Christmas Memories

Remember when you were little, and there's that one thing from Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever winter holiday you celebrate that really stands out in your mind as the most funny, or heartbreaking, or heartwarming?  I think everybody has a memory like that.  I've got several.  Like the year my dad left and my 10-year-old brother put up all the Christmas lights by himself.  My mother was so touched--at least I thought she was touched, but it was probably more a mixture of pride in her resourceful son, guilt in her divorce decision leaving us without a "Christmas light hanger," and sadness at her first Christmas as a single parent.  Or the year my brother, sister and I stayed up all night--I mean literally all night--waiting for Christmas morning.  We piled into my room with blankets and stories; we were all teenagers at the time.  We still talk about it.  Every holiday season, I call my sister and say, "Hey, remember this song from that album that we listened to every Christmas?  Remember the one with the red cover?"

As my own kids are now the age when Christmas memories are being formed, I wonder what they'll remember when they get older.  Will in be this year, when Los Angeles was deluged with rain storms of epic proportions that have kept us inside for days?  They've moved from watching Pokemon on TV, to playing Pokemon on the DS, to playing Pokemon cards in T1's room.  (Seriously, is Pokemon really that compelling?)  Honestly, I think they're completely loving this unstructured time just to be kids without all the school, homework, activities, and playdates.  Or will it be decorating the tree and uncovering the beauty of ornaments that slip their minds as the months between Christmases pass? 

This was the first year that I think they'll remember decorating the tree.  I decided to let T1 put on the tree topper.  He is told so much that he needs to be careful, keep his hands to himself, play nicely and gently.  I thought I'd give him a special task that would usually be bestowed upon a family member with excellent dexterity and calm, two things T1 doesn't really have mastery over yet.  My thinking was, let him have something that calls upon his burgeoning maturity and bridges him from little kid to big kid.  Maybe I thought too soon.



Yes, the tree topper broke, and then all hell broke loose.  I got upset with DG, who was upset because he had a feeling that T1 couldn't do it, and then T1 went crying out of the room and hid because I yelled.  Definitely a Christmas memory I'm not proud of, but here it is, for all of you--familly foibles and all.  Off to Stat's we went to get another tree topper.  And, Christmas memory restored.



Maybe it would have been better if we waited a year for this.  Maybe he would have been just that much bigger and could reach the tree top better.  Maybe we would pick a tree without a knot sticking out that would allow the topper to slip right over the top.  Maybe, who knows.  But this is the memory we have.  This is the one I'll remember and I'm sure he'll remember and we'll laugh, "Remember that year we broke the tree topper? Hahahahaha"

It reminds me of that scene at the end of A Christmas Story.  Ralphie's family Christmas dinner is ruined by an unfortunate incident with some neighborhood dogs and the Christmas ham.  They go to a Chinese restaurant and while the waiters are singing Christmas carols, food is brought to their table.  The camera zooms in and they're smiling, laughing, and enjoying themselves.  The voice over describes the memory and you can see that this is the Christmas memory that they'll remember, not the missed ham.  I think of our tree topper the same way.  Every year, when I unwrap it, I'll remember the successful adornment and think about how T1 grew up a little that year.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.  May the memories you make this year be joyous ones, and if they're not, I hope there's at least some humor.

Little Boys Are Made Of What?

What's that they say?  Something about worms, and snails, and puppy dog tails?  Whatever.  What I found out today is that little boys are made of an energy source that if harnessed could power all of Los Angeles.  We had T1's Phenomenal Pokemon Party today with 15 boys and about a thousand Pokemon cards.  Throw in a little sugar and it makes for a banner birthday celebration and an exhausting day for parents.

Highlights:

1. Boys can find fun in dirt.

2. Wrestling each other is a mandatory activity

3. Boys can learn the most intricate details of a Pokemon card within 1 minute of being exposed to one.

4. Trading said Pokemon cards is pretty much what they live for.

5. If they are so lucky as to trade Pokemon through an electronic device, all the better.

This pretty much sums it up.  T1 had a great time, and who know that all his friends would be so into this renaissance that Pokemon is having.  Well, I guess he did. 

