Today, one of EJ's campmates had a birthday party at camp, which included pizza and cupcakes for all the kiddos, as well as nifty favors---new sand shovels and pails, candy (always a favorite), mini-coloring books and crayons, mini-bubble containers, and best of all, a superball.
EJ wanted to beeline straight to the park to test out her new bucket as soon as we left school, but I was starving and wanted to eat some lunch. Selfish, selfish mama, always thinking of herself, I know. She managed to keep herself occupied for a little over an hour while I ate, checked messages, did some chores, etc., only asking me if we could go to the park fourteen times. Yes, only fourteen. When we "finally" made it out the door, she was ready with her ball, shovel, and pail, and I had my little Tervis Tumbler of freshly-brewed coffee (despite her pleading, "Do we have to make your coffee, Mom? Can't we get it when we come home and leave right now?") and a book, just in case she got occupied and I could get a few pages of fiction in.
When we arrived, there was only one other child there with his nanny, a little baby, probably no older than 9 months old. EJ exclaimed, "Oh, a BAAABBBYYYY!" but was disappointed that there weren't any other kids to play with that were a little more, well, active. Even so, when I asked her where she was setting up shop in the sandbox so I could sit and play with her, she said, "No, thank you, you can sit over there on the bench...that's where people sit." Fair enough.
Within twenty minutes, though, she was tired of all that "self-directed play," the baby had left, and we had the whole park to ourselves. It was cool and cloudy, and felt on the brink of rain. We had no raincoats or umbrellas, and although we didn't have far to walk home if we were caught up in a storm, I usually wouldn't stay out in weather like that. For whatever reason, though---maybe the lack of stress in my day, or the glint in EJ's eyes when she said that "It's okay if it rains, I have my long-sleeved McQueen shirt on, so I'll feel great even if I'm wet!"---I decided to stay and really enjoy the moment. EJ took out her new superball, and within seconds, the two of us had started our own rousing game of bounce ball, making it up as we went. It was kind of like catch, but there was some chasing, too---my main job was to bounce it as I high as I could so that it would fly above EJ's head and land somewhere in the woodchips nearby, while her main job was to catch the balls that she threw at me before I could get to them. It was so great. I found myself really laughing---laughing like I did when I was a kid, just happy to be playing some made up bouncing ball game in the middle of the afternoon.
We played this for almost an hour, with no one else coming into the park the whole time, and just had a blast. I noticed, moments before we left, that the sign at the park said, "no ball playing," but I think the caveat to that should read, "unless you are all alone and you have an awesome, brand-new superball to test out."
It may seem like a small thing, but it was really revolutionary to not act like the mama for a few hours. I didn't worry about the potential rain, I didn't think of the eight million other things I needed to be doing, I didn't rush home to get dinner made...I was just completely present with my kid. I don't want to stereotype, but I think that dads tend to do this better---they just get in there and have fun, then often have wives (like me) on the sidelines saying things like, "Hey, it probably isn't a good idea for her to pour that gallon of water into the sand while she's wearing her nice, clean sundress and we're on the way to a party," or "This is fun, but if I don't get the chicken into the oven in the next fifteen minutes, we aren't going to eat until 9:00 p.m."
When both of us were properly worn out, we walked home---it never rained, by the way, so it was good not to have wasted any energy worrying about it---and after we cleaned up, we whipped up a recently-rediscovered recipe for strawberry yogurt cake that I used to make all the time when I studied abroad. I didn't go through the fridge looking for dinner ingredients or vegetables or anything mom-like, we just made the cake and ate it, too.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Update: Operation Clean-Out, Day #1
Wow, I think I have hit on some kind of nerve with this clean-out, because I have gotten more messages from folks about this than almost anything I have ever written about, save for my health* and my experience with post-partum "blech" (yes, that is a technical term). It seems that everyone, even the most organized out there, may be feeling the desire to let go of things, make room, clear out clutter, etc. I'm certainly learning to love less as I get older (and especially as my kiddo accumulates more stuff), but I think that there is something bigger going on in the culture to spur on this collective paring down. Maybe it's the recession, at least in part?
Philosophizing aside, I wanted to post an update of how the first stage of clean-out went yesterday. Within a matter of hours, we got through most of EJ's closet, sifting through boxes of clothing, infant toys and accessories, and other random items that got collected over time. I found EJ's teddy bear mobile for my friend, Carrie, who mentioned that she'd like one for the imminent arrival of her third kiddo, and also set aside a cute Packers crawler and a UW-Madison rattle for the little guy. I was also able to set aside some big ticket items for my friend, Christina, who is due with her first in early fall, including two baby gates (still in the box) and a bouncer/soother seat. While I'm sure those would have sold quickly at a rummage sale, it is nicer to know that they'll go to good use with a friend, and in the crazy event that either myself or one of our siblings finds themselves expecting, she said she'd be happy to return them. What I won't need back, though, are the scads of adorable baby clothes we cleared out---again, some of them with tags still on---that are Christina's for the grabbing before we have a sale at all.
It was amazing to me, as I looked at the outfits, how little sentimentality I had for so many of them, given the fact that these were the clothes I simply could not part with the first time I sorted through all of EJ's baby things. At this point, all we have left from her 0-18 month wardrobe is one small crate of special items, and I easily could fit more clothing in there. I have no doubt that, in a year or two, I'll be able to pare down even more. My fading memory is actually my friend in this regard.
Another big accomplishment was the assembling and filling of a bookcase I purchased for EJ a few months ago, but could not fit in her room until her old crib had been taken apart and moved out. We discovered, when we bought her "big girl bed" this fall, that her crib would not fit through the door assembled---it would have been a good moment for a home movie, as it was a very Chaplinesque exercise in trying to fit something where it would not go. In the end, we put the crib in the corner to get out of the way until we had time to take it apart, where it fell off the urgent to-do list while things here were so busy. Last weekend, when Mike and I went to see Mary Poppins, my folks came down to spend the day with EJ, and my Dad surprised us by taking it apart and loading it out to go to their basement for storage. It was wonderful to see all that extra space, and started a chain of events that allowed us to move EJ's dresser to a better location, create a reading nook for EJ's room, assemble the bookcase, and load up the many, many, many books she has neatly into one spot.
