Hm…where should I start?  Boring stuff first.  My last post was November.  Had Thanksgiving at my mom’s house.  Christmas was fun, and non-stressful because I actually had time to do Christmasy things and enjoy it.   Did the traditional Christmas Eve at Grandpa’s house, then Christmas morning at our own house, and then Christmas dinner at Grandma Barb’s house.  [Side note: the girls, who have been playing independent of me all morning, have suddenly convened around the computer.  It's like they know I'm writing about them.  They are also tapping on the keys at the same time as me.  It's getting annoying.  Eme: "Is that enough message, Mommy?"  No.  Go play.]

Paul started working as a temp for Columbia Bank on Bainbridge Island, processing loans.  They offered him a permanent job and he accepted in January, so now he’s legit.  He really enjoys it for lots of reasons, like that it uses his existing mortgage knowledge, and that it’s not commission-based or sales related.  I like that it comes with good health insurance, and that he enjoys it.  And that it’s a smaller bank, which is having a heyday right now.  We’re really hoping this one finally sticks, since he’s been looking for years for something he can really stay with for his entire career.  (Stupid banks.)  Knock on wood.  No, really.  Do it.

I’m still doing freelance editing work here and there, but not really focusing on it.  I also started selling eReader and tablet covers on etsy.com, though more for fun than for profit.  Going to start doing baby stuff soon because it’s fun and cheap to make.

How are the girls?  Great.  Honestly, there’s not much to say.  They’re happy, they’re smart, they’re confident, they’re hilarious, they’re beautiful.  I’m not trying to brag, it’s just true.  They’re very well-adjusted and we’re lucky.  Had a parent-teacher conference at their preschool, and the teachers said of Ruby, and I quote, “She’s perfect.”  PERFECT.  Well-behaved, kind to others, a quick learner, and demonstrates good leadership skills.  She’s right on track as far as where her learning should be, and is always eager to learn more, to the point where the biggest challenge is getting her enough stuff to do.

She’s the most confident person I’ve ever met, I kid you not.  We just went to an open house for her kindergarten, and she hurried ahead me, walked right into the room and said “I’m Ruby!  I’m four-and-a-half.  This is my school next year.”  It blows me away, especially since I was the shyest kid in the known universe.  She also genuinely cares about others, always making people gifts, or saving treats to share with her sister.  I was laying down with a headache the other day and Ruby asked Paul if she could lay down with me so she could take care of me.  Yesterday she went to school with special Hello Kitty hair ties, and came home without them.  When I asked where they went she said “I gave one to Ami and one to Madison.”  All simple.  No big deal.  Every Christmas to make room for new toys, I have a rule that we have to donate the equivalent in their old toys, and she’s always eager to donate.  She even asked specifically who was getting her toys, so she could better decide which toys they would like best.  She constantly amazes me.

She’s really into fashion, always putting together outfits and accessories, and putting on fashion shows.  Aunt Heather got her a designers sketchpad for Christmas, and she loves sketching new outfits.  She wants to be a fashion designer when she grows up, but also a doctor, policeman, rock star, and the president.  On Presidents Day we were naming all the presidents she knew, and I told her that there had never been a girl president, and said “You could be the first one,” and she said “Okay.  I will.  If you want me to.”  And I said “I only want you to if YOU want to.”  And she said.  ”Then yes.  I will.  Because you want me to.”  Not the message I meant to send, but at this age she still values mom’s opinion.

As for Eme, her teachers said a lot of similar things in terms of her learning being right on track, and her confidence.  They said that she’s very independent, but can still play well with her peers when she wants to, meaning she’s well-adjusted, just prefers more time by herself than Ruby.  (Sounds like someone I know…)  Ms. Bea says Eme always says the most interesting things, and she loves their conversations.  Their biggest struggle is that Eme is such an independent thinker that they sometimes have a hard time getting her motivated to cooperate.  This is a struggle I only know too well.  Sometimes when I ask her to do things, her answer is simply “I’m not going to.”  I tell her what the consequence will be if she doesn’t cooperate, and she’ll usually choose to take her lashes (NOT literally, calm down).  She’ll protest going into time out or being restricted from TV, but not enough to actually, say, clean her room.

Speaking of which, last week we were grocery shopping at Walmart.  It had been a tough morning, with neither of them listening to me very much and a struggle just getting dressed and out the door.  By the time we got there, I was already exhausted and impatient.  After 45 minutes of shopping we STILL hadn’t made our way over to the groceries (we were stuck in art supplies, since it was Grandma Carol’s retirement and we were going to make signs to accost her with at work).  The girls kept wandering away or not following me when I asked.  They went to run off to go look at toys, and I told them if they did we were leaving immediately.  Which they did.  So we did.  Ruby nearly always listens to me on her own, but under Eme’s influence it’s harder to keep her under control.  You’d think it would be the other way around with Ruby being older, but no.

At any rate, they cried and screamed to the car while people looked at me as if I’m a horrible horrible person.  (Like I care?  It’s Walmart.  Get some teeth and then think about judging me.)  Then they screamed all the way home.  Then we got home they threw two baskets of clean laundry on the floor of their clean room. [Ruby just came up and said "When are you going to be done spelling?"  I told her a long time.  She just said "You spelled Ruby!  Why did you spell Ruby?"  I told her I'm writing about her and she asked why.  I told her Aunties and Uncles want to know what she's up to.  Then she did a magic trick with her bracelets.]

Back to the clean laundry on the floor:  I told them very calmly that they were in charge of folding their clothes and putting them away, and they weren’t allowed to leave their room until it was done.  Then I closed the door and walked away so as not to strike them hard with an open palm.  Hours passed.  I told them we wouldn’t be able to meet Grandma Carol at her work if the clothes weren’t put away.  They didn’t budge, except when the door was closed the room became more and more messy.  I told them they would need to clean up their toys in addition to the laundry before they could leave their room.  Ruby pouted for about an hour.  Eme screamed her head off for about 45 minutes.  Then they went back to ignoring it and playing.  By about hour 3 Eme said they were ready for their lunch now, and they would clean up after.  I said I’d be happy to make them lunch, as soon as their room was clean and laundry put away.  Then I very meanly did more laundry as they sat there, and added clean clothes to the pile. Because I am mean.  Very, very mean.

By hour 6 and various methods of trying to get out of it (“I don’t know how.” Yes, you do.  ”My tummy hurts!”  Well, you’d better hurry up so you can eat.  ”You don’t love me!”  I love you very much.  ”Other people’s moms aren’t this mean!”  You’re probably right.  Sucks to be you.)  Paul came home and we proceeded to heat up and eat a pizza.  Ruby tried her charms on Paul. (“Mom is making us clean up all this laundry and I can’t!”  Paul had been briefed, and was no help.)

We had a church group that night, and a friend of mine was coming over to babysit.  I briefed the sitter on the situation and asked how she was with tough love.  She said she would be fine with it, but I later realized how much the girls love babysitters, and having one come over would be a reprieve.  Not to mention, as my friend pointed out, they were much more likely to respond to someone else telling them what to do, and the point was for them to learn to listen to me.  So I told them I would cancel the sitter if they didn’t start cleaning ASAP.  They didn’t.  I cancelled the sitter.

This was Ruby’s breaking point, and she cried for about 20 minutes, then cleaned up her clothes and half of the toys, and joined us for pizza.  Her total sit-in time:  six and a half hours.