Discipline and Teamwork Rewarded

We signed up T1 for karate lessons after he spent a summer in a class and found he loved it.  He even said he wanted to skip the summer camp field trip to the circus so he could go to karate class. Fast forward 4 months.  Today, he took the test for the next belt--orange in this case.  He did it. He accomplished the techniques and punches and blocks necessary for moving up to the next level.  I watched him do it and I was so proud.  I love that this squirmy kid, who's often in trouble in class for talking or fooling around, could practice the discipline of karate with a dignity and grace that I knew he had in him all along.  Part of my motive for having him take karate was to teach him the discipline of having to remember much information, pay attention to what is being said (to learn techniques) and to react to what is being done (to counter attacks).  Martial arts are steeped in discipline and focus--and T1's applying some.

Just look at that orange belt!

The day of awards kept on going as we went to the end of the season party for T2's soccer team.  This was a team of girls between 6 and 8 whose skills were a force to be reckoned with on the field.  I'm totally NOT a soccer mom, and I normally find the parents who are screaming at their kids from the sidelines to be annoying at best and abrasive at worst.  But something happened with this team.  I saw this group of girls, who didn't know each other at all 3 months ago, come together as a team to play with each other instead of against each other.  I got caught up, as all the parents did, in the amazing season they had.  Today, as trophies were handed out, the coach said if he could find a way to keep this team together and take them through their childhood, he would.  T2's desire was commensurate with the coach's enthusiasm.  She grew as someone who could get along with others and work together for the goal, not always being the one who needed the glory--a major step for her.

T2 with coach

T2 showed some more maturity today as she had to leave the soccer party early to perform with her hula group.  It's a hard concept for a just 8-year-old to fathom that she had to sacrifice one thing in order to do another.  She wanted to do both.  She honored both commitments and proved to me how committed she is in pretty much everything she does.

Dancing with stones like castanets

 We topped off today's birthday celebration with a dinner trip to a super kitchsy, Polynesian restaurant with oodles of fish tanks and syrupy, sweet flaming drinks that come in  giant bowl with 2-foot straws.

Bahooka, the ship-wreck restaurant

Loving the giant-bowl drinks

Birthday kids with lollipops.  Fish look hungry

Today was a good day.  It's the kind of day I became a parent to have.  I relished spending the day with my family, kids doing what they love to do, and DG and I beaming with pride from the sidelines.  So sweet.

Little Boy Liar--and Bully to boot?

T1's been lying to me.  A lot.  He never takes responsibility for his actions and is constantly trying to either pass the buck to someone else (most often, T2) or he rationalizes behavior with a disclaimer, "I didn't mean to..."  I'm aware that little kids lie, and punishing them for lying, seems to me, is an invitation for more lying.  I mean, he's already scared to tell me the truth if he's lying, so if I come back with a, "Don't you lie to me...." threat, he's going to shut down and tell me nothing.  I suspect, if he's afraid to tell me anything he's done that can be misconstrued as outside my expectations for good behavior, this will become his pattern for sharing information with me at all as he grows up--avoiding it.

So how do I deal with this?  I want to raise children who have integrity, who feel responsible for how their actions might affect other people.  At what point am I making a big deal out of a small infraction, and at what point do I have to intervene?

This week, it was brought to my attention that T1 has been harassing an older boy at school.  When I asked him why he did it, he completely denied it.  (I know he did it because I have confirmation from 2 other people, and like I said, he's been lying to me.)  It took a full day before he admitted to being involved in the situation, and even then, he made light of it, and instead of saying he was sorry or having any remorse, he blew it off and changed the subject.  I am disturbed by this on so many levels.  First, he doesn't seem to have any understanding of the other boy's feelings.  Second, he doesn't appear to understand that when he lies to me, my trust in him is totally compromised.  Third, and this is my own neurosis, I worry that he's on the road to being an inconsiderate jerk who, without any consequences for misbehavior, will grow into a sociopath.