While my mom helped me sort through the closet, my mother-in-law and EJ put together the bookcase. After assembly, which was basically a game for the kiddo, who was lining up bolts and turning screws into place with glee, my mother-in-law used her super-sorting-HGTV mind to fit all the books into the case in a neat and artful way. EJ was so proud of her work in the construction and organizing that she was very careful last night as she pulled out and put away her Olivia books for bedtime stories. Between the closet and the bookcase, the room is already so much neater, and it really feels like a kid room, not a nursery.
We didn't go through many toys together yesterday, as I had planned, because EJ got so involved in the bookcase project, but that is on deck next. I'm actually excited about it, because I know that she was so happy with the way her room was changing, I think she might have more incentive to sort. She is really starting to understand that there are some kids that don't have toys and books, and that she could help those kids to have more fun if she gives some things away.
On a side note, we had to go to the hospital pharmacy today to pick up a new prescription (more on that below), and while walking from the car to the building, we passed by the children's hospital playlot. EJ wanted to go in, but I showed her the sign that said it was for children at the hospital, only, along with their families. When I told her that some kids get very sick, and need to stay in the hospital, she said she thought it was great that they could have a place to play. When we met up with EJ's daddy a few moments later for a quick hello, she described the playground to him, and said, "It's just for kids that are sick, Daddy, at the hospital, and it is a GREAT playground for them, with a bridge, and a slide, and...etc." While I can't say that I think her "me, me, me, mine, mine, me" stage is over, a social conscience might just be forming, after all. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, I must admit.
------
*After years and years of low-grade symptoms and testing that came back normal or "low normal," I have officially developed an autoimmune thyroid disorder, and am beginning medication for hypothyroidism today. I have mixed feelings about being on medication for the rest of my life, as I'm sure everyone does when they have a chronic condition diagnosed, but mostly, I feel relieved that within a few weeks, I might start feeling better, and that this can be managed effectively. The doc told me that, leading up to thyroid failure, a lot of people can feel really hopeless and depressed, and when their labs come back normal, they don't know what to do. I felt grateful that I have had such a wonderful support group of family and friends to help me come through the last few months as well as I have, especially given my huge workload in completing my graduate degree. What a blessing.
Philosophizing aside, I wanted to post an update of how the first stage of clean-out went yesterday. Within a matter of hours, we got through most of EJ's closet, sifting through boxes of clothing, infant toys and accessories, and other random items that got collected over time. I found EJ's teddy bear mobile for my friend, Carrie, who mentioned that she'd like one for the imminent arrival of her third kiddo, and also set aside a cute Packers crawler and a UW-Madison rattle for the little guy. I was also able to set aside some big ticket items for my friend, Christina, who is due with her first in early fall, including two baby gates (still in the box) and a bouncer/soother seat. While I'm sure those would have sold quickly at a rummage sale, it is nicer to know that they'll go to good use with a friend, and in the crazy event that either myself or one of our siblings finds themselves expecting, she said she'd be happy to return them. What I won't need back, though, are the scads of adorable baby clothes we cleared out---again, some of them with tags still on---that are Christina's for the grabbing before we have a sale at all.
It was amazing to me, as I looked at the outfits, how little sentimentality I had for so many of them, given the fact that these were the clothes I simply could not part with the first time I sorted through all of EJ's baby things. At this point, all we have left from her 0-18 month wardrobe is one small crate of special items, and I easily could fit more clothing in there. I have no doubt that, in a year or two, I'll be able to pare down even more. My fading memory is actually my friend in this regard.
Another big accomplishment was the assembling and filling of a bookcase I purchased for EJ a few months ago, but could not fit in her room until her old crib had been taken apart and moved out. We discovered, when we bought her "big girl bed" this fall, that her crib would not fit through the door assembled---it would have been a good moment for a home movie, as it was a very Chaplinesque exercise in trying to fit something where it would not go. In the end, we put the crib in the corner to get out of the way until we had time to take it apart, where it fell off the urgent to-do list while things here were so busy. Last weekend, when Mike and I went to see Mary Poppins, my folks came down to spend the day with EJ, and my Dad surprised us by taking it apart and loading it out to go to their basement for storage. It was wonderful to see all that extra space, and started a chain of events that allowed us to move EJ's dresser to a better location, create a reading nook for EJ's room, assemble the bookcase, and load up the many, many, many books she has neatly into one spot.
While my mom helped me sort through the closet, my mother-in-law and EJ put together the bookcase. After assembly, which was basically a game for the kiddo, who was lining up bolts and turning screws into place with glee, my mother-in-law used her super-sorting-HGTV mind to fit all the books into the case in a neat and artful way. EJ was so proud of her work in the construction and organizing that she was very careful last night as she pulled out and put away her Olivia books for bedtime stories. Between the closet and the bookcase, the room is already so much neater, and it really feels like a kid room, not a nursery.
We didn't go through many toys together yesterday, as I had planned, because EJ got so involved in the bookcase project, but that is on deck next. I'm actually excited about it, because I know that she was so happy with the way her room was changing, I think she might have more incentive to sort. She is really starting to understand that there are some kids that don't have toys and books, and that she could help those kids to have more fun if she gives some things away.
On a side note, we had to go to the hospital pharmacy today to pick up a new prescription (more on that below), and while walking from the car to the building, we passed by the children's hospital playlot. EJ wanted to go in, but I showed her the sign that said it was for children at the hospital, only, along with their families. When I told her that some kids get very sick, and need to stay in the hospital, she said she thought it was great that they could have a place to play. When we met up with EJ's daddy a few moments later for a quick hello, she described the playground to him, and said, "It's just for kids that are sick, Daddy, at the hospital, and it is a GREAT playground for them, with a bridge, and a slide, and...etc." While I can't say that I think her "me, me, me, mine, mine, me" stage is over, a social conscience might just be forming, after all. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, I must admit.
