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
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
14
My Brainy Kids
by Leslie
On the way up to bed, after I accidentally knocked Lucy over (for the third time today) with my giant baby belly, I told her, “I’m so sorry, honey. My big belly has a mind of its own.”
“Literally,” Julia chimed. “There is a brain in there. Phoebe’s!”
Jul
9
I live in Tuscarawas County, Ohio. Obviously. (I know, I know. Good-bye anonymity! As if I ever had it…so while I’m at it, if you live here, too, be sure to come to My OH! Monday. I’ll be there in all my round and pregnant glory!) And when I head for the highway, I always pass this county road sign.
The abbreviation for our county on those kinds of signs is TUS. Someone added a letter H. So it says, “TUSH.” Hehe. TUSH. I can’t really explain why this makes my heart feel so good. All I know is, my kids believe the only way we can access 77 North is to sing the intro to the ZZ Top song.
And so began our journey yesterday. We were heading to Canton after I made the strategic decision to take my van, Stella, because 1) she has air conditioning (and it’s broken in every.other.car. we own) and 2) she had enough gas for the trip so we wouldn’t have to put more in Dave’s car before our next payday. And Lord knows, a tank of gas can make all the difference when money is tight. The children need milk, after all.
We made it to our exit and were sitting on the downhill exit ramp at a red light when it happened. Our brakes went out. Dave later said that it felt like a bubble popped under the peddle, it went to the floor and SMACK! We hit the car in front of us. I started freaking out, OF COURSE. It’s what I do. And the way you freak out when you’re pregnant is to grab your belly and scream - because that’s what nature tells you to do! DANGER means PROTECT THE BELLY. Dave quickly wondered VERY LOUDLY if I was in labor and by then the kids were screaming and crying. But then I realized I had a job to do, I took some deep breaths and said, “Okay. Okay! It’s okay. We’re alright.”
The light turned green and the man in front of us - you know, the one whose ass we were up - gave us a wave and took off. A man we spoke to later said, “That’s lucky,” but I don’t know, considering I’m waiting for the cops to come break down the door and get us because we crashed into someone and didn’t hand over our insurance, our bank account and Julia to make it right. But the thing that really matters in this story right now is that when the dude took off, we had nothing holding us back and so we started to drift into the very busy intersection ahead. Dave used the emergency brake, which stopped us. Sideways. And in a cloud of smoke, which may have been cool in a Dukes of Hazzard kind of way had my children not been poking out into oncoming traffic.
At that point, we had a decision to make: turn left to go up the very steep hill or right to go down the very steep hill. We had to move and there was no place to pull to the side. So, we went uphill. Lucy had gotten distracted by then and was singing “Mama Mia…here I go again! Ma ma, how can I resist ya?” Julia was shrieking that we were going to die. I kept saying, “We’re fine. We’re fine. Daddy will get us out of this.” And he did. We made it to the nearest brake shop. Fifteen minutes after it was closed.
We spent the next hour in a Subway restaurant with no air conditioning waiting for a tow truck for Stella and a ride from my mother…in her car…with no air conditioning. And now, $250 later, a tank of gas doesn’t seem all that pricey.
Jul
7
At Least She Didn’t Sing, “You’re a Fatty Bombolatty! Fatty Bombolaaaateeeee!” She just implied it.
by Leslie
Julia is becoming increasingy concerned about my pregnancy weight gain. The way she approaches me leads me to believe she’s afraid I might explode. I’m tempted to start making a ticking sound when she’s around.
Yesterday, she outlined her ideal workout regimen and invited me to start doing it with her after the baby comes. She told me, “If you want to look like me, and not….um…well, if you want to look like me, you have to work out like me.”
Oh, Jules. I’d have to do a lot more than that. And it would involve a time machine, a plastic surgeon and a Voodoo spell.
Anyway, here is her regimen.
Let’s start with the left-hand column. These are her exercises. First up, Jumping Jacks. She does 5 of them. Next, Hand Stands. She does 3. Then, Lunges. She does 5 of those, followed by 5 Push-Ups. She scratched out the ellipitcal machine after I informed her that she’s too young to use it. Last, but certainly not least, the Wii Fit.
Beside her list of exercises she has drawn two people. Dave is on the right. You can tell it’s Dave because of the arrows pointing to his bald spot. Also between his legs…maybe because he’s male? I am on the left saying, “What!?!?” I’m sure it has something to do with the arrow.
Dave thinks the arrow below him is meant to signify that he is jumping.
I just checked with Julia. She informed me that the arrow is to direct you to turn the page upside down for Hand Stands, which makes sense, I guess, and is a lot less obscene than my idea.
And my chorus to her verse: crying. This made me cry. Because it doesn’t matter how many times people tell you you’re not that big, when your six-year-old turns all Jillian Michaels on you, you know you are ENORMOUS.
Jul
4
Boom!
by Leslie
Dave and I have never watched a fireworks display together. Never. He’s always had to work on the Fourth of July. When he pointed this out to me, my thought was, “Fireworks? We see them all the time when we’re together!”
We’re going on our seventh year of marriage - you know, the one where you’re supposed to get itchy - and I couldn’t be crazier about my husband. My chief complaint about him? I don’t get to see him enough. I still see fireworks when he kisses me. Pregnancy hormones could have something to do with that. Or the fact that he just straight up turns me on. Some people may say it’s love, and yes, I have that for my husband. But I still lust for him. Lust is fireworks. Love is a Bangles song. Is this burning an eternal flame?
Anyway, because I’m a real geek, I looked up the definition of fireworks. I found that fireworks are “devices consisting of a combination of explosives and combustibles, set off to generate color, smoke, and noise for amusement.”
Dave, we see those EVERY DAY.
Jun
29
The Simple Things
by Leslie
a Barbie Jeep, countless toys…
they prefer the dirt.
-
Stuff I Dig
-
You Should Do This
-
Ooooooh. Aaaaah.