DG and I talked about how to deal with this situation.  After consulting with our trusted parenting advisor, we concluded that our job is not to threaten him with consequences for lying, bullying or misbehavior, because they will build a wall between us that will grow taller and taller over time.  I mean, what's the recidivism rate among criminals released from prison?  Do they respect authority? Rather, we need to redouble our efforts in teaching him right from wrong so that it becomes his idea to do the right thing on his own, and while I thought he already knew this, each new developmental level presents a new opportunity for a moments to teach him our values.  Respect, kindness, compassion, hard work, and self-respect.

I'm willing to relate to him in a completely different way that will teach him that what I do, and not the empty threats that I want to say, is how grown ups behave. 

Still, parenting conventions indicate that I need to

Twin Birthdays Take a Whole Week

Hey all, in case you didn't know, T1 and T2's 8th birthday is next Saturday.  And this means birthday parties.  That's right, I said "parties."  We used to do the twins' birthday party as one large event.  They had the same preschool friends; we invited both their classes to their parties; and, we invited many of their friends who are family friends we've had since they were babies.

I tried to talk them out of the birthday party this year.  "Don't you just want to go to Disneyland or something?" I tried to bribe.  "Seriously," they said.  "We go to Disneyland all the time.  I want to do something special."  What's more special than Disneyland?  Quality problems, I tell them.  But they're growing up, and they have completely different interests now.  I finally sucked it up and decided to give them each their own birthday party on different days.

Sunday proved to be the best day, so one party is tomorrow, and one is next week.  Now, I know that parents with two kids always have to plan two birthday parties--they just get to do it at completely different times of the year.  There could be advantages to doing them back to back.  I'm thinking whatever I screw up at the first one, I can fix at the second one.  I can serve any left over cheese from the first one at the second one.  Of course, the baking party for girls will be completely different from the Pokemon party for boys, but I'm thinking bulk paper goods.  Smart and Final, here I come.

So we're ready for the baking party.  I made 30 some odd cupcakes tonight that the girls will decorate tomorrow.  They're in the shape of an ice cream cone, so they can fashion the frosting to look like ice cream.

even upside down, those are looking pretty good

We're also going to make salt-dough ornaments and decorate those.  T2 better like this party.  'Cause, while nothing makes me happier than to see little girls with flour smudges on their faces and chocolate smears near their mouths, I'm exhausted. 

More photos tomorrow of the cupcake masterpieces.

Boredom, a Boy, and a Roll of Foil

Yesterday I went to pick up the kids for another marathon afternoon of soccer, karate, PTA functions, etc. When I arrived, I hustled T2 to change into soccer clothes, and T1 started in with the whining.  "Where's my DS? I want to play DS?  Why, Mommy? Why can't I play DS  Whhhhaaaaaaa."  This is a battle we have every week when T2 has soccer practice.  T1 rushes through his homework (that he does sitting on the bleachers) and then begs to play with some screen--the DS, his "Pokewalker," my Droid.  We're in a park, for God's sake!  Short of having two broken legs, he should be playing.  PLAYING.  Isn't that what little boys are supposed to do in the park?

Last week, he started in with the "I'm bored..." bull-sh*^%.  Oh no you didn't.  You did NOT just tell me you were bored?!  Boy, you don't know what bored is.  I showed him the perfectly climbable tree right. next. to. him.  I wanted to start with the, "When I was a kid, we found our own fun in mud pies and sticks. Blah, blah, blah," but I caught myself.  Didn't want to let on how OLD I am.  He did end up climbing that tree, and he had fun.  Lo and behold--no longer bored.

Yesterday, once he realized that I wasn't going to go back on my original command about staring at a video game in the park, he knew he had to come up with something else.  Enter this:

 This is a foil ball that T1 made in art class with some leftover foil.  Notice the little indentations for a face?  Eyes, nose, mouth?  It's a guy screaming for a body.  I suggested that we go to the store and buy some more foil.  He could make body parts and put them together.  Toothpicks become the "bones."  He said, "you can glue it for me," to which I replied, "Yeah, and the glue can be like the joints, muscle, and skin."