------
*After years and years of low-grade symptoms and testing that came back normal or "low normal," I have officially developed an autoimmune thyroid disorder, and am beginning medication for hypothyroidism today. I have mixed feelings about being on medication for the rest of my life, as I'm sure everyone does when they have a chronic condition diagnosed, but mostly, I feel relieved that within a few weeks, I might start feeling better, and that this can be managed effectively. The doc told me that, leading up to thyroid failure, a lot of people can feel really hopeless and depressed, and when their labs come back normal, they don't know what to do. I felt grateful that I have had such a wonderful support group of family and friends to help me come through the last few months as well as I have, especially given my huge workload in completing my graduate degree. What a blessing.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Operation Clean-Out, Day #1
Operation Clean-Out, aka, the time when I systematically go through all of our things and sell off/give away/throw away as many as possible, begins today. As I noted in yesterday's post, both moms (mine and my hubby's) are coming to help me out today, and to load up stuff to sell at a rummage sale we are going to have later this summer at my folks' house.
I am not naturally inclined when it comes to cleaning and organizing my home, but I'm hoping this purge will help me to keep things more manageable in the future. Interestingly enough, as cluttered as my dining room table can become, I have always been meticulous when it comes to my school and work spaces---nothing out of place, everything stacked at a straight angle, every file named in a precise fashion with a particular folder awaiting it, everything easy to find, etc. Sadly, I haven't been able to transfer that somewhat fanatical organization to my house. Maybe it is a matter of scale? I'm not sure, although I certainly know that the advantage I have in keeping school and work areas tidy is that I do not have a husband and a three-year old's stuff mixed in to make it more complicated.
And speaking of complicated, today is the day that we are going to have EJ start boxing up toys/clothes to sell or give away. There has been a lot of talk about it---a lot of prepping and story-telling to get her ready---and I hope that it has helped. On the walk to camp this morning, when I reminded her that Grandma and Nana were going to help her sort her things, she seemed quite excited by the prospect of "putting tags on all of my stuff with numbers for money, then putting those things on tables at Nana's house." What she didn't like talking about were her toys, however. She kept insisting, "I don't wear my baby clothes anymore...THAT'S what we can sell, because I don't need those." I suppose I could take the tactic of simply boxing up toys that she hasn't used in ages without her seeing me do it, but honestly, my gut says that there is a lesson in this for her about not holding on too things to closely, so she can make way for new things to come her way. Aside from that, I think it might be more traumatic if, on the day of the sale, she saw toys stacked up that she had forgotten she had, only to be reacquainted with them as strangers were taking them away. Zoinks. That's a tantrum I don't want to be around.
I am not naturally inclined when it comes to cleaning and organizing my home, but I'm hoping this purge will help me to keep things more manageable in the future. Interestingly enough, as cluttered as my dining room table can become, I have always been meticulous when it comes to my school and work spaces---nothing out of place, everything stacked at a straight angle, every file named in a precise fashion with a particular folder awaiting it, everything easy to find, etc. Sadly, I haven't been able to transfer that somewhat fanatical organization to my house. Maybe it is a matter of scale? I'm not sure, although I certainly know that the advantage I have in keeping school and work areas tidy is that I do not have a husband and a three-year old's stuff mixed in to make it more complicated.
And speaking of complicated, today is the day that we are going to have EJ start boxing up toys/clothes to sell or give away. There has been a lot of talk about it---a lot of prepping and story-telling to get her ready---and I hope that it has helped. On the walk to camp this morning, when I reminded her that Grandma and Nana were going to help her sort her things, she seemed quite excited by the prospect of "putting tags on all of my stuff with numbers for money, then putting those things on tables at Nana's house." What she didn't like talking about were her toys, however. She kept insisting, "I don't wear my baby clothes anymore...THAT'S what we can sell, because I don't need those." I suppose I could take the tactic of simply boxing up toys that she hasn't used in ages without her seeing me do it, but honestly, my gut says that there is a lesson in this for her about not holding on too things to closely, so she can make way for new things to come her way. Aside from that, I think it might be more traumatic if, on the day of the sale, she saw toys stacked up that she had forgotten she had, only to be reacquainted with them as strangers were taking them away. Zoinks. That's a tantrum I don't want to be around.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Mommified
A few months ago, I read a great quote from Tina Fey*, one of my favorite writer/actresses, about how you know you are a mom. Here it is, reprinted from this source:
“There are so many things now that I do where I’ll be like, ‘Oh, now I’m a mom. Like when your kid hands you their boogers, and you take it. You’re like, ‘Okay, I’m a mom.’ Or when I find myself getting mad because I’m trying to put underpants on someone who is dancing.”
I certainly felt like I'd officially joined the "Okay, I'm a mom" club when, in May, EJ projectile vomited all over me in a restaurant.** In between the first and second rounds of spew (separated only by seconds, of course), I came to the realization that, yes, it was good that I was acting as a human shield, because I am the mom, that is what we do. Before she got sick, should I have been suspicious when she wanted to get on my lap, bury her head in my chest, and "cuddle" after her meal? Well, maybe. She's your typical squirrelly three-year old, and although she gives a great hug, a restaurant usually provides her with too much stimulation to want to hang out snuggling her parents. No, I wasn't quite up to snuff with my Mom instincts preceding the puke, but once it was flying, I gave it a full body block. Like I said...I'm a mom. That's what we do.
For what it is worth, now when we dine out, I am that mom asking her kid "are you feeling okay?" every time she sets her fork down. I know I'm annoying her, and I'm probably annoying patrons around us, too, but once bitten, twice shy. I may be a fully-initiated mom, but I'm not going to volunteer to wear vomit again soon if I can help it.
If appearance is everything, I had another "gosh, I'm really a mom" moment last night, a moment that nearly shocked me straight to Bloomingdale's at 1:30 in the morning. I had some trouble falling asleep, so I stayed up well past my husband. I didn't want to disturb him fumbling around for my pajamas, so I just slid into bed with my regular clothes on. Within seconds, I was having this dialogue in my head: "Did I put on my pajamas? I swear I didn't. These ARE my clothes, I'm sure of it. Wow, these are as comfortable as pajamas!"