Eme was still going strong, which didn’t surprise us.  She’s amazing at keeping herself occupied, even after we started taking toys away.  She has a whole universe going on in her head (just like Mommy), and she’s also insanely stubborn (just like Mommy and Daddy), so we were in for the long haul.  She wanted pizza really bad and was crying and whining, but we just kept telling her she could have one when she was done cleaning.  Finally bed time came, and we brought her a peanut butter sandwich in her room to eat, but no pizza.  She cried and tantrumed for another 20 minutes or so before finally eating the sandwich and falling into bed exhausted.

The next morning the hour before school she still wasn’t allowed to leave her room, and she still didn’t clean.  We finally left for school.  When we came home it was straight back to her room.  I think Eme was expecting me to forget or give up during school, so she was surprised.  She went into her room but tried all manner of excuses (“I’m itchy!”  ”I’m lonely!”) and then resorted to a 2-hour screaming tantrum.  After she wore herself out, she asked if she could have pizza if she put her clothes away and I told her she could as long as she finished before Paul got home.  So she cleaned.  Her total sit-in time:  eleven and a half hours.

Yesterday I learned that she had hidden some of her clean clothes on Ruby’s bed under a blanket.  Tricky little devil.

So that’s Eme.  Stubborn and independent.  But she’s also hilarious and tells the best jokes.  She lives to make people laugh, the way Ruby lives to take care of others.  Everything she does, she does with a gleam in her eye, knowing she’s amusing people.  This is one reason it’s hard to get her to do stuff:  instead of, say, putting her shoes on, she’ll go for the joke and put her shoes on her hands and say “Okay!  I’m ready to go!”

Okay, that’s a lot of update, isn’t it?  Time to stop ignoring my children.  You’re welcome.

Sometimes I wish “Because I’m the Mommy” worked as an argument in other situations.

February

Ruby explains, “If a boy touches a leaf and then a girl touches that same leaf, she gets BOY germs, and then she turns into a BOY.” Yes. We’ve discovered cooties.

Announcement: Ruby has her first crush. Apparently, he’s SO HANDSOME, and when she talks about him she gets that I-have-a-crush smile on her face. Where did my baby go???

This is a non-football Facebook update. ……….Wait….

My daughters pause in the middle of eating to give each other hugs and kisses. It might be the most awesome thing that has happened to anyone ever.

Last night Eme kept having nightmares and wouldn’t wake up. We tried putting happy thoughts into her head, and nothing worked until we sang Happy Birthday several times. She slept the rest of the night and woke up thinking it’s her birthday. Problem solved.

Me: Ruby, what was your favorite thing about today? Ruby: When the teacher said we could play outside. Me: Eme, what was your favorite thing about today? Eme: Bonking my face.

Ruby fell and chipped her tooth on Monday. Yesterday: Ruby: My tooth feels better, Mommy. Is it fixed? Me: Sorry, hun, it won’t be fixed for a long time. Eme: You could tape it.

Pajama day at pre-school. I’m jealous.

Ruby: Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones in His below, they are weak and He is joke.

Direct from Eme’s teacher: she’s super-smart, but screams when someone tries to touch her stuff.

at soccer school Eme invented doing a dance after scoring a goal.

Watching Paul and Ruby argue means watching Paul argue with a tiny, female version of himself. In other words: hilarious.

March

Eme just wiped her nose with an apple wedge. Guess what happened next? While I was still going, “Did she just wipe her nose with that apple?”

At Skateland w/Ruby’s class. It’s exactly the same, right down to the original confetti-patterned carpet. They’re even playing the same music.

Watching Spicdable Me. Or Specktacle Me. Depending on who you ask.

Eme has discovered a love of snoobies. Prize to the first person who guesses what this is. [answer: smoothies]

Re: pretending to sleep so the girls can wake me up by yelling BOO in my face, Heather said, “See, that’s why I’m not ready to be a Mom yet. I’d be like ‘Leave me alone! Get a job!’…Please don’t quote me on Facebook.”

is fifteen minutes into ignoring a tantrum.

Ruby? She talks like this. Her speech pattern? It’s adorable. Eme? That’s her little sister. The two of them? They’re hilarious together.

Paul: Even when you disagree, you guys can still talk nicely to each other. Ruby: Yes. We can. Eme: No we can’t. Ruby: YES we CAN!

Ruby introduced us to her crush today. She was sitting across from him staring dreamily with her chin propped on her fists, and she informed us with awe, “He has SO MANY cool toys!” He’s a cutie with a sense of humor. Also? We’re pretty sure he’s Hawaiian.

Ruby: I want a fat ponytail. Me: (gives her regular ponytail) Ruby: NO! That’s not what I said! (Pulls out rubber band.) I’m NEVER wearing a pony tail EVER AGAIN! (Throws herself on bed.) (Sobs.) …when did she become a teenager?

Ruby: Do you know how much I love you? Paul: How much? Ruby: A HUNDRED much.

Ruby got over her first crush when he had a potty accident on the “A” on the circle rug. She now wants to marry Kellen, because when they play house, he’s the dad.

‎”People of the sidewalk, we can’t give up on the written word! We need stories! Because I don’t have a plan B. I have a degree in Theatre Tech with a minor in Movement. Why did my parents let me do that??” –Liz Lemon. It’s like she’s reading my mind.

Socially awkward moment of the day: I introduced myself to another mom by accidentally sneaking up on her and startling her so much that she whirled around and screamed. I wish I could day we laughed over it, but that’s not what happened.

‎’huuulplklklklllpolo -223:3 [In comments: Um. Eme posted this from my phone. Which is like the Facebook-Toddler equivalent of butt-dialing.]

April

Today Ruby awarded me a sticker for quietly doing my work. Little does she know that I spent the day blasting that Friday song to annoy my coworkers. (fun fun fun fun)

Ruby: Mom, is the dentist imaginary or real? Me: Real. Ruby: Watch out, Eme, or the DENTIST will get you! Me: Wait, what do you think a dentist is? Ruby: He pulls out your teeth. Me: ….True. Carry on.

Eme asked if I was dirty and then cleaned me with a pretend squirt-bottle and rag. Since this is not how we clean things (people or otherwise) I’m wondering how she came up with this.

Ruby was crying in time out (for hitting) and Eme went to her and said “Ruby, people love you. God loves you. I love you. God takes care of you, and Mommy takes care of you, and Daddy takes care of you, and I take care of you.”

Paul: ruby, I know you think you know everything, but sometimes you need to listen to me, because I know the most about things. Ruby: Me too! Paul: Right. But Daddy knows more than you and Mommy knows more than you. Ruby: I know. And me, too. Paul: No. Daddy knows more than you. Ruby: Right. ….. Me too.

Eme (recently turned 2-and-a-half): I’m gonna sing a crab song! I’M A LITTLE TEAPOT… Wait. That’s not right.

just realized she can’t make Your Mom jokes to Ruby and Eme.

‎Sylvia Taussig: How old are you? Ruby Dylan: I’m three. Sylvia: And when do you turn four? Ruby: On my next birthday. [insert rimshot here]

Ruby, who has a habit of being freakishly prophetic, announced on Saturday out of the blue that one day the Dylans will live in China.

May

I just saw a bald eagle being chased by a Canada goose and experienced genuine patriotic outrage.

Eme’s tummy is “feeling quite better,” yesterday Ruby won an argument by using the word “situation,” and this morning Catcher “startled” her. Pretentious-vocab-using win!

Eme: I like to eat babies. Me: You like to eat BABIES? Why? Eme: Because I like babies. They’re my friends, and I like to eat babies they’re mine because they’re mine I like them I like to eat them they’re mine. And a octopus and I like to eat octopus babies, like a baby in a baby in a baby in a baby. Me: You realize you sound demented, right? Eme: Yeah.

Eme’s first day in the big kid class! Looks like the eating babies thing put her over the top.