 

Then, Foil Guy together.  

 

T1 decided the foil man needed a "toy" and he started constructing this: 

Cut to home.  Here I am singeing my fingers with a hot glue gun to get the "muscles and joints" on the foil guy. Fortunately, the toothpicks are providing excellent structural integrity.

 

And then, it was done. 

 

 This little project is a wonderful testament to what kids can do with a little imagination.  T1 is so proud of his creation.  I can tell because at 10 pm and he came out from bed to ask me if it was finished.  He played with it for a minute, making it totter awkwardly across the kitchen counter.  The smile on his face said it all.  He made it--from nothing more than $3 worth of household products.  And he wasn't bored.

I don't want to sound like I never let him play video games or watch TV.  That's just not me.  God knows the TV has a sacred place in our house.  Like everything else, I am in charge of creating the balance.  There's a time and place for video games: when Mom's getting her hair done, at the bank during the signing of house loan documents, or when I'm engrossed in Real Housewives of New Jersey (okay, just kidding on that last one).  The park is not one of those places.  And I can't help but think that he's silently thanking me somewhere in his subconscious for this little respite from the technological age. Long live Foil Guy!

I Have an Obligation to Vote

Today is election day.  Last night, I talked about the ballot measures with DG, read some blogs with various picks on the candidates and issues, marked my ballot, and placed it in a place in my work bag that I know will make it out the door.  Ever since I was 18 years old, I have voted in every national primary and general election.  I feel I have an obligation to vote--as a citizen, a woman, an educator, and a mother.

Don't worry. I'm not going to get all political on you.  I would describe myself as not very political at all.  I'm not that person at a party who starts a conversation with, "Can you believe what those yahoos are doing in congress?"  I quietly have my beliefs and try to stay out of the conversation. Except for those ubiquitous bashing political ads.  Hate them.  Kinda makes my stomach turn, and even more detrimental, makes me shut down and become mistrusting.  Political rally-er, I am not.

But if you really think about it, most people practice things in their lives that can be construed as a little political.  As moms, we make decisions about what we're going to feed our children--to breastfeed or not--organic or not.  We make decisions about education--public or private school.  To others around us, these decisions can be seen as a progression of our political agenda. It's based on our values, the way we want our children to have the best lives they can--often better than the lives we've had.  I mean, even as a member of the PTA, I am a part of an organization that lobbies for children and good education practices.  As moms, we are our children's best proponents.

As a college professor, I try to let my students know that voting is one of the most important things they can do to advance their own beliefs.  So many of my students in the suburban community college where I work feel like voting is something they don't feel qualified to do.  They're just 18.  They don't understand the propositions or the smear campaigns of the candidates (well, let's face it--who does?).  And I tell them that is precisely the point of college.  To learn about their world and to have a say in its future.  They say, "But no matter what I say, politicians are going to do whatever they want, so voting or not--it doesn't matter."  Arrggghh, I sigh.  Apathy.  No, no, no.  Imagine what leaders might do if you did not have a voice.  Voting assures that differing opinions are brought to everyone.  Your voice matters.

I read a quote by Thomas Paine that says, "Those who expect to reap the blessings of freedom must undergo the fatigue of supporting it."  Fatigue means work.  The suffragists were tireless in their efforts.  As a woman, I feel I owe it to them to learn about a campaign and vote.  I have a responsibility to support my freedom and the right that they fought so hard to gain.

So today, when I pick up my kids, we'll march over to the polling booths, place the ballot in the little hole-puncher-thingy (I know, I think that's the official name for it), and fulfill my obligation.  Whatever the outcome of the election, I feel good knowing that I am modeling good citizenship for my children.  Who knows, I might even hand over that little "I Voted" sticker to them.

The Joys of October

Just to recap--my trip to Lake Tahoe earlier this month with my sister was wonderful.  I always get so much out of being with her.  I'm reminded of when we were kids and had nothing but time to play together.  The scenery in Lake Tahoe was beautiful.  And my sister's dog, Little Hawk took in every part of it.