ACK! I'm all for comfort---you won't see me in pointy-toed heels*** any time soon, I don't care what they say on, "What Not To Wear"---but that was ridiculous. I bolted out of bed, quietly scrambled around for jammies, and went to the bathroom to change. I have to draw the "comfortable mom clothes" line somewhere, for goodness sake. I cannot accept the fact that, even though I can dress them up with funky-cool jewelry and fancy accessories, I now walk around in modified pajamas.
The reality is, a lot of being a mom is about the outward stuff---the "mommification" experience. It's not nearly as dramatic (or terminal!) a process as mummification, but it will wrap you up, all the same. In my case, I have found that the layering of material around me---pajama material, mixed with vomit, apparently, not to mention the million assorted items EJ asks me to "hold for [her]" every day---has left me a gauzy shadow of what I used to look like. This may be particularly acute because I do not work in an office setting anymore, and rarely have occasion to dress in an outfit that won't easily allow me to get down on the floor to wipe up spills or play blocks. That said, even with the wrappings of motherhood completely covering me, I am preserved inside. That is the point of mummification, right? To leave the person intact and preserved for their journey to the next plane of existence? That seems about right for mommification, too---it may cover you up for a spell, but it also seems to preserve what is essential to you, so you can journey to the next adventure.
My goals for the summer are three-pronged: relax, organize, and beautify, in that order. My main focus has been on our condo, a home that is literally swimming in piles of clutter due to lack of focus on my part while finishing up graduate school. My mom and mother-in-law**** are coming tomorrow to help me start sorting things for a big rummage sale we hope to have in my hometown later this season. It feels great to have traction in this area of my plan, but until last night, I hadn't thought about taking the time to work that three-pronged attack on my own appearance. Sorting through old clothes to prep for the sale will help, but beyond that, looking for work again may provide a natural shift back to the 9-to-5 office garb I had become accustomed to during my pre-mommification days. I'm keeping some of the comfy clothes though---no one at the park cares if my pants have a drawstring waist, and besides, I need those giant, comfy pockets to house the sunscreen, sand toys, juice boxes, snacks (sometimes sticky and half-eaten), "cannot leave the house without" attachment objects of the moment, found treasures like leaves and rocks and general bramble....the list goes on and on.
--------
*Tina was also one of the writers, during her time at Saturday Night Live, of the "Mom Jeans" commercial. How apropos. I'm not quite there, but I'm retreating from mom-wear just in time, I think.
**We returned to the scene of EJ's vomiting episode rather sheepishly a few weeks later, suspecting they wouldn't be happy to see us. As it turns out, the whole episode helped the restaurant to get a good review on Yelp from Paul, the guy next to us whose jacket was caught up in some of the spray, despite my best efforts to keep all the puke to myself. We paid for his meal, and apparently became southside ambassadors, in the process!
***During my year abroad in Aix-en-Provence, I wore through a few pairs of shoes that I had brought from home. My parents let me splurge in the spring for some new pairs, and I chose a beautiful pair of cherry-brown Italian woven sandals (I still dream of those shoes) and an equally beautiful pair of honey-colored suede, pointy-toed heels. I felt so French in those heels, and they were quite comfortable in the store, but I wore them all of one time in real life. I walked across Aix one afternoon, to head to the Fac d'Economie's computer lab, where they (gasp!) had computers that (gasp!) could send messages to other computers back home (yes, this was my introduction to email back in spring 1994), and I proudly wore my heels for the first time. Fifteen minutes of cobblestone sidewalks later, the backs of my shoes were completely stained with blood---blood gushing from the lacerations at the backs of my ankles, where the cute shoes had done damage on my narrow heels as they clicked in and out of the footwear. I took the shoes off, only to see blood in the toes, as well---that was that warm feeling---with blisters to top it off. I typed my messages home shoeless, and when I went to put the shoes back on, I couldn't jam them onto my swollen, bloodied feet. I walked back barefoot---a terrifying prospect in a town where picking up after your dog is a mild suggestion---and despite many attempts, never got the blood off those shoes. I learned my lesson at twenty---these feet are not made for fashion. The sandals paid off, though---I had them resoled three times before having to let them go around age 27.
****My mom and mother-in-law get along well, and it is as awesome as you might imagine. I am a lucky gal. It should be a great day.
“There are so many things now that I do where I’ll be like, ‘Oh, now I’m a mom. Like when your kid hands you their boogers, and you take it. You’re like, ‘Okay, I’m a mom.’ Or when I find myself getting mad because I’m trying to put underpants on someone who is dancing.”
I certainly felt like I'd officially joined the "Okay, I'm a mom" club when, in May, EJ projectile vomited all over me in a restaurant.** In between the first and second rounds of spew (separated only by seconds, of course), I came to the realization that, yes, it was good that I was acting as a human shield, because I am the mom, that is what we do. Before she got sick, should I have been suspicious when she wanted to get on my lap, bury her head in my chest, and "cuddle" after her meal? Well, maybe. She's your typical squirrelly three-year old, and although she gives a great hug, a restaurant usually provides her with too much stimulation to want to hang out snuggling her parents. No, I wasn't quite up to snuff with my Mom instincts preceding the puke, but once it was flying, I gave it a full body block. Like I said...I'm a mom. That's what we do.
For what it is worth, now when we dine out, I am that mom asking her kid "are you feeling okay?" every time she sets her fork down. I know I'm annoying her, and I'm probably annoying patrons around us, too, but once bitten, twice shy. I may be a fully-initiated mom, but I'm not going to volunteer to wear vomit again soon if I can help it.
If appearance is everything, I had another "gosh, I'm really a mom" moment last night, a moment that nearly shocked me straight to Bloomingdale's at 1:30 in the morning. I had some trouble falling asleep, so I stayed up well past my husband. I didn't want to disturb him fumbling around for my pajamas, so I just slid into bed with my regular clothes on. Within seconds, I was having this dialogue in my head: "Did I put on my pajamas? I swear I didn't. These ARE my clothes, I'm sure of it. Wow, these are as comfortable as pajamas!"