Ruby: Here, Eme, I’ll help you with this puzzle. Anabelle (cousin): That’s okay. I’m helping her. Eme: But I like my sister. She helps me with stuff.

Today. At dinner. Paul: Eme, we don’t hit people. Eme: I want to see your blood.

Eme made up a story called “Suddenly Me.” It involves cupcakes and an old lady who calls her fart-head. Don’t worry, the main character (Eme) kills the old lady.

Paul: Who wants another slice of pizza? Eme: ME! Me: You have a slice. Eme: I don’t like it. Me: Why? Eme: It’s kind of, like, yucky…and spooky.

Purchased a used double-stroller and promptly experienced first double-stroller disaster. Let’s just say Paul is no longer allowed to drive, and that Ruby was right: he shouldn’t do that, because it’s not safe.

Math, according to Eme: I am zero minutes tall. One plus five equals colors.

Happy Birthday to Ruby! She asked for a guitar and is currently making up a song that goes “I can’t believe I’m four years old…”

successfully frosted a cake in a moving vehicle.

When outsiders meet my children, the consensus is: Eme talks amazingly well for 2, and Ruby has an answer for everything. Sounds about right. Talkative, opinionated women run in my family. In a good way.

Ruby: We found a mouse on the playground, but it was sleeping. Paul: Are you sure it was sleeping and not dead? Ruby: No. It was sleeping. Even when we touched it with a stick, it didn’t move. Paul: Sounds like it was dead. Ruby: No. Because it wasn’t cut in half. If it was dead, it would be cut in half. Paul: Ruby, I think the mouse was dead. Me: Paul, seriously?

Ruby (looking at shallow bay): Mom, come look at the seven seas! … Do they allow pirate ships here? Me: Yes. Ruby (relieved): Good.

Eme: Dear God, please bless Mommy…and Ruby…and Daddy. And please bless…all the foods I like to eat…like sandwiches…and…egg sandwiches…and…dinner…and…lunch…and…snacks at school…and…those are all the things I like to eat, and drink…(shrugs, hands wide)…all the things I like to drink. I drink…everything…I want. Amen.

June

Yesterday Ruby casually asked, “Daddy? Do you know everything?” To which he replied, “Not everything. But it is my job to teach you as much as I can so you grow up the best you can.”

Overheard in Poulsbo: “Did you know the kids who dress up as characters in Disneyland can’t take off their costumes and they get so hot they have to throw up in their costumes? Which is how I got the idea….” Then Paul started talking and I couldn’t hear, so now it’s bugging me: WHAT IDEA?

Eme: I found a sticker on my foot. Me: Awesome. Wow, that’s lucky. Eme: NO! It’s not awesome or lucky. Me: Oh. What is it? Eme: A sticker.

Leaving in about an hour to drive to LA. My family took a road trip when I was 2 and my sister was 4. My dad recalls it as the dumbest thing he’s ever tried to do.

In Sacramento for a pit stop. Driving back to WA tonight.

Home, safe and sound. Well, safe. Jury’s out on the sound part. Ever drive up to a McDonald’s drive-through and forget how to order? Or talk? Or do anything besides giggle?

Last day of school was today for the girls, which they know means summer starts. Ruby (getting into bed): Is it still summer? Me: Yes. Ruby: Even at NIGHT?

Eme (on swing): If I fall, I’ll crack my head open. And then TREATS will come out! (I did not realize she is part pinata. But that makes sense. Paul’s Mexican.)

Me: Do you have to go potty? Ruby: No. That’s just how I walk. I walk crissing. Me: What’s crissing? Ruby: Criss-crossing my legs.

Ruby: Mommy, aren’t you tired of typing on the computer and blah blah blah?

July

Lost Ruby at the YMCA today. Later, she reassured me by saying “But I met a friend who was 10 years old, and she was really nice, and she didn’t even kick me in the face!” (I don’t even know.)

‎(Overheard after bedtime) Eme: When I grow up, I want to have only blood. No skin. Ruby: No SKIN? Eme: Yeah. And everyone will see my blood, and they will touch it, and I will say “Eat my blood!”

Ruby: Mommy, if you show your shoulders? That’s gross. Me: Shoulders? No it’s not. Ruby: IT IS GROSS!

We told Eme there was no running near the pool, and she literally could not stop. All she managed was a series of hilarious body positions, such as running in a squat, while maintaining the same speed.

TV: Do you like outer space? Eme: No. TV: So do I! Me: That was not the answer they were anticipating, Eme.

Ruby (emerging from Paul’s & my room during nap time): I can’t sleep because the room smells like boy and there’s too much smell.

Eme, apropos of nothing: Ruby, wouldn’t it be funny if I had two tongues?

Ruby (singing): I love my Daddy and I love myself, too. (repeat)

Just took my first ballet class since pre-kids (5 years, people!). My balance is shot, but I can still do the splits both ways. #ihaveskills

Ruby just put herself to bed at 6:15. Like I’m going to stop her? (She’s not feeling great.)

Eme: MOM! Ruby’s playing! [instead of cleaning their room] Ruby: MOM! Eme’s telling on me!

Just put the girls to bed and told them they’re not allowed to leave their room unless they’re bleeding. I fear they accepted this as a challenge.

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up? Eme: A guitar player. Me: How do you become a guitar player? Eme: You get a guitar and then you start to rock & roll.

Me: What do you want to be when you grow up? Ruby: A princess doctor. Me: And how do you become a princess doctor? Ruby: First you put on your princess clothes, and then you put your doctor clothes on top of that. Me: Oh, so it’s all about the clothes? Ruby: Yes. And then when people are sick, they just come to me for help.

‎(dropping Ruby off at ballet) Ruby: I can go in by myeslf, mom. I dont’ need you. (heart breaks in two) Me: Wait. Ruby, you’re going to the wrong door. (heart slightly mended)

My girls, who have been fighting all morning, suddenly hugged for no reason. Ah, sisters.

Eme (age 2): Dad. We have a problem. Listen to my story. My story is this: I need the comb, but Ruby wants the comb. Ruby’s story is this: she needs the comb, but I want the comb. Paul: Hm. What do you think you should do about that? Eme: My baby just needs the comb.

(on my wall from friend Chris Damitio) Happy Birthday Melissa. My wife is in labor right now and I hope our daughter turns out to be like you.

August

couldn’t finish her mushroom ravioli once Ruby pointed out that the mushrooms looked like slugs.

Ruby (holding a squirrel and a bear): Which one is most like a bear? Paul: The bear. Ruby: No! Which one is most like a bear? Me: The bear. Ruby (annoyed): No! Which one is most like a bear? Paul and I: The bear. (Ruby stomps off.) Eme (holding a bear): Which one is the daddy bear? Paul and I: …That one. Eme: Right! (Skips away.)

Ruby, immediately upon suddenly waking from a nap: Drink all the colors in the world! …. (realizing she is awake) … Just kidding.

Paul: Go to bed, girls. Eme: I will go you away with my song. (pushes button on musical book)

Instead of shoving and screaming over a chair, Ruby paused and said “Eme, may I please have that spot?” and Eme replied “Of course,” and moved. Parenting win!

Why boys are smelly, according to Ruby, age 4. “Because they run around all afternoon, and when they come in, they’re smelly.” Well said.

Really, Silverdale? Rural Roots, Urban Flair? Try “Rural Roots, but We Have Our Own Olive Garden.” Or “Rural Roots, but We Just Got a Trader Joe’s.” Maybe “Rural Roots, Affordable Living, and Parents Nearby Who Will Babysit”

Gave myself some cute Betty Page bangs last night. This morning, Ruby says, “Don’t forget to wear lipstick with your new haircut, mama.” She’s so my stylist. (And she’s right. Red it is!)

just got the worst fortune cookie of all time: “Recent scientific discoveries will lead you in a new direction.” Just me, everyone. Hear that?