The view outside the cabin

Crazy how we have the twins-y hair cuts, no?

Ok, show of hands, how many think this is the cutest dog EVER?

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This has been a relatively cool October in Southern California.  I am perpetually confounded by the weather lately, as October, in the recent past, has been extraordinarily hot.  But this year, I’ve been breaking out the Crockpot, wearing sweaters, and driving in the rain—an extreme sport in Southern California.  The weather definitely is getting me in the mood for Halloween.  

Usually, beginning in early September, when the costume catalogs start showing up in the mailbox, we trek on down to the party store, peruse the wall of adorable looking children in cute looking costumes, and the kids point ecstatically, “that one, that one!” 

Down comes the industrial plastic bag with a handle fused to the top, and the kids extract the crappy acetate, shoddily constructed, ill-fitting costume with many ooohs and aahhhs.  From me, it’s more like ewwwws and ooohhhs.  How could this possibly be the same as that picture on the wall?  I don’t know why I’m surprised, but the quality of the packaged costume is never as good as I think it’s going to be.  

That’s why, this year, I worked on persuading my kids to go with the homemade Halloween costume.  Oh, I know this means work for me, and as a mom who has a job that I have to go to everyday, this presents the age old dilemma of how do I find enough time to do this.  Well, here’s my mindset on time lately…..

You can find the time to do anything if you really want to do it.  So I set out to make Halloween costumes in my spare time.  I had to start in September, but I think it's finally come together.

T1 wants to be Voldemort (you know, the most villainous of all villains--He Who Must Not Be Named).  So I figured, easy; some robes, some scary make-up and we're done.  We were going for this:

I made this:

Not to be out-Harry-Potter-ed, T2 decided to be Hermione.  I found this cute photo of the "smartest witch of her age" and decided to copy this:

 

We had the robe and Gryffindor tie from last year when T1 was the ubiquitous boy wizard.  So it was fairly easy to put together this:

The scarf is tucked behind the shoulder on account of the fact that it is still not done.  Super cute knitted scarf takes a loooong time!

I was having so much fun making costumes, that I decided to keep on going.  What's a few more, when you're already on a roll?  

We had tickets to Mickey's Halloween Party at Disneyland.  It's a costume party, trick-or-treating extravaganza inside Disneyland Park that runs through October.  So really, it's like Halloween night every night.  Our kids literally came home with SIX pounds of candy.  I kid you not.  DG said, with the same tone as the proverbial "walked-to-school-in-the-snow" speech, "When I was a kid, we went trick-or-treating once--on Halloween."  

Well, if you're trick-or-treating twice, you need two costumes, right?  I made us into a pirate family.

DG got the pirate vest and pirate bustiers at the 99 cent store.  I coupled them with striped tights and made raggedy pants and skirts.  T1 didn't want to wear the paper 99 cent store vest, and I can't say that I blame him, so I cut that skull and crossbones from an old, white T-shirt and sewed it on the red one.  He loved it!

I'm still so shocked that I had the gumption to make all these costumes, but now that it's all done, and we're really for Halloween, I am pleased with myself.  Not only did I accomplish something I set out to do, rather than scrapping the projects with a defeatist "Oh well, I didn't have time to do this anyway," but also I rekindled that DIY, homemade part of myself that so rarely gets let out these days.  Being creative feeds my soul, and while there is an element of creativity in my job everyday, it's nice to make something with my hands and soak in the gratitude when the kids say, "Thank you, Mommy! I love this costume!" (No really, I'm not lying--they both said that. *shock*)

Kinda makes me want to get ready for the next project.  Do you think maybe they'll need costumes for the school Holiday show? 

I Want What I Want When I Want It -- the 7-year-old version

Conversation between me and T1 at our niece's Bat Mitzvah this past weekend:

Me:  Oh look, honey, you get to sit at a table with all kids; you don't have to sit with your parents.  Won't that be fun?

T1:  Okay.  I want to sit with G (cousin) and all the other boys.

Me:  Let's see.  Oh, you're at the (Broadway-themed) "Hairspray" table and G is at the "Fiddler on the Roof" table.

