Hindsight

I was clearing the mantle of some old greeting cards the other day when I re-read the Birthday card I got from Ted and KC. In all the excitement of the best chocolate cake ever baked for me by the two of them with love and spit covered fingers…

Oh, God. Chocolate with chocolate and little chocolate Hershey bars plastered all over the side…hang on while I finish this orgasm….oh…ok, yeah.

….sorry, where was I? Oh! Right. I found the Birthday card that Ted and KC gave me. It hit me again how deep KC is for a 2 year old. It’s like she’s lived at least 20 years in these past 28 months.

The depth of her understanding of the “mother/daughter dynamic”. It is…astounding. Further, I don’t know whether to be touched or creeped out by the fact that Ted signed it too.

In the Kitchen With Jennie

It was my turn to cook tonight. I put quite a bit of effort into it as you can see:

I’m nothing if not creative.

It was Chinese in case you were wondering. The lady that answers the phone totally recognizes me when I call now. She doesn’t actually say so, but I know she does.

Hot Stuff

Ted is really funny with KC. The two of them rough-house like crazy. She loves it when he tosses and swings her around. Sometimes it makes me clench my fingers tight and hold my breath a little, but mostly it makes me laugh and smile. Ted also likes to say silly stuff to her and call her names. One thing he stumbled upon is the funny fact that when he says she’s “hot stuff” she very firmly replies: “No, Daddy! I’m NOT hot stuff!” She’s ok with being called “cute” or “silly” but apparently not “hot stuff”.

I write a lot about me on this blog for reasons which should be pretty obvious. It’s MY blog. I know myself better than anyone else so I can write about what I’m doing and thinking fairly easily. To write about the other people in my life is harder. I don’t want to seem as though I make stuff up and I definitely don’t want tell too many deep and personal things that those people might find hurtful/embarrassing/annoying…etc.

Ted is at the top of that list of people. It’s not that I don’t know him well enough. It’s because I can admit I don’t always know what he’s thinking or how he feels about every single thing we deal with as parents.  I cannot write as easily about his experiences as I write about my own As a result he’s become an occasional character in this blog. A guy who pops up in funny stories or gets mentioned when I reference things we do as a team and a family. Not a bad thing but his real character obviously has a starring role in our daily lives. He deserves more credit here on this blog. However, the best I can do is to share with you all from time to time just how much of a star he really is.

For example, he shops with KC for groceries while I stay at home. A huge deal to me and something I am certain I’ve mentioned before. He gives her her baths or showers a lot. He plays with her and jokes with her and kisses her and says “I love you” to her all the time. He takes her the doctor and stays home with her when she’s sick just as much as I do. The list goes on. We parent equally, he and I. I know a lot of women are lucky with guys like this too, but a lot of women are not. Some guys just don’t slip into this roll as quickly and effortlessly as Ted did.

As of late Ted has been doing what just might be the most awesome thing anyone could do for me. Period. He cooks. A lot. Almost every day. On weekends, numerous times a day. I may have mentioned on more than one occasion that if someone will cook for me, I will gladly do the cleaning after. It’s no secret I’m not a great cook. It seems that over the last few months we have shifted from sharing the cooking more or less 50/50 (ok fine, 60/40) to him doing it almost always. I love it. LOVE. IT. I don’t expect it, but I love it. I feel a tad guilty about it.

Ted’s not perfect. Not by a long shot. But, who is? I can be very hard to read. I’m quiet about my feelings. I forget sometimes how hard that can be for the person who is around me the most. I can be cranky and a superb stick-in-the-mud. Wanna know a secret? Even though I often act like I’m sooo put out by his various bad traits and habits, the truth is I realize that I exhibit just as many on a daily basis. I see all the love and affection he has for KC and I see how much he still has for me after 7 (almost!) years of marriage. I see it and I feel like I’m not worthy, because I don’t think I give it back as much as I should.

If I could snap my fingers and change anything about my personality, that would be it. I’d become someone who is compelled to show their feelings and not afraid to voice their love and/or frustrations to those who need to know. Instead I hold them inside and occasionally let out little leaks of light or lightening, whatever the situation requires.