According to Eme’s measurements, my height is twenty dollars and ninety. She concluded the session by saying “You can go cook lunch, now.”

Ruby has a new crush who kissed her and made her brain feel “scrumbled up,” which makes Mommy’s tummy feel scrumbled up. There is plenty of time for scrumbled brains when she is older, thankyouverymuch.

had 4-H flashbacks at the Kitsap County Fair today. Ruby wants to enter our cat next year, and Eme is pretty sure she figured out which bunny there is the Easter Bunny.

Ruby: Mommy spilled her coffee this morning in the car. Grandma: Oh no. Did she say a bad word? Ruby: No. (walks away) Me: I did. She just doesn’t know it’s bad.

Ruby and Eme have been watching regular TV for the first time, and Ruby wants everything she sees in commercials. We told her to stop asking for stuff, so now she says “I’m not going to ask for that, Mommy,” to indicate she wants things.

is kinda freaking out that Eme is turning 3 in five minutes. By kinda, I mean a lot. I haz a mommy sad. I already miss my babies. Plus side, the tantrums have dialed back….

Server at tea place, to Eme: I hope you have a good birthday. Eme: Happy birthday! (earlier) Me: Eme, thank Ruby for the present. Eme: You’re welcome!

Taught the girls to use the computer, and now they’re playing letter games. They are now qualified for several jobs. Anyone wanna hire toddlers for some very slow data entry?

September

Lazy day. Our combined goal is to get the sink to drain better, and a vague notion that the girls should go outside at some point.

Here’s what the girls want to do today: pick blueberries at Grandma’s house, go to Daddy’s friend’s house to go swimming, go to Ruby’s boyfriend’s house for a BBQ, then go swim at the YMCA. What we’re actually doing: picking blueberries, BBQ for dinner.

How my daughters are different: Eme’s favorite part of yesterday’s BBQ was seeing the “real race car” (Corvette with racing stripes), which she bee-lined for the moment she saw it. On the way home, Ruby was like “What race car?”

Sitting at my new writing table. It was actually called that on the build-it-yourself packaging. My vocation officially comes with furniture. (Potential future purchases: writing shoes, writing hat, writing jewelry, writing personal chef…)

I forgot to mention that Eme helped me build my writing desk. She was in charge of the “toodles” and now knows the difference between phillips and flathead. She screwed in some screws and hammered a few things that didn’t really need hammering, but still. What a pro.

Ruby: I spy with my little eye something red. Eme: I see something red, and colorful-ish, and it’s a butterfly. I winned!

Eme, trying to get my attention: Daddy! Ruby! Eme! … Mom! Me: Did you just say your own name before you got to mine. Eme: No. Ruby: Yes you did.

I stepped out my front door yesterday and a girl riding by on her bike said, “Hi!  You’re pretty!”  Well gosh, make my day why don’t you?

Paul’s first appearance in my journals went like this: “Then there’s Paul. He’s my favorite.”

Still can’t look at pictures of the towers without tearing up. (That’s tear as in crying, not tear as in ripping.) … In lighter news, Eme just drew Paul a picture of “a splat of poop.”

Why am I more tired now than before school started? Oh yeah, because I have unrealistic expectations about how to spend “all” this “free time.”

Loose seal! Loose seal! I just saw a seal in the water outside my house. He looked at me all “Crap, she saw me,” and ducked away. I yelled after him, “I saw you! I know it was you!” and realized I need more friends.

Saturday night plans: 7 p.m. wake from nap, 7:37 p.m. return to bed.

Distributed beads to daughters for indoor craft project. Instantly regretted it. Eme tossed hers on the floor to walk on them. I warned her that that exact behavior proved the undoing of several cartoon characters. She did not heed my warning, but has thus far sustained no injuries. Meanwhile, Ruby’s beads keep “choosing” to fall off her string, thwarting her necklace plans. Sometime after they go to bed all the beads will disappear in a freak vacuuming accident.

My kids are arguing over theoretical plans later. Ruby: Mom, after school, can we go somewhere? Me: Like where? Ruby: I want to go to McDonalds and then take it and eat it at Grandma’s house. Eme: NO! I WANT TO EAT IT AT McDONALDS! Ruby: NO! GRANDMA’S! Me: Guys. None of this is actually happening.

Eme: Ruby? You’re my best friend. Ruby: Eme? You’re MY best friend. Eme: Aw. Thanks. Ruby: I love you more than I love all of my boyfriends. Eme: I love you more than I love all of my girlfriends.

Watched sunset from the top of the Space Needle last night with Paul Dylan, then walked around downtown without a jacket because it was crazy-warm. Also engaged in some light breaking-and-entering of a private condo building and later stood at the front of the ferry yelling how we are king of the world. Dang, was it nice out.

Old woman at Ross: Do you think this shirt will fit me? Me: Yes. I think it will. Her: Me too. It might be a little big, but that’s better than being too small. Me: True. Her: There was a time when I wanted to show off my “girls,” but those days are gone. Time to keep the girls put away!

I love. Punctuation,

A cat followed Eme home tonight. Ruby went outside to pet him, and they had a nice quiet conversation. Then she grew distraught, thinking he may not have a home. I pointed out his collar and assured her he would be fine, and we’d probably see him again tomorrow. As she got into bed, she said “Mommy? I think that cat KNEW me.” I have a feeling we’ll be collecting lots of pets over the next several years.

‎(Eme grabs Ruby’s toy.) Ruby: Eme! That’s for show-and-tell! Eme: Oh yeah? Well, your ARM’s for show-and-tell.

October

Joke of the day. Eme: What did the eyeball say to the other eyeball? Me: What? Eme: You’re too late.

Had one of those moments before I was fully awake where I thought, “Who let me have kids? Don’t they know I’m not even a grown-up?”

Eme can still wear her clothes from last winter. But don’t call her little, or she will totally tell the teacher.

In the category of “I Have No Response to That”: Me: You can play, but if you scream again, you’re getting sent to your room. Ruby: So I should just play in my room, so if I scream I’m already there.

Clerk at Walmart (re: my kids): It’s so nice to hear giggling. Me: Yeah? Do you have grown kids and miss it? Her: No, it’s just that most kids here are screaming their heads off while their parents yell at them.

Ruby: All I thought about today was elephants. I didn’t think about princesses, or tutu ballerinas, or anything.

Ruby: Mom? Eme said she’s going to tell on me. Me: You’re telling on Eme right now. Ruby: Oh. Yeah. Sorry.

is feeling really lucky lately. Not in a put-it-all-on-black way. In a no-disasters-have-befallen-us-lately way. Knock on wood for me, pleasethanks.

Ruby and me (synchronized): I love you. I love you. I love you! I love you! Eme: You guys! Stop! Quit arguing!

In the category of “Channeling Heather Marie Tanno,” Eme broke a long silence to say, “Let’s just all be quiet.”

Pumpkin patch. Hay ride. Hay maze. White pumpkins. Ruby yelling at a random boy that he is too big for that tricycle he’s trying to ride. Eme decorating her pumpkin by coloring it solid black. Just your typical Saturday.

Eme made her first grammar joke! It went like this: Ruby: Can I have some cheese? Me: Yes. Ruby: Put it on myself? Eme: Put it on YOU? HAHAHAHAHA! (It’s exactly what I was thinking.)

