Jul
27
Making A Cake
by Leslie
“That’s all we’re getting?” Julia asks, nodding toward the pack of butter in my otherwise empty grocery cart.
“Uh huh.”
“Cause that’s all the money we have?” She looks concerned.
I take stock of the faces turning our way, smile and say, “That’s all we need.”
But that’s not true. We have eighty-one cents in our account and three more days until payday. I had syphoned gas from the lawn tractor to put in the van to get us to the store. Money is tight. But it happens sometimes. Times have been tougher for us, if you can believe it. That doesn’t bother me as much as the fact that this is the first time Julia noticed it.
I pay for our butter, load the girls back up in the van and head home. The gas light blinks on and I increase the volume on the radio. The girls are too busy singing, “…somethin’ tells me I’m into something good” to hear the we-need-gas-ding.
We get home and immediately begin working on a cake, from scratch of course. It’s Grandma and Grandpa’s 35 year anniversary, so we decide to use the heart-shaped pans. The girls are so excited. They stand at the counter, watching the cakes cool. What they really want is the icing. Is it time yet?
I make up a batch of my buttercream. Julia suggests we make it a color and remembers that red and blue make purple, so that’s what we do. I sit at the table to ice the cake. The girls sit underneath it at my feet without realizing I can hear their plans to nab some icing.
“Spoons!” Lucy suggests.
Julia is more cautious and says they’ll use their fingers to get a lick when I get up. I clear my throat and shuffle my feet. She gets the hint. “Maybe if we’re patient,” she says a little too loudly, “Mom will let us lick the bowl.” And I do.
When I put the food coloring away, I discover some blue sprinkles in the back of the cabinet and let the girls add them to the cake. They ask me to call Grandma to find out when she’ll get here. The waiting is torture.
We make spaghetti - with meatballs, as it is a special day - and serve what Lucy calls “the love cake” for dessert.
Julia declares it “the best meal ever.” And at bedtime, as I lay in bed beside her with my arms about her, she tells me, “We have the perfect family,” before she falls asleep.
But I am still thinking about the butter.
Jul
26
When Julia started Kindergarten, she immediately became friends with a girl I’ll call Rhonda.
Of course, Rhonda isn’t her real name. I’d love it if it was, though. I’d be all, “Help me, Rhonda!” Man, I love The Beach Boys. Especially during summer. It just feels so….right!
Anyway.
Julia adored Rhonda and talked about her all the time. So much so that I made it a point to introduce myself to Rhonda’s mother one day at school pick up.
Me: “Hi! Are you Rhonda’s mom?”
Rhonda’s Mom: “Yeah.”
Me: “I’m Leslie - Julia’s mom.”
I extended a hand of friendship.
Rhonda’s Mom: “…..”
She looked at my hand like I was trying to feel her up. Or kill her.
I pulled my hand back and brushed at invisible lint on my pants in an effort to look a little less awkward and rejected.
Me: “Well, Julia talks about Rhonda all the time. I think they’re becoming very good friends.”
Rhonda’s Mom: “How do you know who I am?”
Me: “Well, we’ve been picking up our kids here every day for a month…”
Yeah, Rhonda’s mom was kind of a giant asshole. But, Julia still loved Rhonda as evidenced in the first half of her Kindergarten memory book.
Page 3:
“I get along with….Rhonda.”
Page 5:
“My favorite day is playing with….Rhonda.”
Page 6:
And look! There’s a picture she drew of Rhonda.
But then, one day, suddenly and mysteriously, Julia and Rhonda were no longer friends. I inquired, many times, about what happened, but all I would get was a shrug from Julia.
I’ll admit, there was a small sense of relief. I knew there was no way I’d ever let Julia go over to Rhonda’s house. Her mom was a jerk. But, I could tell Julia was disappointed that they were no longer friends and that felt terrible.
Her disappointment didn’t last, however, as she became fast friends with a lovely girl with a perfectly delightful mother.
So, yesterday. After months and months of asking and wondering, I gained some insight into the falling out of Julia and Rhonda and I pounced on it like it was the juiciest piece of gossip I’d ever heard.