Marriage is weird. It’s awesome and it’s really fucking hard all at the same time. If you are in fact doing the “work” that they say marriage is, then you are constantly evolving. You are observing and learning and maybe morphing to create a better team when appropriate. We are not perfect, but we are lucky. I am lucky. My husband is totally “Hot Stuff”. Especially when he’s making my coffee and cooking me pancakes and bacon for breakfast. I mean, seriously. Egg nog pancakes with chocolate chips. How awesome is that?

There’s Comfort in Routine

They say that routine is comforting for kids. Take, for example, what it takes to get KC settled down in bed for the night. After her bath (Or, lately, shower. Sheesh.) we watch some TV. Usually Dora and/or Diego. (Televisión fantastico!) At the end of the show we start the warnings: “Ok, time to read some books! Books or bed! Books or bed! Hurry up! Pick one!”

KC goes to the shelf and picks out a book for me to read to her on the couch. She’s very particular lately about it being me who reads. Not sure why exactly, but if you ask her if daddy can read the book, it’s almost always, “No. Mommy read it.” We read. We place the book on the coffee table, because no way will she put it back on the bookshelf. It. Goes. On. The. Table. Period. We read about 3 or 4 books in this fashion.

Then it’s time to get her IN the bed. Lately she’s been decent about accepting the shift from living room to bedroom. Some nights she whines and cries about it a lot: “I not GOING TO BED!” Despite the protesting, we push her along (or carry, whatever) and deposit her in the crib with favorite blanket and the latest favorite toy (A baby doll from cousin Steph. Thank you cousin Steph!) At this point it’s all me, because…now there are more books. Of course there are.

Yes, more books. No less than 9 books currently reside in KC’s crib. The number has grown as of late and, stupidly, I have not edited the collection. It seems the magic routine to get her quiet and ok with saying goodnight for good is for me to read all 9 of the books one after the other. No skipping any of them. So long as I do this, she’s cool. I say goodnight, see you in the morning, blow kisses…aaaand…scene.

I used to try and get away with reading only a few of the books, but she’d almost always yell for me to come back and “Read the rabbit book! Rabbit book!” Or, sometimes, instead of books it would be her yelling for us to come back and fix the blanket: “My foot came out! My foot came out!” (Well quit kicking your feet then, Baby Einstein.) I finally just figured I’d better read all the books and it’s worked. So far. It’s a good thing they are very short books. Not a single one lasts more than a minute and some are barely 20 words total so it’s not so bad really. Although, when she’s old enough for Harry Potter, we’ll have to discuss some time constraints on the bedtime routine. I’m no speed reader.

You watch. Now that I’ve written about the book routine’s success, it will backfire on me and she’ll up the ante. That’s parenting karma. If something is going really well don’t talk about it. Definitely don’t brag about it. As a matter of fact, you might want to consider not even thinking about it. Routines are good and kids love them, but something they love even more is keeping us parents on our toes.

Did I mention she also sleeps through the night almost all of the time? No, I didn’t. Because of The Karma. Oh. wait. Dammit.

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Updated! Breaking News! Proof of miracles and leprechauns and what-not! Last night KC requested that Ted put her to bed. I kid you not. This is unprecedented! Apparently karma works in mysterious ways too. Daddy read books, KC went right to sleep, Daddy did a little victory dance, Mommy enjoyed the first night in a loooooong-ass time not reciting the same 9 stories she’s got memorized enough to read in the dark. Will be curious to see if tonight it’s “business as usual”.

The Party’s Over

These days KC is asserting her right to choose with almost everything. Of all the things I had control over, it’s the clothes I miss the most.

Gone are the days when I could dress her up as I saw fit. I miss those shopping trips to Target and Carter’s where I’d shop alone. I’d have no concern as to whether what I picked would suit her taste. Ted and would both go shopping for her (yes, Ted too!) and gather up all kinds of cute shirts and pants without any cares to whether it was the “right color” (pink, by the way) or the “right fabric” (soft and fleecy, apparently). No more adorable dresses that look like they came right out of the Gap catalog. No, now it seems it must fit a criteria that only KC has the rulebook for. And that rulebook tends to change with the day of the week. Or the tides. I’m really not sure at this point.

For quite a few months now I’ve lain (laid?) in bed listening to Ted attempting to get her dressed in the morning. (He drives to Grandma’s most days and I pick her up.) It’s hard enough that it’s 6 am and everyone is tired and cranky. I can plainly hear him trying to be patient. However, the constant crying about removing PJs and the assertions that “No! I don’t LIKE that one!” after he holds up multiple shirt and pant options are bound to make even the most saintly individual get a little terse. Ted’s not a very patient guy to begin with.  I’m certain he uses up all of his daily allotment of patience on KC before work.