Eme (seeing litter): Oh no! Someone recycled this on the ground! Ruby: No, Eme. When it’s on the ground, it’s litter. (Next day) Eme: Oh no! Someone glittered on the ground!

Mortified (adj.): When it’s Wednesday and the teacher has to remind you it was your week to bring snacks.

Watching Home Alone with kids. A lot of teaching moments. “And that’s why you don’t climb shelves.” “And that’s why you don’t open the door for strangers.” “And that’s why you don’t step on banana peels.”

As if to remind me it’s time for a getaway, the girls have decided to act like spoiled brats all morning. Since it’s picture day, I have the rest of my life to be all “The reason you looked like this was because you refused all offers of assistance, and I didn’t feel like wrestling you to the ground.”

Eme (to Paul): Ruby asked Grandma if we could go to Starbucks for chocolate milk, and Grandma said no, and then Ruby said please, and grandma said *sigh* all right. (She totally nailed the Carvalho sigh, btw.)

Was fooling around on Karaoke On Demand yesterday and realized the only songs I recognized were under the oldies category. Also, this happened: Friend: There’s no way you were in elementary school when Dirty Dancing came out. That movie came out in like 1984. Me: (silent staring) Her: REALLY?

Ruby: I really like my swimming teacher. Me: Me, too. Ruby: You’re taking swimming lessons, too?? Me: No. Ruby: But you just said you are. (Upon reflection, I realize she’s right. And? That she is biologically mine.)

Eme drops something. Me: That was awesome. Ruby: No it wasn’t. Me: I was using something called sarcasm. One day you’ll understand. Eme: No we won’t. Me: Well done, Eme. You just used sarcasm.

Eme: Mommy, you’re on our team. And our team is the pretty team. Daddy’s on the other team, and his team is the stinky team.

Step 1: Take kids trick-or-treating. Step 2: Put kids to bed. Step 3: Eat best candy. Leave only SweetTarts. Step 4: Kids don’t complain, because: SweetTarts!

November

Do your kids ever leave things sitting around that look like conceptual art? Today: bright orange bouncy ball sitting under a see-through blue cup with a flashlight shining on it. By Eme. Purchase price: $17,000.

Ruby, opening my fourth grade diary and noticing some pages are scribbled out: “Oh no! Mom, it looks like your sister got into your diary and scribbled on it!” (I love that she immediately assumed sisterly sabotage. In reality I changed my mind about the person I hated and scratched it out myself.)

Under the category of Conversations I Never Thought I’d Have: Paul: Who used the potty and forgot to flush? Ruby: That was me. Sorry. Me (yelling from other room): What did it look like?

The girls obtained their first pet: a furry caterpillar they named Sparkle Flynn. Ruby asked, “Will I have to take him for a walk every day?”

Ruby’s best friend just moved away. While getting ready this morning she realized that today’s the first day Ava won’t be at school with her, and started to cry. Eme stepped in and said “Don’t worry, Ruby, you can sit with me today.” And they hugged. Sometimes? In the car? They just hold hands for no reason. SISTERS ARE THE BEST, YOU KNOW.

Eme: Someday I want to have a baby, and then I’ll take care of her, and I’ll fold laundry, and I’ll do my sewing. (This is how she sees Mommying. Brought to you by: me.)

Eme’s in the habit of sneaking out of her room after bedtime to come see us. She closes or covers her eyes, so we can’t see her. Last night, after getting a kiss, she tiptoed back to her room, whispering “Sneak. Sneak. Sneak.”

Paul: Where’s Ruby? Ruby (hiding behind door): My outfit isn’t ready yet! Me: Congratulations. It’s a girl.

Eme (reading toddler Bible): Ha ha ha! Silly! Me: What’s silly about the Bible? Eme: Because this guy [Goliath] laid down and closed his eyes and he died!

Generation Gap: Ruby and I make totally different noises when we pretend the banana is a phone.

Why do little kids get taught so much information about dinosaurs? Books, TV shows, a unit in preschool–when will they ever need to know this? Let’s teach them about the combustion engine. Now THAT might come in handy.

Eme (smelling nail polish): I can’t believe how this glitter smells!

Here’s how I know I married well: at home, instead of simply leaving a room, Paulexits backwards. Doing a funny dance. Just for me.

Dreamed last night that I was at a baseball game, and caught 3 foul balls. One with my mouth. I blame Paul Dylan.

Man at Starbucks, deliberately embarrassing his tween-aged daughters: LOOK, EVERYONE, I’M DANCING

Eme’s year to pick out a Christmas tree. She liked the first one we saw, which was shorter than she was. We strategically guided her to a few more reasonable options. She stopped at every tree and said “This is the best one.”

December

YOU GUYS! I had the best time in 2011. Got to work with some great people at COTN, then spent the summer/fall/winter playing with my girls. Did you know I have the best family in the universe? It’s true, and I apologize for hogging them, but they’re mine. I love you, Paul Dylan, Ruby, Eme (and extension: Heather Marie Tanno, Barbara Carvalho, Mark Tanno, Carol King, Kay Tanno, I’m going to stop naming family members now because this will take forever, but I love all of you: aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, step-family, ALL OF YOU!). How did I get so lucky?

Paul: Why are you out of your seats instead of eating? Ruby: Eme started it! Paul: If Eme jumped off a building, would you do it too? Ruby: That’s never happened! Paul: Right, but — Ruby: I mean we DID today climb up onto the work table and jump off, but we didn’t get hurt. Paul: Just…finish your dinner.

I am the anti-hoarder: 7 big boxes/bags of Christmas stuff into the house (thanks, family members), 7 giant bags of old stuff and trash out of the house. Anyone want to hire me as a professional organizer? I have skills.

Paul: Why haven’t you put your jammies on? Ruby (running in circles): My body is controlling me! My body is controlling me! (This concludes today’s discussion of children and over-stimulation.)

Eme went into genuine hysterics this morning because I wouldn’t rescue her from the hot lava. I’m trying to teach her to be more independent, but I’m having a hard time because: hot lava.

Eme has declared that she wants to marry her (female) friend Kendall. Anyone who wishes to “correct” her is welcome to participate in a discussion about judgement, bigotry, hate, and equal rights. Flame away. Aaaaaand…go.

Me: Whoa whoa whoa, did you just lick my iPhone? Eme: Well, there was yogurt on it. Me: Okay, step one, don’t get yogurt on it. Step two, don’t lick it.

Ruby’s all: “GET OFF ME!” And Eme’s all: “I LOVE YOU!” And I’m all dying of the cute.

Eme walked out of her shoe at the mall and retrieved it by running, diving, grabbing, and rolling two times. #winning

My girls got themselves breakfast this morning. Parenting WIN!

Eme: Mommy? Do alligators poop? Me: (nod) Eme: (satisfied smile)

Today Eme decided to test me to see if I meant it when I said I’d bring her to school in just a pull-up if she wasn’t dressed in time. For the record: I meant it. I now rival Cinderella’s step-mother for Meanest Mom Ever.

Paul brought me home my very own chocolate cake, which is awesome on many levels. One of which is that he was able to stop at the store on his way home due to our recently-fixed second vehicle. The rest was just…I’ll say it…icing on the cake. YOU MADE ME DO IT, PAUL.

According to autocorrect, Paul loves me sloppily much.

Good morning, world! So, to catch everyone up, on Friday I headed over at the last minute to help Katrina Hess get her new clothing line Made in Sodo (http://madeinsodo.com/) ready for its first fashion show! After sewing for 24 out of 36 solid hours, the new Martial Law Winter Collection was complete and the show went off without a hitch! I’ll post pictures of the garments eventually. I took none since I was backstage frantically last-minute stitching and lint-rolling. It was crazy fun, and the urban rain gear they make is amazing. Check out the site! They’re taking pre-orders!