ACK! I'm all for comfort---you won't see me in pointy-toed heels*** any time soon, I don't care what they say on, "What Not To Wear"---but that was ridiculous. I bolted out of bed, quietly scrambled around for jammies, and went to the bathroom to change. I have to draw the "comfortable mom clothes" line somewhere, for goodness sake. I cannot accept the fact that, even though I can dress them up with funky-cool jewelry and fancy accessories, I now walk around in modified pajamas.
The reality is, a lot of being a mom is about the outward stuff---the "mommification" experience. It's not nearly as dramatic (or terminal!) a process as mummification, but it will wrap you up, all the same. In my case, I have found that the layering of material around me---pajama material, mixed with vomit, apparently, not to mention the million assorted items EJ asks me to "hold for [her]" every day---has left me a gauzy shadow of what I used to look like. This may be particularly acute because I do not work in an office setting anymore, and rarely have occasion to dress in an outfit that won't easily allow me to get down on the floor to wipe up spills or play blocks. That said, even with the wrappings of motherhood completely covering me, I am preserved inside. That is the point of mummification, right? To leave the person intact and preserved for their journey to the next plane of existence? That seems about right for mommification, too---it may cover you up for a spell, but it also seems to preserve what is essential to you, so you can journey to the next adventure.
My goals for the summer are three-pronged: relax, organize, and beautify, in that order. My main focus has been on our condo, a home that is literally swimming in piles of clutter due to lack of focus on my part while finishing up graduate school. My mom and mother-in-law**** are coming tomorrow to help me start sorting things for a big rummage sale we hope to have in my hometown later this season. It feels great to have traction in this area of my plan, but until last night, I hadn't thought about taking the time to work that three-pronged attack on my own appearance. Sorting through old clothes to prep for the sale will help, but beyond that, looking for work again may provide a natural shift back to the 9-to-5 office garb I had become accustomed to during my pre-mommification days. I'm keeping some of the comfy clothes though---no one at the park cares if my pants have a drawstring waist, and besides, I need those giant, comfy pockets to house the sunscreen, sand toys, juice boxes, snacks (sometimes sticky and half-eaten), "cannot leave the house without" attachment objects of the moment, found treasures like leaves and rocks and general bramble....the list goes on and on.
--------
*Tina was also one of the writers, during her time at Saturday Night Live, of the "Mom Jeans" commercial. How apropos. I'm not quite there, but I'm retreating from mom-wear just in time, I think.
**We returned to the scene of EJ's vomiting episode rather sheepishly a few weeks later, suspecting they wouldn't be happy to see us. As it turns out, the whole episode helped the restaurant to get a good review on Yelp from Paul, the guy next to us whose jacket was caught up in some of the spray, despite my best efforts to keep all the puke to myself. We paid for his meal, and apparently became southside ambassadors, in the process!
***During my year abroad in Aix-en-Provence, I wore through a few pairs of shoes that I had brought from home. My parents let me splurge in the spring for some new pairs, and I chose a beautiful pair of cherry-brown Italian woven sandals (I still dream of those shoes) and an equally beautiful pair of honey-colored suede, pointy-toed heels. I felt so French in those heels, and they were quite comfortable in the store, but I wore them all of one time in real life. I walked across Aix one afternoon, to head to the Fac d'Economie's computer lab, where they (gasp!) had computers that (gasp!) could send messages to other computers back home (yes, this was my introduction to email back in spring 1994), and I proudly wore my heels for the first time. Fifteen minutes of cobblestone sidewalks later, the backs of my shoes were completely stained with blood---blood gushing from the lacerations at the backs of my ankles, where the cute shoes had done damage on my narrow heels as they clicked in and out of the footwear. I took the shoes off, only to see blood in the toes, as well---that was that warm feeling---with blisters to top it off. I typed my messages home shoeless, and when I went to put the shoes back on, I couldn't jam them onto my swollen, bloodied feet. I walked back barefoot---a terrifying prospect in a town where picking up after your dog is a mild suggestion---and despite many attempts, never got the blood off those shoes. I learned my lesson at twenty---these feet are not made for fashion. The sandals paid off, though---I had them resoled three times before having to let them go around age 27.
****My mom and mother-in-law get along well, and it is as awesome as you might imagine. I am a lucky gal. It should be a great day.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Since Last We Spoke
Summer is here, with sweaty, sticky, sun-drenched days suddenly upon us, after what seemed like the dreariest start of June in a long time. Maybe it was the particularly hard winter this year that made the spring-like feeling of June such a bummer for so many Chicagoans. Whatever the case, that time is over---a switch has been flipped, and the heat is on.
I wasn't too disappointed in the rainy, cool weather, as I was working hard to finish my capstone project, and spending most of my time indoors. The weather seemed to match my mood, actually. On convocation day this Saturday, though, the rain had disappeared, and the warm sun had us sweating under our giant purple, polyester robes. No complaints, though---the day was simply fantastic, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, even with beads of sweat running down my back.
I actually had a sense-memory moment that morning, once I was all dressed up. The heat, the scratchy feel of the fabric, the hat...I had felt these things before. No, it wasn't for my undergraduate convocation at the UW-Madison, although I remember that day being warm, too. I wracked my brain for awhile, then it hit me---MARCHING BAND! Yes, the fabric was an unmistakable match, used not for comfort but for ease of washing and longevity. The hat was the icing on the cake, reminding me of the always-interesting hats (can you say, shako?) we had to wear---hats that, once removed after a parade, always revealed heads of fully-drenched hair. This was not a pretty sight in the eighties, with all our hairspray/mousse/styling gel coiffed heads put into what amounted to little plastic kilns while marching. Sure, our hair looked like we'd just stepped out of the shower when the hat was first taken off, but once dried (usually on the bus ride home), we all looked like we'd styled our hair with a hatchet and a jet-engine.
Yes, a graduation gown is a lot like a loose-fitting marching band outfit, and with the number of years I marched, I felt oddly at home. As we walked over from the library to the auditorium where convocation was to be held, two-by-two, I half-expected to be put into parade rest, then to have chaperones run up with bottles of water to spray on our faces and into our mouths.