There was a time when I was a tad jealous of his role as the “dropper offer”. Not because of the early hour (duh), but because it meant he got to dress her (as I luxuriate in bed). Some of the outfits he chose for her would cause me actual, physical pain. He means well, but he’s a dude. A typical dude. So many adorable dresses and outfits would get ignored as he chose to put her in the same 3 or 4 things in varying combos. Most notably a Metallica tee that said (and I kid you not) “Death Magnetic (the album name) – Can you dig it?” This along with a cartoon drawing of a little monster, known as “scary guy” to Met fans, digging alongside a coffin. Seriously.

I love me some Metallica, but that shit drove me nuts. Am I jealous of him these days? Oh, HELL no. I almost never have to fight the morning battle over clothes. I just really miss the shopping. Something tells me shopping with KC isn’t going to be much of a bonding experience. Not until she’s about 30.

It Goes to Eleven

Kids pick up a lot of stuff outside the home. Even for a 2 year old this is true. I have to accept the fact that KC learns a lot from her Grandma and her older cousin when she’s being cared for all day. It’s great, yet it’s sometimes very hard. Take for example her mastery of drinking from a cup. A real cup. At Thanksgiving, my MIL set a crystal tumbler at her place-setting and I honestly thought she’d forgotten who she was feeding. Before I had the chance to move it away, KC grabbed it and started drinking with no problem at all. I was shocked. Clearly this is a skill she picked up while we were working. It was actually pretty funny, because I said, “Look at you! Drinking like a big girl!” For the rest of dinner she kept informing everyone, “I’m a beagle! I’m a beagle!” At least that’s what it sounded like to us and we all got a good chuckle every time she said it.

I try my best to be cool about all the stuff she learns that I cannot take credit for. It’s completely normal and it’s a blessing really. Yet, it still tugs at the heart a little bit. The knowledge that she’ll learn so many new and exciting things from other people when I’m not around. Whether it’s drinking “like a beagle” from Grandma, when it’s time to go to the potty by witnessing an older cousin who knows how to ask, or maybe how to play a certain game from a playmate – all these things and more will be passed on to her by a mixture of the experiences she has with Ted and I and with the rest of the people in her [not so little anymore] world.

That’s why I just laughed and smiled the other night at dinner when after hearing a little boy count all ten of his fingers on TV she looked up and shouted out, “Eleven!” Well, damn. Last I knew she could just barely make it to ten.

Dear Bottle,

It’s not you, it’s me. Honest. I just need my freedom. It’s time for me to move on. Don’t take this the wrong way, bottle, but I’ve grown out of the need for you. You might hear through the grapevine that I’m talking about you. About how great we were together. Don’t listen. The moments when that happens are so fleeting now. Insignificant setbacks which I know I will overcome. I don’t want to lead you on.

Lately I’ve been abusive and I apologize. Biting you too hard and chewing your soft tips to bits. It’s silly and I am ashamed, but I can’t help myself. I’ve got teeth now, bottle. I’ve got a need to sink them into things. It’s best that you keep your distance. I’ve met someone new. Someone whose tips are not so soft and easy to hurt. So far it’s working out well. Although, milk will never taste the same again. This much I realize.

This is the right thing for us both, bottle. I think you know it too. You’ve been wonderful to me. Providing nourishment and comfort in a convenient form. My family loves you too. I think this goodbye will be harder for my parents than it will be for me. You’ve provided a much needed distraction not even rivaled by the TV. My Mom and Dad act supportive about the need for us to go our separate ways. However, I can see it’s a strain for them.

Perhaps we’ll cross paths again, bottle. Maybe you’ll be comforting another younger companion and I’ll happen to walk by. Whatever happens I wish you the best. I will never forget the love you gave me, bottle. The tiny reminders I get from the toys I now use to care for my baby dolls can be painful, but I am glad of them. You know what they say, “It’s better to have loved and lost [a bottle] than never to have loved at all.”