Eme (post-nap, hair still disheveled): I had a dream that a worm crawled into my butt!

Eme keeps standing on the couch weird and yelling “HELP!” then crying and not accepting help. I finally asked her what she was trying to do, and she cried, “Stand up with no feet!” Only three and already inventing drama.

At any rate, after threatening to be several things the girls ended up being a pumpkin (Eme) and Snow White (Ruby).  There are photos, but since Catcher has taken to sleeping on top of my laptop, my computer will no longer read my memory card.  Blowing on it Nintendo-cartridge-circa-1989 style does not prove effective in the least.

Update on the swimming lessons:  Eme refuses to get in the water with the swimming teacher.  However, she has no problem launching herself into the pool in a variety of ways when no one is asking her to do it.  In fact, prior to her first lesson she was playing around in the kid pool, all “Mom!  Watch me float on my back!”  Proving that, like her Dad, (and her mom) Eme will not do something simply because someone has asked her to do it.  In fact, that’s the best way to get her to refuse to do it.

Which leads me to the subject of:  Physical Boundaries and Your Child.

See, the swim teacher was trying to convince Eme to come into the water.  Then she reached out for Eme, who pulled her feet out of the water and scootched away.  The teacher stepped forward and tried to place her hands on Eme’s waist.  Eme smacked the teacher’s hands away, and scooted out of reach.

Here’s the thing: I want my kids to respect their teachers and do as they’re told, with a single exception—if anyone tries to touch them.  Because the thing with kids and abuse is that most adults get away with it because the kids believe that the adult is “right” and they must, therefore be “wrong” (which is a huge oversimplification, of course).  And the conflicting thing about adults is that there are times when even the most well-meaning adults believe they have every right to touch a child, even after the child has expressed an unwillingness to be touched.

For instance: tickling.  It drives me batshit crazy when someone tickles my kid even after my kid has asked them to stop.  Because first of all: it’s not funny, and I don’t know why adults think it is.  Second of all, there is some tacit belief there that as an adult, they have the right to do something that makes a kid physically uncomfortable, for no other reason than that they want to.

This also happens when it comes to things like hugging and kissing, which some parents (uncles, what have you) do even if a kid is screaming “No!”  I don’t quite understand why it’s okay to do that to a child, and yet if you were hugging or kissing another adult while they screamed no you would be arrested for assault.  Sadly, I recall times from my own childhood where I was expected to hug or kiss relatives to the point of being physically forced to do so.  Once, I wasn’t allowed to come into the house for dinner until I hugged and kissed a relative (who is no longer part of the family, btw) who I very much did not want to hug or kiss.  It messes with a child’s ability to determine their own rights to their body.  This carries on into adulthood, especially for girls and women who are also conditioned to be polite and non-confrontational, who later find themselves in positions of being physically coerced or overpowered to do that which they don’t want to do.  And it teaches other children who grow into men that it’s okay to just grab someone and do what you want.  Yeah.  It actually does.  (It teaches girls to do this, too, who are not immune to physically overpowering others.)  There are sad statistics about things like rape, wherein a huge percentage are by acquaintances who feel entitled to access to someone else’s body.  And in a huge percentage of THOSE the victims did not even fight back because of shock and a crazy inability to recognize the wrongness of what was occurring until after the fact.  (Sometimes years later.)

I want my girls to learn that their bodies are theirs, and no one else’s, and that no one—even me—has a right to touch them in a way that makes them uncomfortable or unhappy.  EVER.  So when I saw Eme reach out and physically smack her teacher’s hands away, I experienced genuine you-go-girl pride.  She’s 3, and I haven’t had these types of conversations with her, yet.  This was all instinct, and her instinct is right.  A bigger person was trying to pull her into the swimming pool, where she did not want to be.  She defended herself.  The teacher got the message and left her alone (or else she would have found herself with a boot to the head–that boot being mine), and I didn’t step in and cheer Eme on for hitting her teacher because she’s too little and that’s the wrong message.  But I at least celebrated in my head that my little girl can assert herself.

There is a big grey area between overly-permissive parents who want their precious individual snowflake children to have the right to do whatever the heck they want, and things like this.  Physicality is where I absolutely draw the line.  I want my children to respect their teachers, and obey laws of convention so they’re not obnoxious to others.  But do not touch my kids.  Especially after my kid has asked you to stop.

(Ruby went through a very similar thing where a family member of mine was trying to tickle her and Ruby grew visibly annoyed and said “Stop!”  The relative did it again and Ruby yelled at her, at which point the relative looked at me expectantly as if I should reprimand my child for yelling at her.  Which I did not do.  Ruby asked you to stop touching her, and you didn’t, and Ruby had every right to be annoyed and to yell at you.  And before you ask, Aunt Marsha, no it wasn’t you.  And no guessing, because it’s not a huge deal and this person wasn’t TRYING to be a jerk.  But it reminds people to look at their own behavior and their own expectations of children, because really.  We don’t know we’re doing it.)

P.S.  I had a talk with the teacher about allowing my kids to say no when they’re asked to do something.  I expect she’s under a lot of performance-pressure from other parents who are like “WHY CAN’T MY KID SWIM YET?” so I let her know that it’s perfectly fine with me if Eme never even gets a toe wet.  It was well-received, and the next lesson she simply asked Eme if she wanted to try something and when Eme said no she moved quickly along.  By the end of class Eme said yes she would like to try something, but then quickly changed her mind, and the teacher just said “Okay, maybe next time,” and moved on.  So it’s all good.

Ruby already has her professional ballet clothes, but Eme needed something to wear as well.  Luckily, some kind families have donated old ballet costumes in the form of “play clothes” which resulted in Eme looking like a breathtaking Degas painting:

Look, I know that parents aren’t supposed to play favorites and we must insist that our children are equal in all possible ways, but I just have to say this:  Eme is stunning.  She’s gorgeous.  This does not mean that Ruby isn’t, but I’m not going to act like Eme isn’t just captivatingly beautiful.  She has these giant eyes that go on forever.  Ruby has the lips to die for.  It’s all about preference.  Still, Eme is at that age where everything she does and says is the cutest thing that has ever happened.  And because she’s the size of an 18-month-old, it’s all that much more cute.  For some reason things are cuter in tiny packages.  So yes, there you have it.  My beautiful Eme.

And of course, then there’s Ruby:

She has confidence to spare, not only with approaching people (everyone is her friend), but by diving into every situation.  She’s the kid you drop off at a new play group who forgets to say goodbye when you leave.  She’s the first one to raise her hand in every class.  She volunteered to be the rooster in front of the entire group at the Library Toddler Dance Party long before any kid could even muster up the courage to consider it.  The girl is a star.

So these are my girls, joining their first ballet class together at the YMCA.  While the rest of the kids were clinging to their mothers in the hallway still, my two bravely followed the teacher into class (Eme going wherever Ruby goes):

Class begins, and still no other students:

Ah, there they are.  Eme sticks to Ruby like glue.

She even decides to sit on Ruby’s lap.

Toward the end of class Eme started to look a little unhappy.  Turns out she was developing a stomachache that had her clinging to me for the rest of the day.  Poor Eme.  But sad Eme manages to look cuter than ever.  By the way, she almost never dresses super-girly, which I love because she is totally her own independent self, opposite of frilly Ruby.  When they play together, Eme always chooses to be the prince.  Pictures of her all fluffied up like this are rare.