Julia had mentioned Rhonda in passing and my mother asked her, “Whatever happened with you two? Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
And Julia didn’t shrug. SHE SPOKE. She said, “I’m not one of the sexy girls.”
Okay, what does that mean?
“You’re not?” my mom asked.
“Rhonda is a sexy girl. She plays with Bratz dolls and stuff….my mom doesn’t allow me to. Sexy stuff isn’t for kids. So, I’m not a sexy girl.”
“But that’s okay, you know,” my mom told her.
“Oh, I know, Grandma. It’s okay. Sometimes when the other sexy girls aren’t around, Rhonda will still play with me. But I still have other friends.”
And I almost couldn’t contain myself. She listened.
This just may go down as one of my proudest moments.
Jul
24
Two months from today, I will be holding Phoebe in my arms instead of my belly. We’re all warming up to the idea, though I just can’t seem to imagine what it will be like to actually have a third child in my charge, especially since I still haven’t figured out where I’m going to put her clothes. But it satiates my nesting desires to arrange, rearrange, and rearrange them again. Conversely, it’s given Dave an eye twitch and a stiff neck. (You should see what happens to him when I bring up the subject of transporting all three kids in the van.)
Not a day goes by that Julia doesn’t ask, “What do you think Phoebe will look like?” We’ve all placed our bets on the color of her hair - I say brown, Julia says blonde and Lucy says orange. Dave hasn’t made an official bet, although when she comes, you can be sure he’ll tell us, “I told you it was going to be (whatever color it is).”
Lucy has been looking at the ultrasound photo album I made with regularity. She points to the pictures and says, “Mommy baby belly! That’s Phoebe!” And she’s progressed from smacking at my bump to laying her cheek against it to feel her sister move, seasoning it with kisses and telling me, “Phoebe’s cute!” She mothers her baby dolls and even pretends to nurse them because, “I a good mommy! I love baby!”
I’m not sure what inspired the change in Lucy’s attitude. I’ve considered that it may be actually feeling the baby or seeing so many ultrasounds or all the books we’ve read and talking we’ve done about it. Dave seems to think it’s the two new molars we discovered peeking out of her gums yesterday. I think Julia’s excitment has helped. I love that she’s so proud to be a big sister.
Julia has been deeply involved with this pregnancy to the point that she became convinced, one night after a watermelon binge, that she was also pregnant. She requested “one of those sticks you pee on” to verify it. I tried to explain that it was impossible for her to be pregnant, but The Virgin Mary didn’t do anything to help me on this one and Julia just can’t see how the birth of Jesus could be any more special than the birth of her baby will be. At least she’s willing to take vitamins now. And she’s naming her daughter Stacey.
Jul
22
And Alexander Thought His Day Was Bad.
by Leslie
I knew it was going to be a rough day when it started before we could even make it down the stairs to breakfast.
“Noooo!!!!!” Lucy screamed.
“Mom! Lucy pushed me!” Julia snitched.
I was already battle-worn as the night before ended with a naked Lucy, fueled by sisterly motivation, waggling her butt at me from the top of the playset and refusing to come down followed by a Level 6 Mommy Meltdown that inspired Dave to actually get up, clap his hands and shout, “Okay, BEDTIME GIRLS!!!!”
By 9:15 a.m., Lucy was in time out for ripping the pages from Julia’s library book.
I let her sit for the usual two minutes then approached to talk about what she had done. But she refused to talk. In fact, she refused to even make eye contact, rolling her eyes up in her head when I asked her to look at me. So I told her, “Well, then you can stay in time out until you’re ready to talk to me,” while I reconsidered my stance on storing kids in the closet.
The child sat in time out for 45 minutes, people. FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.
And this is how that 45 minutes went:
Me: “Lucy, are you ready to talk?”
Lucy: “NO I NOT!!!”
Twice she thought she’d try talking with me and that went something like this:
Me: “Lucy, did you rip Julia’s library book?”
Lucy: “Yes.”
Me: “Are we allowed to rip books?”
Lucy: “No.”
Me: “That’s right. Ripping books is NOT okay. So, are you going to rip books again?”
Lucy: “Yes!” arms raised in a V.
Add in an offensively satisfied Julia lingering about the scene peppering us with commentary and you’ve got the makings of an inevitable nuclear explosion.