T1:  No!  I don't want to sit at the "Hairspray" table.  It's a bunch of girls!!  I want to sit with G!

Me:  But his table is full.  There are already nine 10-year-old boys at that table.  Your at the table with the littler kids.

T1:  I WANT TO SIT AT G'S TABLE!!  I DON'T WANT TO SIT WITH ALL GIRLS!!

(Tantrum escalating--speeches ensuing from the stage--7-year-old voice carrying with amazing range in the auditorium acoustics--me beginning to feel heads turning and eyes glaring)

Me:  Calm down, honey.  There's nothing I can do about it.  (My voice starting to raise too as I pull him by the hand into the bathroom).

T1:  WHHHHWAAAAAAAAA

Me: (virtual steam rising from my ears.....voice in my head saying, "oh suck it up, little guy.  It's just a dinner.  My God! but actually saying:)  How about you sit with Daddy and me?  There are other cousins at our table.

T1: I want to sit with G!

Me: There are no seats there.  You CAN'T sit there.  Want Daddy and me to sit with you at the "Hairspray" table?

T1:  Nooooooo.  I won't do it!!!!!

Me: (exasperated) I'm guessing this situation is making you feel left out.  Like you don't belong where you've been put.  How would you like this situation to be?  How can you solve this problem?

T1:  I want you to ask Aunt B to put another chair at G's table.  Just go ask her.

Me:  (wanting so badly to rectify this "gross injustice" as I figure this MUST feel to my son.  Wanting to swoop in and stop the tantrum, the disappointment, the frustration, but knowing that doing so will cripple my son in the future when he must manage any and all situations when he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it)

Me:  No. . . .   I can't do that.  

T1:  Pleeeeeessssee, Mommy?   (gasp, sob)

Me:  What can YOU do?

T1:  Can I ask G to put another chair at his table?

Me:  That may be a good plan.  Why don't you try it.

(T1 runs off to consult with G about all things boy that, I was beginning to quickly learn, include being sat at the right table.  I hold my breath, watching over the ballroom as the exchange goes on.  I try not to look.  I don't want to see the tear-stained face return, crest fallen because I know what's going to happen next.  He's gone.  He doesn't come back.  I reluctantly sit down to my own dinner, anxious.  Where is he?  What happened?  Should I go look for him?  Is he okay?  Is he crying somewhere in a corner?  Is he at G's table?  I spy him.  He's got a plate of food; he's headed for G's table.  A chair is waiting for him.  Wow, he did it, I say to myself.)

We are so much alike, T1 and I.  Every milestone he makes over his sensitivity and social awkwardness is a triumph for me.  It's something I struggled with so much in my childhood and want so badly for him not to have to feel.  But I know it's going to happen.  Can I sit on my hands and let him have his moments?  Even the disappointing ones?  I'm going to have to.  That's my job.

Remind me to call my mom and tell her I appreciate all the anguish she must have endured raising us.  Think I'm going to go get her a medal....

My mother, myself?

I recently returned from taking my family to the Pacific Northwest where my mother and brother both live, having moved from CA in the '80s.  I visit as much as I can, either by myself or with the family, but I always am left wanting more of them, as we are so very close, in my regular day-to-day life. 

My mother has Multiple Sclerosis and is now in a nursing home, confined to a wheelchair, and needs help with all of her personal and daily tasks.  It's hard for me to see my mother this way.  She's 76 but seems 86.  I feel that she's only getting small bits of my children's childhood.  Still, I want her to know how important she is in how I'm raising my own kids.  My mom has always been someone I've turned to for advice, to share about my day, and to hear about how her stoic, confident, and resilient individualism has seen her through the death of her own parents (her mother at age 3 and her father at 17), a divorce from my father, a death of her second husband, and this debilitating disease while remaining positive and enthusiastic for life.