So that was the first half of the day.  As I said, Eme developed a tummy ache midway through class.  She’s not a complainer so when her eyes filled with tears I knew it was for real.  I finally concluded it was probably bad gas after determining that she didn’t feel like she was going to throw up and nothing hurt when I pressed on it.  Still, she spent the remainder of the day clinging to me while Ruby tried to cheer her up with puzzles and jokes.  They take such great care of each other.  Oh yeah, here are some pictures pre-ballet class.  I love this one where Ruby is adjusting Eme’s tutu:

Goofing off:

Put your tiaras on, girls, and make sure they don’t fall off!

Okay, enough cutesy stuff.  FINE, I’ll shut up about ballet.  Grandma came over to watch Eme so Ruby and I could still make it to swimming lessons, and Eme rallied enough to do every single puzzle in the house.  Meanwhile, since I’m determined to humiliate myself each time I visit the YMCA, Ruby and I arrive an hour and 15 minutes too early for class since I read the time wrong, and we splash around in the pool beforehand long enough to both be freezing once class starts.

Here’s the thing about me and swimming:  I can swim.  I don’t swim.  As a kid, I was forced to take swimming lessons on various occasions, and I hated it.  And I refused.  And for most of my life, have just basically stayed out of the water.  I used to think I just hated the water.  It wasn’t until my late teens that I realize the problem is actually a debilitating fear, which manifests as stubborn refusal.  At 4-H camp when I was about 10 we had to take a swim test.  Midway through my pathetic doggie paddle I started breathing uncontrollably, and the counselor dismissed me to the beach.  The crazy breathing didn’t stop, and another counselor came by and asked me if I was okay.  I shook my head.  ”Are you hyperventilating?” he asked.  Why, yes.  That sounded exactly like what was happening to me.  I nodded in relief that my affliction had a name, and the counselor very helpfully abandoned me.  In retrospect:  what the hell, counselors?  You suck at this.  (I probably wandered off and located my sister to care for me, as Ruby tends for Eme.)

Upon reflection, I can see where my control issues come into play with my fear of water.  Water is unpredictable.  And stronger than me.  Additionally, people are unpredictable, and in my youth (and even in adulthood) I was literally never in a situation around water that didn’t involve some form of involuntary dunking.  This evolved to people determined to “help” me overcome my fear of water by pretending to want to teach me to swim, only to push me into the water or let go of me to prove it’s “not that bad.”

Here’s the thing about an irrational fear:  it’s irrational.  I know that being underwater is “not that bad.”  I’ve done it.  I don’t wish to do it again.  My body has involuntary reactions to being underwater, like really heavy breathing also known as hyperventilating.  I know I’m not going to drown.  I have the survival skills necessary to paddle to land, float on my back until help appears, or tread water.  I don’t wish to do it.  Leave me alone.

Because I don’t wish to do it, I’ve spent my life defending my wish to not do it.  I am also fiercely protective of my children’s wishes to swim.  Or not to swim.  (That is the question.)  The thing that makes me CRAZY is when I see parents insisting that their child jump into the water, even as they stand on the side of the pool crying their eyes out.  That’s the best way ever to make your kid hate swimming.  Because yes, I learned to float on my back, tread water, and doggie paddle, during the rare times when no one was making me do it.  The thing I hated most about water, which carried into adulthood, is that people were always trying to force me to do something.  Friends would promise to leave me alone, only to chase me around to dunk me.  Teachers were always insisting that I “CAN DO IT!”  I knew I could.  I did not want to.  Swimming became associated with people forcing me into situations which were uncomfortable.  On the rare occasions when my friends were off doing other things and I had a moment or two to myself, I would quite calmly paddle, or float, or even dunk.  When I lived in Hawaii, I swam in the ocean quite often.  The second anyone came near me, though, I would have to stop.

When I told Ruby and Eme they were signed up for swimming lessons, Ruby looked alarmed.  She said she didn’t want to do it.  I promised her that no one was going to make her do anything she didn’t want to do.  I promised this again and again as lesson time loomed nearer and she clung to my arm.  I’d thought I would be able to go in the pool with her, but as it turns out there was one teacher for 3 students, and she took turns bringing them into the pool.

Ruby looked terrified sitting there on the edge of the pool.  When it was her time to dunk her face in the water, the teacher pulled her gently into the pool.  Ruby had this look on her face–the look that she makes when she’s about to throw up.  My poor little girl was in the pool and the teacher was making her put her face in the water, and she was about to throw up!  I had to do something!

But I didn’t.  I exercised restraint by clapping my hands over my mouth so she couldn’t see me panic, and trying to nod encouragingly.  And next thing you know, Ruby leaned over and in went her face!  And out came her face, all wet!  And then she did it again!  And then….she smiled!  And gave me a thumbs up!  And I gave her a thumbs up back!  And I realized…I was about to throw up.  Me.  Not Ruby.  Anxious Mommy.  I’d been determined not to project my water issues onto my children, and here I was doing exactly that.  She’d been fine.  She did it.  She was proud of herself.  She later did it again.  She later cannonballed off the side of the pool into her teacher’s arms.  She later bragged about it to Grandma and Paul.  She later told Eme how much fun swim lessons were.

When lessons were over and Ruby met me on the way to the locker room, she said only one thing:  ”That was fun!”  I was relieved.  But still felt a little like I might throw up.  I’m so glad Ruby and Eme have fun in the water, and that they’ll learn how to swim, and that people dunking them will not become a major issue in their life.  Meanwhile, I’m going to have to go somewhere else during their swimming lessons, because watching them is just too much.

]]> http://www.dylanfamily.com/?feed=rss2&p=1547 4 http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1540 http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1540#comments Tue, 25 Oct 2011 04:42:15 +0000 posted by Mommy http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1540 My last post was all serious and that was awhile ago, so until I have time to update again (by time, I mean inclination), here is a picture of the girls at a pumpkin patch.

Official toddler-sized hay maze:

First official hay ride.  Clearly, I’m drunk.  (What, you’ve never heard of cider?)

]]> http://www.dylanfamily.com/?feed=rss2&p=1540 2 http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1535 http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1535#comments Wed, 05 Oct 2011 02:32:35 +0000 posted by Mommy http://www.dylanfamily.com/?p=1535 My mom used to tell me that her years staying home with Heather and me were among the best in her life.  My reaction to that was a very tepid “How nice for you.”  Not in a negative way.  Even as a youngster I fully supported a woman’s right to be whatever she wants to be—lawyer, stay-at-home-mom, stripper (these are not the only 3 choices, nor are they representative categories).  I just didn’t see myself as able to relate whatsoever.  I never wanted kids.  Not in an “Oh, I’ll want them eventually” sort of way.  In a way that I explicitly told the minister performing our wedding to not mention kids, because we weren’t having any.  Ever.  At all.  Period.

I’m still completely behind people who make the choice for no kids, while appreciating my right to change my mind.  I hit about 28 very full years and hit a sort of wall where I felt a strong urge to do something in my life that was no longer about myself.  While I didn’t know if that meant kids necessarily, the little stinkers were starting to look cuter and cuter, whereas before I regarded them as little more than drooling masses of fart-poop.  Before I could change my mind, bam-bam, I had two kids.  That’s pretty much how it went, and I feel guilty to this day for my fertility.

Incidentally, I still regard babies as drooling masses of fart-poop.  My double postpartum depression meant I was unable to bond with my girls until they were well into toddler years, so it’s official:  I don’t like babies.  I didn’t even—to be perfectly honest—care for my own all that much.  As such, it was a relief to go back to work, where I could go hours without being drooled on and if someone cried at me I could send them to HR.  For this reason, I assumed I wasn’t cut from the same cloth as my mom—staying home with my children could not fulfill me.  And that’s fine.  It didn’t have to.  I am comfortable with my choices.  Luckily.