All my best,
KC

Use Your Own Words, Mommy

I keep coming back to this post. It’s been saved as a draft for a few weeks now. I keep wanting to sum up what KC is like these days via the things she can say. Talk about impossible. I could never give you an adequate picture of how much her language and personality have developed in the past few months. It would completely fall flat in comparison to the real, flesh and blood version of KC. I realize now this is because it’s a lot more than just words. It’s facial expressions and movements. It’s her likes and dislikes. It’s how she plays and the way she handles day to day routines. It all intertwines to create her full, 2 year old persona.

To simply regurgitate her words here would be pointless. It’s better to stick with my own words and try to explain that she cannot be put “in a nutshell” any longer.

It used to be easy. She would bust out a new word, or some new habit. Stuff I could remember and write about easily. These days it is very different. It’s kind of chaotic and complex. She’s got words out the wazoo. She’s got full sentences, real observations and her own ideas & complaints about the things we do. She’s even got some humor that is evident in the silly stuff that she drops on us daily.

She puts her mouth on the dinner table while we are eating. Ted looks at her and asks, “Whatcha doing?” KC looks up, almost like she’s embarrassed to be caught. She replies, “I dunno. I wookin’ at the table.” Big smile.

We cannot keep up. She’s changing very quickly. It occurs to me often that as she grows, she’ll start to realize that I am someone she can judge. I am not simply a protector, a provider and a comforting embrace. I am someone who will offer as many moments of disappointment as I do comfort and love. That scares me a lot. I’ll be honest.

Intellectually (in the greater scheme of things), you know that baby will grow to be a teen and then an adult. Emotionally (in each small moment), you feel as though you’ll be mothering a baby or toddler forever. Definitely not so.

Just this morning I found out that the preschool we really like is going to accept her. Preschool! So hard to believe she’s old enough for these activities. Yet, the evidence of her readiness stares me in the face every day. I am relieved and happy that we have it settled. I really didn’t want to look at other schools. This one seems like a very friendly place. Her older cousin goes there now and KC has a friend who will also be in the class she starts in September. Kind of a no-brainer.

The fall seems like eons from now, but I know in reality it’s right around the corner. Ever since the day she was born, the milestones have been hurtling at us. Life at an accelerated pace. Words and images coming at me faster than I can write about them. No camera, video recorder or blog could possibly contain it.

Ode to Snow Pants: Part Deux

This post comes a few days later than planned. The snow it melting, but still here on Christmas eve. A White Christmas for the first time in quite a while! Peace to all.

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Oh, beloved snow pants…thou are still puffy and warm and thou shalt come in much handier this year than last!

Six inches seemed a lot to my one-year-old, diminutive self. But, lo! I have grown these past 12 months, snow pants. Together we shall conquer the icy landscape.

Hmm. That’s a lot of snow, snow pants. Twice a much as before. More so! I’ve only been alive 2 short years, but I’m pretty certain this is unusual.

No matter. Come let’s explore and enjoy this winter wonderland before us.

Tis’ really not so bad after all…

Tis’ cold and, to be sure, some parts are impassable…

I was hoping to avoid another situation like this. Alas, it seems I will require assistance again this year, snow pants.

Luckily there are people toiling away at some form of labor I do not really understand. Perhaps they will clear a path…

Ah, yes. This is much better. Still quite cold though, snow pants. Perhaps it is best to find entertainment in the indoors where it is warm and dry.

Well, it was quite lovely, snow pants. Even if only for a brief time. Perhaps next time we can try this invention they call a “sled”. I hear a toy like that makes this much more bearable. Until then, snow pants…until then…

Fin.

Wait a minute. That’s not my nose!

Who hasn’t played “I’ve got your nose!” with a little kid? My mom and dad used to play it with us. Ted recently introduced it to KC. She’s a natural, if I do say so myself. We switch noses all around between the three of us, then carefully put them all back again. Priceless moments, people.

So, the other evening, I’m sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a few minutes of grown-up TV after dinner. KC comes up to me and I pull her into a hug. She carefully places her mouth on mine in what appears to be a sweet little kiss and she says, “You got a moustache.”

Whaaaaat? Screw you, kid. I don’t have a lady-stache!

Turns out she and Ted had just started a new game in the other room involving swapping his moustache back and forth. I suppose it was nice of her to include me.

For the record, I have never had to bleach or wax my lip. Thank God for Nordic ancestry. Eyebrows are another story though. I sure hope she inherits Ted’s perfect brow line, not to mention his long lashes (bitch.) But, if she’s lucky, she’s got my upper lip.