childbearing hipster

Bend It Like Daisy

Daisy's soccer abilities can be summed up in this simple mathematical equation:

(MIA HAMM) - MIA = Daisy

In the beginning, she had a blast, but sitting in on Molly's gymnastics class embittered her, and she started throwing tantrums when it was time to get out on the field. Fortunately she has a big enough crush on the coaches that when they coax her to come play, she capitulates.

(and seriously, if they tried to coax me to play, I might very well fall for it. Coach Jason looks like a young Terrence Howard without that weird misogynistic baby-wipe fetish, and Coach Jaime's got an Antonio Banderas accent thing going on. If they sweet talked me into it, I'd find my "power spot" right quick)

We've already established that she can do gymnastics next time, but that she has to finish the soccer session. And oh, my god, eight weeks has never seemed like such a long time. THREE more weeks of this.

Meanwhile, the amount of Fig Newtons and coachly encouragement that it takes to get her to unwrap herself from my thigh and get out there and play (with four little boys who have already gone from clueless to skillsville) is exhausting. She isn't crazy about running. She is not so much for keeping her eye on the ball. And she just doesn't really give a shit, which is fine, because she is three years old and I only care if she has fun. Which she does, once she gets out there. She's the soccer class clown. And she plays in a dress, because you really have to pick your battles.

I don't know why this is sideways. The original file isn't. And rotating it doesn't help. Typepad, sometimes I curse your name.

   

The Walk Home

Groundhog be damned, it is spring in the Bay Area (knock on wood). It's too hot for long sleeves and tights. The sky is so insanely bright and blue and clear that you almost want to examine it for brush strokes, it can't possibly be real.

We only get to walk home from school twice a week, because the other three days we're in a rush to get up to Daisy's school in time to pick her up. We savor the walks, which are full of landmarks and cats we've gotten to know and other points of interest.

Today we saw our black and white kitty friend sitting on a makeshift bridge between deck and tree. We noticed all the gnomes in one yard were lying down today. We marvelled at the magnolia petals, and we admired the longhaired tortie cat sunning himself on a porch.

On the way back the bridge kitty was gone but in his tree we noticed--a BEE HOLE! Bees drunkenly buzzing in and out of a round hole in the knob of the tree, back and forth from the nearby orange tree. We wondered if there was honey inside. We then quietly watched the hummingbirds actually perching on their feeder instead of eating on the run and appreciated the rare opportunity to see them in repose.

We passive-aggressively bemoaned the several instances of dog poop in yards and on sidewalks, poop which is even less welcome to the senses on a warm day.  We waved to the little old lady who likes to read her newspaper on her front steps when the weather's nice.

We wondered when the neighbors on the corner would put their birdcage back out on the patio (it's been inside for the winter).

Came home, ate sandwiches, and now we're going back outside to play some more. Spring!

Daisy's Chanukah for Dummies

Because I'm sure you were eagerly anticipating this.

"Chanukah is eight days and you light another candle every day. I lighted the six candle. Then you play dreidel and it goes spinny spin, and you eat chocolate money. And the best thing is potato pancakes which are latkes and they have applesauce on them."

But what is Chanukah FOR, Daisy?

"It's for the bees. I think because maybe they like applesauce."

Happy Chanukah to all my 'bees out there. Shalom!

Morning Cocoa at the Campsite

In pajamas. Filthy pajamas.

Ballerina Girls

The Magpie

Usually Molly's rest time is short and I get to spend a little one on one time with her. Today it was the other way around, and Miss Margaret and I got to hang out. She really enjoyed watching herself make faces on my laptop's built-in camera.

...and then, of course, she asked me for another snack.

Hot Dog Stories

Maggie sang a song all day yesterday about hot dogs. Something about "Hot Diggety Dog" that she heard on some Disney Channel show. I don't know. I know it wasn't the "hot diggety, dog ziggety, boom what you do to me song I sang when I was a kid.

But, unsurprisingly, around three o'clock in the afternoon Dug suddenly got the idea that we should grill bratwursts for dinner. That's the power of subliminals.

When we went to the grocery store after running some other errands, Dug grabbed some brats and then stood in front of the hot dogs for a moment. He reached for a package.

"No way. You're not getting that kind."

"Why not?"

"You were going to get that because it's the cheapest, weren't you?"

"Well, yeah".

"That's not how you pick hot dogs. Your children are going to eat these! That kind is all hooves and beaks and shit. Literally shit, like rat shit."

I grabbed a package of Nathan's, pretty much the most expensive dogs in the store.

"You never buy the cheapest hot dogs, you buy the GOOD hot dogs."

"I figured they wouldn't know the difference".

That's why I do the grocery shopping in this house.