Though every fiber in my body told me it was probably the wrong choice, we went to playgroup that afternoon. It was an act of hope. Or desperation. Surprisingly, it defused the situation. The kids played pretty hard and no one was hit or bitten. I sat in a near-catatonic state on my friend’s back patio which helped me regain enough will to go on the rest of the day.
And so, we are all still alive. No one is residing in the closet. And some days, you call this success in parenting.
Jul
21
The Bears
by Leslie
We’d been away from the girls approximately 18 hours and while most people wouldn’t call that a vacation, I did as I am always with the girls. Always. All the time. Where are they now? With me! See what I mean? And so, we thought we’d mark the monumental occasion and bring them home a gift. Because that’s what people do when they come home from vacation: bestow gifts upon the bitter left-behinds that didn’t get to make the trip.
Dave wanted to buy them stuffed bears. Given that the girls have one hundred million gajillion stuffed animals, I suggested that a stuffed bear may be the stupidest idea ever in the world. I perused the clothing and craft sets, you know, something they’d use. But, Dave was persistent and we came home with two bears: one white, one brown.
We gave them to the girls and they fussed over them as they’ve learned to do in order to show gratitude for the sentiment expressed. I fully expected them to be tossed aside and forgotten. So, you can imagine my surprise that night when Julia climbed into bed and requested her new bear.
Now, three months later, those girls wouldn’t dare to dream of going to bed without their “bearies” Or to the store. Or outside to play. Or anywhere. It’s like those frickin’ frackin’ bears are sewn to their arms or something.
Dave is so smug about it all. Now and then, he’ll nod toward a bear and give me a wink. And I think of that wink whenever I have to scour the house or trudge out to the driveway in my pajamas to retrieve a forgotten bear. Or I have to make a lunch for “Beary’s” first day of school. Or I have to scrub the paint or applesauce or chocolate or bubble gum or cornflakes or rubber cement from their fur. Or I have to pull over and stop the van because I forgot to buckle the bear’s seatbelt and, “Mom, it’s unsafe. He could die!!!!” And I think next time Dave winks at me, I’m going to poke him right in the eye.
Jul
20
And when you get your second set, that’s all the teeth you’ll ever get. So saith Dr. Seuss.
by Leslie
Her tooth had been wobbling for ages and after four months of, “Maybe it’ll fall out today?” I was convinced it was never going to. And that was fine with me. Baby teeth mean she’s still my baby, right? But the night before last, it happened. Julia lost her first tooth.
She was so excited. She squealed and jumped and ran around showing it to anyone and everyone - human and feline alike - in our house. She was naked, of course, as her tooth had come out just as she was about to take her bath, but it didn’t matter. After all that waiting, her tooth was finally free.
When I caught her and plunked her in the tub with her sister, Lucy immediately grabbed Julia’s face and said, “Let me see!” She drew in close, squinted and declared, “Julia! Your tooth fell out!”
“One day, when you’re all grown up, you’ll lose your teeth, too,” Julia told her, her chest puffing with pride.
After the bath, I pulled out a little Tooth Fairy Kit I’d purchased from one of those crazy school fundraisers that included a tiny satin pillow with a pocket for the tooth, a collection box for the money from the Tooth Fairy and a booklet for recording the dates each baby tooth was lost. We set it up on the headboard of her bed while Lucy sat on her toddler bed gagging as she tried to pull one of her own teeth out.
I sang the girls to sleep and patted myself on the back for my preparedness. But once I lined up the Tooth Fairy visit and settled myself into my own bed and the nook of Dave’s arm, I couldn’t hold back the tears. “I remember the day she got her first tooth. She wasn’t even a year old. It was the first day of Spring,” I told him. “That was yesterday, Dave,” I added. “Tomorrow, she’ll be moving out and leaving us forever.”
“No she won’t,” he said. “We’re not letting her leave. She’s just not allowed.”
“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”
In the morning, it was revealed that the Tooth Fairy had visited. She left behind four quarters and one tiny, glittery note.
Also a gap in Julia’s smile, proof that my baby is disappearing, and my girl is growing.