I remember my mom as a vibrant, loving homemaker.  She was there making the kitchen the hub of our existence.  I remember the black ceramic tea cups that held the vinegar mixture that my brother, sister and I used to dye Easter eggs.  They would splash water colored webs on the newspaper covered table.  I remember the same table at Christmas when we would bake cookies and the table would be filled with sugar-sparkled newspaper.  She was providing these environments and then she was gone, like a ghost.  I think now that she was probably off doing laundry or making beds or somehow doing the mom things that needed to be done.  She'd check back in and see where we were in our activity, but I don't remember her judging or commenting, although she must have. 

My brother, sister and me--see the black cups?

My older brother, me, my younger sister

She would take meat out of the freezer, leave it sweating on the counter, quiz us on what she might serve for dessert with initials, like "tonight we're having 'CH'" (stood for cream horns, pastry filled with cream.)  She looked happy all the time--but I know she wasn't.  That was the gift she gave us.  She allowed us to be kids by keeping her emotions to herself allowing us the freedom of whatever stresses may have been bothering her. She let our lives evolve while we grew into the people that she was hoping we'd be.

That swollen eye isn't from my brother--I had a sty--she made me pose anyway

Sometimes I feel like I fall short in that part about letting my children grow into the people they're going to be.  My mother didn't deconstruct every parenting book on the market trying to find a philosophy that would be the panacea for all her fears.  She took us to church, sent us to a good school, put us on "restriction, missy" when discipline was needed, and then got out of the way.  I wish I could build upon her wisdom as I go through this journey, assured that I'm doing the right thing.

But she's aging rapidly now.  This is one of the drawbacks of having children older--everyone in their lives is older.  The MS has affected my mom in ways beyond her physical limitations.  A recent MRI and CAT scan reveal advancement of the disease.  My mom's mind is softening, not nearly as sharp as it used to be.  She repeats her small bits of conversation over and over, for she has little stimulating to say because her life is so routine.  "Did I tell you that your niece left for London today," she'll say, 3 times in a conversation.  It's the biggest news to reach her room in days.  I just say, "Yes, you did. Do you think she'll have a good time?" trying not to draw attention to her repetitiveness.  I still see that woman with the apron and the jokes in the kitchen, raising a brood of silly squirmers, the woman who still listens intently to my every word and makes me feel loved.

Someday, I'll be like her, and my kids will be like me--only much younger than me.  Will they be frustrated with me and ache to have me back the way I was in their childhood?  I know that the times I share with them now are their memories in the making.  When we go hiking, they're seeing me active, athletic.  When I go on every ride at Disneyland (some they won't even go on), I'm to them what my mom was to me.  Even when I'm too old to do these things anymore, they'll remember fondly, the way I do when I reminisce with my mom.

Wonder of Wonders --Miracles of Miracles

Last Sunday, I met an old friend for brunch.  She recently had a baby (her second after a 19-year gap--long but good story for another day).  He's so cuddly, sticky, drooly, chunky, gotta squeeze his cheeks!  I was enthralled with this baby, and so is she.  I love how she appreciates the time she has with him, and she's over the moon about his every move.  It was like I was transported back to the days when the twins were little babies and I could not get enough of their cooing, emerging personalites.  T2 used to bounce in that vibrating bouncy seat for hours--long after she was too big for it; T1 had a perpetual third eye in the middle of his forehead when he turned 1 from crashing into the couch edge in an overzealous effort to run.  I was nostalgic for my babies and the time when discoveries were happening in every hour of the day.  I loved watching them change and grow daily.

As they've grown, I've learned that changes happen at differently at every developmental stage.  Sometimes these changes are monumental -- wiping their own bottoms! --buckling their own seat belts!  Sometimes they are colossal challenges.  And each time I think I've got this mommy thing figured out, it changes again. 

And sometimes, they surprise me with a wonderful change that I could not have seen coming even if it was a freight train heading right toward me.  Remember this I posted about 2 weeks ago?

Here's how it looked when I got home from  brunch on Sunday afternoon.

All on his own, unprompted, T1 CLEANED his own room!  He organized the items on the desk. (notice the ordered bowling pins?  My dad's league bowling trophies in chronological order) Yes, people, he even threw some things away.  My little man is growing up, and oh, how I hope this desire for neatness sticks, even if it's just every once in a while.

