on the toddler bed, and P climbed right in, like she'd never slept anywhere else.  We are realistically about 3 weeks away from being done with diapers all together, as P has been using the potty with more and more regularity since she was 6 months old. Yep, there are no more babies in my house.  

When did that happen?

Maybe we should get a puppy. 

Home

O: I just want to sleep in my own bed, or in your own bed.  

For a variety of reasons, we haven't been home for about five days, and even though the places we were are all places we like to be, as I pulled into the driveway, last night after rehearsal, a huge feeling of relief and peace rushed over me.  The people that I love are all safe under one roof.  After the earthquakes, urgent care trips, and the late nights of the past five days, I can't ask for anything more.  

Home is wherever these two tow heads are, but it sure is nice to sleep on my pillow again. 

Saying Yes: Another Sunday Guest Blog

O:  Daddy, will you dance in the rain with me?

J:  Yes.

I was already a half-hour late for work when O posed this question to me one morning.  Without hesitation, I said, "yes."

We danced and laughed together in the gentle rain for a few minutes, and then I left for work.  I didn't care that I was late anymore.  I didn't care that traffic was a little bit heavier now.  I didn't care that my dress shoes were a little (or maybe a lot) wet.

I had danced with my daughter in the rain.

Shooooooze

P: Shooooooooooze!

K: Do you want them off or on?

P: YEAH! Shoooooooooooze!

P has a thing for shoes. Shooooze is among her first words.  In the morning, when Jim is getting ready for work, P will follow him around carrying his size 13 dress shoes.  She brings my flip flops to me, when I am sitting barefoot at the computer and tries to put them on my feet. As for her own shoes, well...

Got to admire a girl who knows what she likes. 

Self Care and Kindness

K: I want you to always know that you are loved, no matter what.

O: No matter what?

K: Always. 

I am not always very kind to myself.  I am generally the last one on my own list.  I will often catch myself spiraling downward into a deep well of negative self-talk. I say things to myself I would never say to anyone else.  I hold myself to a standard that I would never apply to anyone else.   I am often very unkind.  

Somewhere along the way, it struck me. I should work to treat myself with the same love, kindness, and compassion that I reserve for my children, that the benefit of the doubt I extend to strangers is something that I also deserve, that role modeling forgiveness and self care is important and valuable.  

I'm really trying to remember that. You should too.  

Kids Are Gross

O: It's okay, momma.  I don't need a tissue. I can use my shirt!

Today, I found

a half eaten apple in my bed,

at least a tablespoon of sesame seeds ground into my kitchen rug,

paint splatters on the wall in the living room,

three and a half pairs of sand-filled shoes on the dining room floor,

a mysterious, grey and brown smear on the wall behind the toy basket,

and a sippy cup of what used to be milk under the couch. 

Geez, kid, get it together

I have wiped butts, noses, and hands, and the hands were the grossest of the three.  I have been sneezed at, peed on, and licked.  I have made them beautiful meals, only to turn my back for a minute to discover that they have poured the milk over their fish, or dropped hunks of mashed potato into their cup of water, creating some inedible, unholy stew that I will later have to scrape off of their tiny, brightly colored dishes.  

Don't let that sweet face fool you. GROSS.

There is a smell in the car that I am afraid to investigate. 

Once, P actually blew her nose directly into my mouth.  Please don't ask about the logistics. Just know, it happened.  

God, they are gross. The grossest.  

So gross

Kid Made Modern Art

O: I'm going to paint you a story. 

I went to Target to buy dog food, Elmer's glue, and some paper, and came out with a new pair of sweat pants, two tank tops, and a cart full of new art supplies, like you do.   They were so shiny and looked so full of possibilities, I just couldn't turn them down.  

I did, also, get the dog food.

We rummaged through the junk drawer for bottle caps, wine corks, and other bits and bobs to use as makeshift stamps for the large ink pads.  We scribbled and scrawled with the diamond shaped crayons.  

O marveled at how many shades of green her new paint set contained, enough to paint every leaf in the whole world a different color.  It is so easy to forget the beauty of a heavy, textured, blank piece of paper, the possibilities that it can contain.  

All of the supplies, including that exquisite blank piece of paper, are from a company called Kid Made Modern. They are high quality and reasonably priced.  They withstood the afternoon and have been lovingly tucked away for our next creative binge. I especially appreciate how beautiful, streamlined, and functional the packaging and supplies are.  The bold colors and simple forms lend themselves to freeform creativity. There is no need for instruction or guidance.  The beauty of the tools is inspiration enough.

No one asked about Winnie the Pooh, the location of the iPad, or the possibility of an extra snack, all afternoon.  That alone feels like a victory.  

Spring Cleaning

O: We can give those stuffed friends away to another family that will cuddle them.  

It is officially spring, and somehow, here in Los Angeles, that means it has been greyer and colder than this winter ever managed to be.  We are in the middle of a great clear-out and clean-up: tossing out, donating, and scrubbing. 

helpers

It feels good to start fresh, shedding the layers of dirt and clutter.  It feels good to role-model the importance of letting go of things that are no longer useful, to teach, by example, how you can hold a moment in your heart while letting go of the physical manifestation of that moment.

I held in my hands today, the clothes that each of my children wore when we brought them home from the hospital.  O's was a tiny newborn onesie, striped with green.  I remember how her skinny arms barely filled out the long sleeves.  I had purchased a grey, long-sleeved newborn outfit for P, but it never would have fit her and was much too warm for the early August heat. P came home in a plain, white, cotton onesie, sized three months.  I let go of a lot today.  

I kept those two onesies.   

A Birthday

O: Dearest Mommy, I hope you know that you are the everyday best especially on your birthday. Looooooove, O.

my favorite birthday card ever

In the past 32 years,  I have had 2 children, been loved and supported by 6 parents, celebrated 7 years of marriage to the best partner anyone could imagine.  I have done 28 shows and learned at least one important thing from each one.   I have made more friends than I can count, and I can count my dearest of friends on one hand.  I have loved and been loved.  I am infinitely grateful for that.  

we still aren't too old for kissy-face selfies, or if we are we don't care

Today is the 32nd anniversary of my birth, but it no longer strikes me as being just my birthday.  I understand now, how deeply I share the day with someone else.  

my mom and my baby

Happy Birthday, mom. Thank you.  

Birthday Cake: A Sunday Guest Blog

O:  I want to have the first taste so it won't taste yuck!

This is O and P's Dad. No, I haven't hijacked Not Sure How Today Ends, but rather this is a guest post in honor of Kate's birthday next week.

Since Kate was rehearsing and performing all day Saturday, I had the chance to conspire with my children to come up with the perfect birthday celebration. P thinks we should celebrate by eating bananas all day. O thinks we need fancy decorations and round balloons. The long skinny balloons that we actually have in the house have not been deemed to carry the appropriate celebratory weight. I think as long as we celebrate together as a family, Kate will be happy.

So, here's the compromise we arranged. O and P made birthday cards and once P went to bed, O and I baked a cake. It is not a fancy cake. It came from a box. But it was a box that O selected at the market, and it was easy enough that an almost-four-year-old, and a baking-challenged father, could complete with relative success in the hour before bedtime. Fortunately, we had strawberries in the refrigerator. I didn't realize frosting wasn't included in the box so I had to  convince O that cut strawberries mixed with sugar make a sweet, syrupy topping that is WAAAAAY better than frosting. Come to think of it, maybe it really is.

Where the $%@# is the frosting? Come on, it's shown on the box!

Anyway, happy birthday, Kate! You are loved.