It feels almost surreal to be finished with school. Finished. Completely, totally finished. Wow. Everyone keeps telling me that, once I'm done for awhile, I'll wonder how I ever did it in the first place. That hasn't hit me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised. So much has happened in a such a short time, I haven't had time to adjust.
Since we last spoke:
1) I graduated, as mentioned already. Here is some proof. Go, Team Lusignan!
Our Family
I couldn't have done it without my folks---thanks, Mom and Dad!
Me and my sweetie---next in line for the pomp and circumstance, and deserving of a medal for all the support he gave me.
EJ kept asking, "When are you taking pictures with the graduates AND A KID?" She got her wish.
Future Graduate
2) We got rid of the minivan, and replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, thanks to my generous parents. I am SO MUCH HAPPIER tooling around the city in this smaller, more maneuverable, zippy little ride. I'm also happy to report that the car has four-wheel drive, which was hard to live without last winter. The final awesome feature---a remote starter! That's right, in the cold, nasty winter, I can step out onto my porch four stories above our parking lot (provided I snag a space, of course), turn on the car, and let the defrost work its magic. EJ has named the car for us: Bluebell Woodlawn Sally Lightning McQueen Lusignan. Bluebell = our idea. Woodlawn = a street near our house, which EJ likes to read off the road sign. Sally = Lightning McQueen's blue, female friend. Lightning McQueen = Need I say more? When I told EJ that our car wouldn't be red like our old CR-V, hence, she might not want to name it Lightning McQueen after a red car, she said, "Mom, Lightning McQueen is a name, it can be for any color car. It is JUST A NAME, MOM!" (Insert teenage-like look of disgust, plus three-year old exaggerated eye roll.)
3) EJ is going to camp every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. It is fantastic. She goes every day in a swimsuit, plays in the kiddie pools with her school friends, and returns home happy and tired. She also reminds me every day that she wants a SCHOOL party for her birthday, i.e., she wants me to bring cupcakes to camp. Deal.
4) For the first time in 15+ years of testing, I had a clearly elevated TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level in a blood test taken last week. The interesting part: the tests were for a seemingly-unrelated problem, some numbness/cold feeling I've been having in my face. More tests were done following this result, and we'll see what happens. Since every single person on my mom's side of the family has hypothyroidism, and I have had symptoms since my late teens (with blood tests always showing my result to be normal or low-normal function---bad enough to be irritating, but not bad enough to be treatable), I was actually PLEASED to have this test come back with a red flag this time. I've asked for years, what makes this hormone range NORMAL for me, if I am exhibiting so many of the symptoms? Now, with what might be a swollen thyroid causing nerve problems in my neck/face, I may finally qualify for some help.
5) More on health---I have referrals all set up to visit an obesity clinic at Northwestern, as well as to see a GI specialist at U of C who apparently treats obesity for those not seeking bariatric surgery. I also have a referral for the sleep lab, if that ends up being a part of my disease make-up. On deck for next week: get appointments. I also started attending an exercise class last week that meets 3 times a week and has free childcare. Can't beat it. It nearly killed me, but it will get better every time. Thanks to all who have been inquiring about this journey since March. I tried to juggle appointments and follow-up while I was working on my master's project, and I just couldn't do it. I let myself off the hook until I was done, and now am on a mission. As I discovered in my capstone project, all the outside support I can get will help me to see success---it's statistically validated, so it must be true!
6) I discovered sparkling shiraz at our graduation party. Who knew? Is it worth drinking? Oh, yes...yes it is.
I wasn't too disappointed in the rainy, cool weather, as I was working hard to finish my capstone project, and spending most of my time indoors. The weather seemed to match my mood, actually. On convocation day this Saturday, though, the rain had disappeared, and the warm sun had us sweating under our giant purple, polyester robes. No complaints, though---the day was simply fantastic, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, even with beads of sweat running down my back.
I actually had a sense-memory moment that morning, once I was all dressed up. The heat, the scratchy feel of the fabric, the hat...I had felt these things before. No, it wasn't for my undergraduate convocation at the UW-Madison, although I remember that day being warm, too. I wracked my brain for awhile, then it hit me---MARCHING BAND! Yes, the fabric was an unmistakable match, used not for comfort but for ease of washing and longevity. The hat was the icing on the cake, reminding me of the always-interesting hats (can you say, shako?) we had to wear---hats that, once removed after a parade, always revealed heads of fully-drenched hair. This was not a pretty sight in the eighties, with all our hairspray/mousse/styling gel coiffed heads put into what amounted to little plastic kilns while marching. Sure, our hair looked like we'd just stepped out of the shower when the hat was first taken off, but once dried (usually on the bus ride home), we all looked like we'd styled our hair with a hatchet and a jet-engine.
Yes, a graduation gown is a lot like a loose-fitting marching band outfit, and with the number of years I marched, I felt oddly at home. As we walked over from the library to the auditorium where convocation was to be held, two-by-two, I half-expected to be put into parade rest, then to have chaperones run up with bottles of water to spray on our faces and into our mouths.
It feels almost surreal to be finished with school. Finished. Completely, totally finished. Wow. Everyone keeps telling me that, once I'm done for awhile, I'll wonder how I ever did it in the first place. That hasn't hit me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised. So much has happened in a such a short time, I haven't had time to adjust.
Since we last spoke:
1) I graduated, as mentioned already. Here is some proof. Go, Team Lusignan!
Our Family
I couldn't have done it without my folks---thanks, Mom and Dad!
Me and my sweetie---next in line for the pomp and circumstance, and deserving of a medal for all the support he gave me.
EJ kept asking, "When are you taking pictures with the graduates AND A KID?" She got her wish.