Next to the hot dogs was a new product: hot dogs already in buns that you can just pop in the microwave. Because it's too hard to open a pack of hot dogs, open a bag of buns, join the two and then microwave them.

In true hot dog/bun weirdness (dogs come in tens, while buns come in eights, and never shall it make a lick of sense), the pre-bunned dogs come in packs of threes.

I had a leftover bratwurst for lunch today that I popped into the microwave. I had to put it in the bun myself though. Jealous of my prowess?

Gymnastics Class, Take Two

Knowing what to expect seems to be half the battle.

Molly's really good at all this flipping, balancing, jumping stuff. Maggie's got remarkable balance herself; she's like a little monkey climbing ladders and crossing beams, and she did much better following the rules. She will not do flips of any sort except backward somersaults off the padded equipment. No forward rolls, no flips on the bars. Who knows why.

Watching them "warm up" was the cutest thing I've ever seen. Both of the girls paid close attention and did every warmup exercise so well. You could tell (or I could) that they pay attention when Dug or I do yoga.

Next week I'll try and get pictures.

Gymnastics Class

So, aside from preschool I've done a really great job of avoiding activities. No Gymboree, no Kindermusik, no art classes, none of that crap. We do that stuff at home, we go to the park (not nearly often enough, because I hate the park), we sometimes make it to library story time.

I don't really like being in a room full of strangers. I don't like having to sing songs and do dances. I don't like parenting under the supervision of an unnaturally cheerful young person. I kind of wanted something for the girls to wear themselves out doing, while I sat and knitted and watched them with absent-minded affection. I really, really hoped this gymnastics class I enrolled them in was going to be that.

Yeah, it wasn't. It was me running around after them as they went around an obstacle course of padded blocks and balance beams and trampolines, and having to small talk with strangers. HATED it. It was exactly like I imagined such activities would be. Bunch of kids who've done this same class over and over again for a year and feel a very strong sense of entitlement toward the equipment which seems to extend to their parents, some of whom stood benignly smiling as their little angels took their sweet-assed time, while my girls salivated for their chance and I passive-aggressively repeated over and over "Just be patient, it'll be our turn soon".

Also, Maggie's not so much for following rules. Or taking turns. Or waiting in lines. Or listening, or being good. Or any kind of forward somersaulting, either. When I wasn't feeling frustrated by having to wait for Princess Yogapants to finish her Olympic trampoline routine so my kids could take one quick jump before moving on to let someone else have a turn, I was feeling intense shame over Maggie's total disregard for authority.

Molly, on the other hand, was awesome. You know why? Preschool, that's why. Well, that and a shyness so crippling that public misbehavior is almost physically impossible.

What really sucks, for me, is that they both really loved it and I'm probably going to have to do this again and again until they learn to drive. This is not my area of parenting expertise, and I really don't even want it to be.

Loose Ends

Dug had the holiday off so we spent yesterday at the Monterey Bay Aquarium. Molly really wanted to touch a bat ray until she had a chance to, at which point she freaked out. Then when I suggested we get out of the way for people who aren't scared to touch a fish, she got mad. She was also furious that the sea turtles are currently off exhibit. We steered clear of the children's exhibits for fear we'd have to spend an hour sitting in front of a tank of clown fish trying to figure out which one is Nemo, which one's Marlin (every. Single. Trip).

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Dug's usually got a late night at work several nights a month, where he isn't home for dinner. I usually indulge the kids with some stereotypically kid-friendly grub and give myself the night off from cooking. But he's got a big project at work that's going to keep him a way quite a few nights in the near future and I don't want to play all my cards at once, so tonight I made risotto, chicken, and steamed broccoli for the girls and I. True to form: Molly just wanted risotto, tolerated the chicken, agonized over the broccoli. Maggie mowed down the broccoli and threw a fit when I asked her to eat the chicken and rice first. I had seconds of all three.

(For what it's worth, risotto's a really good trick to have in your arsenal if you have a picky eater who really likes rice. You can get really creative with addins and liquids, and even if your kids don't like "stuff in their food", like Molly, you can blend the "stuff" enough so that it's not even noticeable. I've done risotto with diced carrots and carrot juice and Molly's sucked it down without batting an eyelash; an actual carrot causes her paroxysms of fear. And even though risotto's labor intensive, it requires no brain power.)

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In an effort to both encourage good behavior and help remind myself of things that the girls should be doing every day, I made little charts for them. Each has a list of things they should do and ways they should behave, and they get to put a star on the chart when they do something without too much hassle (Molly won't be getting a star for her broccoli-eating performance tonight, but nor will Maggie who was even worse about her rice). I hope it helps things get done without fits, fuss, and tears.

Of course when I showed them the charts and then wouldn't let them play with them, they threw fits.