Jul
19
Today, I will go to my obstetrician’s office for the Glucose Challenge Test. Don’t you love how they make it sound like it just might be fun? It’s a challenge! Are you up for it?
Here, drink this disgusting liquid. Don’t throw up! Now, let’s poke you with needles. If you don’t pass the test, you’ll have to come back and drink the stuff again, but this time, we’ll poke you with needles every hour on the hour for an entire day. What can you win? Gestational Diabetes!
Who are they fooling, really? They should just call it the Glucose Torture Experiment.
So, what are you doing today?
Jul
18
Lucy, The Lightning Bug Princess
by Leslie
We had spent the whole day outside in our bathing suits. The girls had been running from the paddling pool to the playset and back, stopping now and then to pick and bring me flowers or play with the kittens. I had soaked up some sun and read Olympia Dukakis’s autobiography
Rubbing her eyes, she asked for her story. This is what I told her.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful baby princess who lived in a big white castle on a hill. She was so bright and special, her mom named her Lucy, because Lucy means “light.” Lucy’s heart was pure and good, and every moment she was happy or kind or sweet, a lightning bug would be born. Every night, when the sun would start to go down, all the lightning bugs of the world would travel to Lucy’s castle to pay homage to the princess who gave them their light. Look! Here they come!”
The lightning bugs had just begun to appear and they were everywhere. As we gazed over the corn fields, there seemed to be millions blinking on and off. “They’re saying, ‘Thank you, Lucy.’ and ‘We love you!’ See them?” I said.
“I see them! I see my bugs! Look! Look at my bugs!”
She sprang from my lap and ran around, pointing and shouting at her lightning bugs. “I a pwincess! I a lightning bug pwincess, mommy!”
She was most certainly is.
Jul
18
The Back Yard
by Leslie
I remember the first time I saw the back yard from my childhood as an adult. I couldn’t believe how small it was. As a kid, it seemed to stretch on for miles. It was perfect for kickball with the evergreen I planted in Kindergarten serving as first base, the butternut tree as second and a fiery bush as third. The pictures of my broken down and rusty swing set don’t match the image in my mind. I never noticed a dent, though I played on it faithfully every sunny day.
I wonder how my girls will remember our yard. I look at it and see mowing and trimming and landscaping that needs to be done. I see all the things I want to do, all the things I haven’t done and it just feels…insufficient.
I bet they don’t see it that way.
I sure hope they don’t.
Jul
16
Yesterday, I hauled Dave and the kids to an awesomely huge Kids Stuff Sale in hopes of scoring Julia some second-hand jeans for school, which I did and more. I was still feeling a little high from the knowledge that I was only going to hand over half the cash in my pocket for the armload of stuff I was carrying when a woman who was working the sale approached and said, “Wow, you must be due any day.”
She was referring to the size of my pregnant belly.
“No, September,” I replied without making eye contact, knowing where this was going.
“WOW! Then you must be having twins!!!”
“No,” I said firmly as my entire body grew tense. “I’M JUST REALLY BIG.” I gave her a hard and deliberate stare. Dave later told me that I actually clenched my fists, which is weird. Why would I do that? I’d never HIT anyone. I might dream about it…but hit someone? No. Never. Not really.
By then, Dave stepped between us and tried to make a joke. A lady at the next table laughed nervously and added, “Oh that’s nothing, you should have seen me when I was pregnant. We kept thinking there were two in there…”
They all tried to make it better. Because 80% of the people standing there had the presence of mind and common courtesy to NOT marvel at the size of the giant pregnant woman. IT’S JUST NOT NICE.
I think it would be useful if the President issued a proclamation about it or something. I wouldn’t even complain if he broke into Hell’s Kitchen to say something like, “Those of you less-evolved idiotheads who think it’s appropriate to treat pregnant women like circus sideshow acts will be shipped to Siberia.”
I get it. I am big. If anyone in the world knows this, it’s me. But it’s not like I’m so big, I’m terrorizing Japanese cities or anything. And it’s not like getting a big belly when you’re cooking a kid is something new. It’s sort of how nature works.
Why are some people jerks?
I think the next time someone comments on my big belly, I’m going to fake labor. What would you do?
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Stuff I Dig
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You Should Do This
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Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