Future Graduate
2) We got rid of the minivan, and replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, thanks to my generous parents. I am SO MUCH HAPPIER tooling around the city in this smaller, more maneuverable, zippy little ride. I'm also happy to report that the car has four-wheel drive, which was hard to live without last winter. The final awesome feature---a remote starter! That's right, in the cold, nasty winter, I can step out onto my porch four stories above our parking lot (provided I snag a space, of course), turn on the car, and let the defrost work its magic. EJ has named the car for us: Bluebell Woodlawn Sally Lightning McQueen Lusignan. Bluebell = our idea. Woodlawn = a street near our house, which EJ likes to read off the road sign. Sally = Lightning McQueen's blue, female friend. Lightning McQueen = Need I say more? When I told EJ that our car wouldn't be red like our old CR-V, hence, she might not want to name it Lightning McQueen after a red car, she said, "Mom, Lightning McQueen is a name, it can be for any color car. It is JUST A NAME, MOM!" (Insert teenage-like look of disgust, plus three-year old exaggerated eye roll.)
3) EJ is going to camp every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. It is fantastic. She goes every day in a swimsuit, plays in the kiddie pools with her school friends, and returns home happy and tired. She also reminds me every day that she wants a SCHOOL party for her birthday, i.e., she wants me to bring cupcakes to camp. Deal.
4) For the first time in 15+ years of testing, I had a clearly elevated TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level in a blood test taken last week. The interesting part: the tests were for a seemingly-unrelated problem, some numbness/cold feeling I've been having in my face. More tests were done following this result, and we'll see what happens. Since every single person on my mom's side of the family has hypothyroidism, and I have had symptoms since my late teens (with blood tests always showing my result to be normal or low-normal function---bad enough to be irritating, but not bad enough to be treatable), I was actually PLEASED to have this test come back with a red flag this time. I've asked for years, what makes this hormone range NORMAL for me, if I am exhibiting so many of the symptoms? Now, with what might be a swollen thyroid causing nerve problems in my neck/face, I may finally qualify for some help.
5) More on health---I have referrals all set up to visit an obesity clinic at Northwestern, as well as to see a GI specialist at U of C who apparently treats obesity for those not seeking bariatric surgery. I also have a referral for the sleep lab, if that ends up being a part of my disease make-up. On deck for next week: get appointments. I also started attending an exercise class last week that meets 3 times a week and has free childcare. Can't beat it. It nearly killed me, but it will get better every time. Thanks to all who have been inquiring about this journey since March. I tried to juggle appointments and follow-up while I was working on my master's project, and I just couldn't do it. I let myself off the hook until I was done, and now am on a mission. As I discovered in my capstone project, all the outside support I can get will help me to see success---it's statistically validated, so it must be true!
6) I discovered sparkling shiraz at our graduation party. Who knew? Is it worth drinking? Oh, yes...yes it is.
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Transition
It was a big week last week---EJ finished up her first year of preschool, I handed in my capstone, and the whole family took a collective sigh of relief as the beginning of a less stressful summer than we've had in years spread out in front of us.
That sense of relief was not instantaneous, though. Ending school was hard for EJ, who was very cognizant of the fact that she would soon be missing her friends. The whole week before the end, as her teachers talked to the class about kindergarten so the older kids would be more ready, EJ became more and more resolute that she, too, should go to kindergarten with them next year. She was not happy when we told her that she had to wait an entire year.
Then there was the tantrumming, about everything and nothing, both at home and at school. For example, after a few nice, sunny, warm days, we had a bit of a cold snap. Unfortunately, EJ had gotten attached to wearing sundresses to school, and did not like my insistence one morning that she wear a long-sleeved dress with matching leggings. She threw a really nice fit, which I ignored, so she escalated her tactics. When finally faced with the reality that wearing a long-sleeved dress=go to school, while not wearing long-sleeves=stay home, watch Mommy work, she relented. Of course, getting out the door dressed appropriately wasn't the end of the story. All the way to school, she scowled at me, saying things like, "I'm going to tell everyone that you hurted my feelings!" and "You like this dress but my friends WILL NOT like it and I will not talk to them about it AT ALL." The final charmer: "I am not going to smile ALL DAY." I told her that if she wasn't going to smile, I might as well drop her off at some boring queue, like at the bank or the cable company. I still have nightmares about having to wait in line for a new cable box with her as a toddler---shutter, shutter, no smiles there. Even in long sleeves, though, utility companies did not interest her. Her response: an eye roll and a loud, "I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE CABLE COMPANY! NO!" Good choice.
Her teachers told me that she was getting wrangled about all kinds of things, but that all the kids were wound up, so it was par for the course. They sent out a lovely note about how kids may act differently, sometimes horribly, during big changes, and that we should just watch for it and try to talk them through their feelings. We kept our eyes open for emotional flare-ups, and all made it through the week, which capped off with a party/"goodbye ceremony" at nursery school on Friday. My folks came down for the event, which made EJ so happy she could barely contain herself. She was sitting in the front row, and kept turning around to smile and explain things to Nana and Papa.
Interestingly enough, though, at the ceremony, the director of the program spoke about how hard change is, but how it is just part of life and we all have to just learn to go with it and smile/be happy/get over it/etc. Fair enough, I guess, although I really don't buy that.
Sure, change happens, and we have to accept it. Sometimes embracing it is the way to go right from the start. But change isn't what gets everyone upset, per se. According to William Bridges, it is transition, the psychological reaction to change, that takes time to work through. Grad school friends know how much I "heart" Bridges---all of us seem to have found models or concepts that resonated the most for us during school, and for me, Bridges' transition model is way at the top of the list. According to Bridges, while change may happen in a more finite way---you move, you finish a school year, you have a baby---transition evolves from that change---you learn your new neighborhood, you make a summer schedule, you get used to the daily work and identity shift of being a parent.
Transition always starts with an ending---a grieving period, a time to make note of what is now over, and to honor that past. So many people don't take time to feel these feelings when change comes, because they want to get on with it, deal with the change, etc. This is particularly true when change is positive---who would suspect that getting a promotion, for example, would come with some loss, but ask most people who have been moved up the ladder, and they'll tell you they miss things like coffee with colleagues, autonomy without responsibility for others, even details like the place that they used to sit in the office.