Not to be outdone, and because she cannot ever resist any competition, T2 cleaned her own room too.  Witness the before and after:

B

Before

After

I entered their rooms with my eyes closed when they wanted to show me what they'd done.  Proud smiles emblazoned across their faces.  This was something they did without me or my husband asking or nagging.  It was something they did not wait for us to take care of for them.  And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, they found buried new things to play with.  And the world opened up anew, magically, just as when they, as babies, discovered they could crawl to the brightly colored toy across the room.

I'll take this magic any time they want to cast a spell my way.

Beautiful Boy

I go into this same Starbucks almost everyday on my way to work.  I swear to God; every time I go in there John Lennon's song Beautiful Boy is playing.  And every time, I get choked up.  I shed tiny tears thinking about my own beautiful boy (and my girl too) waltzing off to school while I drive 21 miles down the LA freeways to my job.  I have a brief moment of remembering them--their faces flashing across my mind as I hurry to get my espresso and be on my way.  And I, like many mothers who work outside the home, swallow any guilt that might come up, reassuring myself that they are fine, I am fine, and we'll be together soon.

But more than that, I think about Sean Lennon.  He was 5 when he lost his father.  John Lennon said when promoting the album Double Fantasy that he loved being a "house husband."  He loved being with his child.  And to have it all taken away after only 5 years is heartbreaking.  As I listen to the song, I can feel his hopes for his son--the boy's life playing like a film in his imagination. 

"I can hardly wait,
To see you to come of age,
But I guess we'll both,
Just have to be patient,
Yes it's a long way to go....."

He never got that chance.  But I do. 

This morning as I was leaving the house for work, I was running really late.  I threw all my stuff in the car and yelled back at the house, "BYE..."  Then I went back inside.  I hugged and kissed my kids.  I told DG I loved him.  My family is the apex of my happiness, and I don't want to miss a moment of letting them know it.

On Your Mark, Get Set, Go!!!!!

Competition brings out the best and the worst in some people.  In kids, it's a little glimpse into how they're going to relate to others when they grow up.  Case in point--The All City Track Meet.  Here are the kids at the beginning of the cacophonous, frenetic, team-spirited event.

All smiles--Whoop-de-doo!  Happy as can be.  Ready to take on their events, run fast, pass batons, have fun.  Here they are at the end of the event.

After all the ribbons had been presented.  After they LOST their events.  What?  you say, but they've got ribbons.  What gives?  Yes, they were in relay races against 2 other teams.  All the relay team members got ribbons.  T2 didn't even run.  She was the alternate. 

But the individual events is where I really got to see my twins' sensibilities, and in the individual events is where the teachable moment lies. 

When T1 didn't win, he said, "Oh well, at least I got a medal for the relay. It was fun." 

"Good for you!" I said.  That's right, you did your best and you had fun.  Let's go home and have a cool drink and celebrate your maturity.

T2 cried.  Sobbed.  Said she was robbed.  The other girls cheated.  Little Miss Competitive.  She was more than a little disappointed.  And seriously unwilling to take responsibility for the outcome.  The blaming is where I thought to act.  How can I ease that feeling of pain that comes when you have an expectation that doesn't pan out?  I know that feeling.  I'm holding back tears too watching her process this sad emotion that inevitably comes as children learn about the ya-win-some-ya-lose-some lessons of the world.

"Did you do your best?" I asked. 

"Yes," she sighs, "but my back still hurts from the bruise." (Long story of a mishap with some stone steps.)

"You know what?" I ask, "you're right.  That must be still smarting you.  And not placing makes it feel worse.  For next year, we can practice.  I've got a stop watch....."

Her eyes light up.  "Right!" she says.  I can see the brain going.  "Let's run everyday.  You can time me and see if I can do it faster."

A-ha.  Will she grow and begin to see that she is the only one who can mold the outcome of her life?  Did I do the right thing?  (If you ascribe to Carol Dweck's Mindset, then yes, I guess).  For how long will hugs ease the sting of losing?

Forever, I hope.