This is where feminism is succeeding:  that after having two kids I could make a choice to go back to work and not feel guilt about it.  Even externally.  I never got a word of grief from fellow moms or people who may have judgement about this.  Kudos to the bra-burners!  We made it!

Or did we?  Because here’s the thing: last May I had a moment of clarity, which is to say that I allowed myself to whimsically change my mind, even if it goes against everything I thought I believed about myself henceforth.   I realized how much I enjoyed spending time with my girls, who by this time were a very delightful 2 and 3 years old.  I was waffling about my job, which was proving to be very stressful under a series of changing circumstances, and at the end of the day I had little to offer my family.   Though the job was fulfilling, I was enjoying it less than I was my free time with the girls, and this wasn’t always the case.  I also realized with alarm that I still did not feel incredibly bonded with Eme, and her babyness was officially slipping away.  I had to capitalize on the years when Ruby and Eme still wanted me around, even if it turned out to be the worst summer of my life.

Of course it wasn’t.  It was easily the best summer of my life.  Quite honestly, I’m happier than I can ever remember being.  Ever.  And perhaps that’s comparative to the years of depression, like how anything tastes good to someone who is starving.  But who cares?  I’m completely stress-free, and I’m having a great time.  My daughters are my best friends, and seriously, I want to barf when I hear people say that.  But it’s true.  I love spending time with them.  I like having time to keep a clean house, and to cook, and to take care of things like oil changes so Paul can relax when he gets home.  I now have 18 hours per week to myself while the girls are in school, and everyone and their mother is asking if I’ve been using that time for writing.  I’m not.  I’m taking care of the house, running errands, hanging out with friends, and working out.

It’s. Awesome.

So Mom, I totally get it.  I remember an e-mail in my early 20s urging me to learn the joy of the everyday, and through trial and trauma, I’ve transcended.   These days are great because of their simplicity and repetitiveness, which is a concept that in my 20s would have felt like torture.  Right now, it’s bliss.  Perfect.

Almost.  Because the feminist in me wonders what I’m teaching my daughters by being a stay-at-home mom.  The guilt kicks in.  Will they grow up thinking they have to be barefoot and pregnant, cooking for a man, to achieve success?  That housework is a woman’s job?  That having kids means giving up your own hopes and dreams?

This is where feminism falls down:  it pushed my generation so far in the other direction that some of us feel anything less than corporate success and male kick-assery is failure.  The message we got wasn’t: you can be anything.  It was you SHOULD be this; not that.   Still, caring for my family I feel anything but repressed, which is what I was led to believe this would be like.  I was handcuffed to a corporate paycheck the way my grandmother’s generation felt handcuffed to the stove.  True freedom comes with a fully array of choices.  Picking that which works for the self, not that which works for most.

Which is why I work hard to instill a value of mediocrity in my kids, which falls contrary to every parenting ideal in the universe.  When my kids tell me they want to be a dump truck driver, I applaud them every bit as much as when they say they want to be a doctor.  ”Whatever makes you happy,” I say.  And I mean it.  Happiness will look different for them than it does for me.  Or it may look just the same.  Either way, I hope that it’s not my hopes and dreams they’re fulfilling, or society’s.  Just what’s in their hearts.  This, ladies and gentleman, is true feminism.

To Eme, however, I can see this as one of the defining moments of her life so far.  To her memory, “we were driving and my door camed open and I almost falled out!”  To her, at under 3 feet and 30 pounds, this is precisely what happened.  To mom and dad she was safely strapped in, we were going less than 5 mph, and I was mildly annoyed that the door hadn’t been shut properly, but not enough to remember the incident.  It’s interesting to be reminded so viscerally that my everyday moments are actually shaping her world.  Just yesterday Ruby remembered our green house in Hawaii, but today couldn’t remember moving here.  She does recall losing her shoe at the airport that day.  Reminding her of that grounded her in the moment.  I still have fractions of memories from my childhood that may or may not be accurate.  If I could place the pieces in the larger puzzle of my life, they might make sense.  Or perhaps I’ve made them up.  One day in therapy Eme will recall the terrible moment when she nearly fell out of the car.  Just like I remember (though not in therapy) the time at daycare where all the boys wanted to marry Heather, so they spent the day doing whatever she said.  In my memory, only boys went to our daycare, except one girl who was jealous.  That can’t be true.  Especially because in the dream the other girl and I went and pouted on a hill together.  The daycare is the same we sent the girls to when we first moved here.  There is no hill.

At any rate, their life maps are forming, whether we like it or not, and their memories will be fragmented, which isn’t to say untrue, but skewed by the perspective of youth, which probably took a small mound of sand and turned it into a tall hill.  Which took a perfectly safe and strapped in Eme and nearly threw her out of a moving vehicle.

Incidentally, here is the rest of the conversation about that event.

Ruby:  Where we were going that day?
Eme:  I don’t know.
Ruby:  Preschool?
Eme:  No.
Ruby:  Grandma’s house?
Eme:  No.
Ruby:  Playgroup?
Eme:  No.
Ruby:  Then where were we going?
Eme:  Nowhere.
Ruby:  Yes we were!
Eme:  No we weren’t!
Ruby:  Then why were we in the car, Eme?

I laughed.  Their memories may be skewed, but their logic is spot-on.

Me:  No, Eme, it’s cake.

Eme (holding up bottom edge of cake):  But what is this part?

Me:  It’s cake.

Eme:  Is it bread?

Me:  No, it’s cake.

Eme:  Is it bread?

Me:  It’s cake.

Eme (pointing to frosting):  What is this part?

Me:  That’s the frosting.

Eme (pointing to cake):  What is this part?

Me:  That’s cake.  There’s only two parts of cake.  The cake part, and the frosting part.

Eme (pointing to cake):  But what is this part?

Me:  Cake.

Eme (still pointing to cake):  What is THIS part?

Me:  Cake!

Eme (breaking off piece of cake and holding it in my face):  What is THIS part?

Me:  It’s cake!

Eme (still holding same piece in my face):  What is this part?

Me: … It’s bread.

Eme:  Oh.  (eats it)

Finally, at the last store, Eme spotted it:  a package of fake mustaches.  PERFECT.  Ruby, after rejecting some watches and other things that were too expensive, finally settled on a necklace with a cross on it.

Then we went home to plan the big day.  As we were discussing what kinds of things we should do for Daddy’s birthday, Paul walked in the front door! Oh no!  ”Don’t tell daddy any of this,” I whispered.  ”Remember, it’s a secret!”  This was a lot of pressure for the Dylan girls.  Ruby slid out of her seat to hide under the table, while Eme, after rejecting several modes of behavior (hiding, taking off her clothes, standing in her chair) yelled “SURPRISE!”

Luckily, they kept the secret (Eme would clap her hands over her mouth any time Paul’s birthday was mentioned), and Wednesday the plan went into action.  Nothing too huge, just a nice little surprise.  Paul’s been at his new job for a couple of weeks, so we decided to surprise him at work.  We brought balloons which the girls picked out, especially for Paul–a monarch butterfly and a clear balloon with leaves all over it, the most masculine of the grocery store balloons.  Balloons + preschoolers + car = pandemonium on the road.  We got to Paul’s work and he showed us off to his new coworkers and decorated his office with the balloons.  Then we whisked him away to an italian dinner at Stella’s with Grandmas Barb and Carol, where he received his gifts along with a shirt and ties from me.  At home it was ladybug cake that the girls had also picked out.  Because let’s face it, parents’ birthdays are really all about the girls these days.  And cake.  And keeping secrets.

I hope Paul had fun.  We sure did!