So, it is not surprising, the night before I go to defend my capstone, during the week between EJ's nursery school end and the beginning of her summer camp, when the days are long and unscheduled and ambiguous, that I feel like I'm in that ending stage. Of course, I am relieved about moving forward, and especially happy to be done with late-night homework and juggling of school and parenting. That said, I will miss the built-in intellectual stimulation to my day. I'll miss the feeling of expertise that comes with working on a project for this long---I'll still know my stuff, but I certainly won't be thinking about it often. Most of all, I'll miss the friends. This change has already been felt, as my last year of school, working on my capstone without many classes to attend, has been largely solitary. I miss having a built-in reason to see smart, funny, interesting people who care about many of the same things I care about. Sure, we'll keep in touch online, and some of us will get together socially on occasion, but it just isn't the same, there is no getting around it.
I'll miss the friends at preschool, too---the other moms and dads and caregivers and teachers I've gotten to know and enjoy so much. If I'm going to miss adults I see only a few minutes a day, I can't imagine how much EJ is going to miss her friends. Thankfully, with the extra time I'll have this summer, I can be more diligent about planning playdates, something I typically fail at, miserably. Also a plus: camp is at her school, and a handful of her favorite girls will be in it, too, so both of us will have more of our routine returned, at least for a few weeks.
With transition, not change, in mind, all of the three-year old acting out makes perfect sense. Without the conceptual understanding of an ending (i.e., she will not go to school with this group of kids ever again), the ending stage of transition must be particularly hard for EJ to work out. I'm privileged to get the opportunity to navigate through it with her, to help her put words to her feelings, and to figure out some activities that honor the happy memories she has from this year.
There are only two more stages of transition, according to Bridges---the neutral zone, and the new beginning. I'm not jumping ahead, though. I've learned from experience that, if I work on this ending, I'll be in the neutral zone before I know it, sorting out what our new patterns and routines will be, and testing out what works and what doesn't. Until then, we're just living in the moment, taking the feelings (and tantrums) as they come, and thoughtfully letting go of school to make way for new adventures.
That sense of relief was not instantaneous, though. Ending school was hard for EJ, who was very cognizant of the fact that she would soon be missing her friends. The whole week before the end, as her teachers talked to the class about kindergarten so the older kids would be more ready, EJ became more and more resolute that she, too, should go to kindergarten with them next year. She was not happy when we told her that she had to wait an entire year.
Then there was the tantrumming, about everything and nothing, both at home and at school. For example, after a few nice, sunny, warm days, we had a bit of a cold snap. Unfortunately, EJ had gotten attached to wearing sundresses to school, and did not like my insistence one morning that she wear a long-sleeved dress with matching leggings. She threw a really nice fit, which I ignored, so she escalated her tactics. When finally faced with the reality that wearing a long-sleeved dress=go to school, while not wearing long-sleeves=stay home, watch Mommy work, she relented. Of course, getting out the door dressed appropriately wasn't the end of the story. All the way to school, she scowled at me, saying things like, "I'm going to tell everyone that you hurted my feelings!" and "You like this dress but my friends WILL NOT like it and I will not talk to them about it AT ALL." The final charmer: "I am not going to smile ALL DAY." I told her that if she wasn't going to smile, I might as well drop her off at some boring queue, like at the bank or the cable company. I still have nightmares about having to wait in line for a new cable box with her as a toddler---shutter, shutter, no smiles there. Even in long sleeves, though, utility companies did not interest her. Her response: an eye roll and a loud, "I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE CABLE COMPANY! NO!" Good choice.
Her teachers told me that she was getting wrangled about all kinds of things, but that all the kids were wound up, so it was par for the course. They sent out a lovely note about how kids may act differently, sometimes horribly, during big changes, and that we should just watch for it and try to talk them through their feelings. We kept our eyes open for emotional flare-ups, and all made it through the week, which capped off with a party/"goodbye ceremony" at nursery school on Friday. My folks came down for the event, which made EJ so happy she could barely contain herself. She was sitting in the front row, and kept turning around to smile and explain things to Nana and Papa.
Interestingly enough, though, at the ceremony, the director of the program spoke about how hard change is, but how it is just part of life and we all have to just learn to go with it and smile/be happy/get over it/etc. Fair enough, I guess, although I really don't buy that.
Sure, change happens, and we have to accept it. Sometimes embracing it is the way to go right from the start. But change isn't what gets everyone upset, per se. According to William Bridges, it is transition, the psychological reaction to change, that takes time to work through. Grad school friends know how much I "heart" Bridges---all of us seem to have found models or concepts that resonated the most for us during school, and for me, Bridges' transition model is way at the top of the list. According to Bridges, while change may happen in a more finite way---you move, you finish a school year, you have a baby---transition evolves from that change---you learn your new neighborhood, you make a summer schedule, you get used to the daily work and identity shift of being a parent.
Transition always starts with an ending---a grieving period, a time to make note of what is now over, and to honor that past. So many people don't take time to feel these feelings when change comes, because they want to get on with it, deal with the change, etc. This is particularly true when change is positive---who would suspect that getting a promotion, for example, would come with some loss, but ask most people who have been moved up the ladder, and they'll tell you they miss things like coffee with colleagues, autonomy without responsibility for others, even details like the place that they used to sit in the office.
So, it is not surprising, the night before I go to defend my capstone, during the week between EJ's nursery school end and the beginning of her summer camp, when the days are long and unscheduled and ambiguous, that I feel like I'm in that ending stage. Of course, I am relieved about moving forward, and especially happy to be done with late-night homework and juggling of school and parenting. That said, I will miss the built-in intellectual stimulation to my day. I'll miss the feeling of expertise that comes with working on a project for this long---I'll still know my stuff, but I certainly won't be thinking about it often. Most of all, I'll miss the friends. This change has already been felt, as my last year of school, working on my capstone without many classes to attend, has been largely solitary. I miss having a built-in reason to see smart, funny, interesting people who care about many of the same things I care about. Sure, we'll keep in touch online, and some of us will get together socially on occasion, but it just isn't the same, there is no getting around it.
I'll miss the friends at preschool, too---the other moms and dads and caregivers and teachers I've gotten to know and enjoy so much. If I'm going to miss adults I see only a few minutes a day, I can't imagine how much EJ is going to miss her friends. Thankfully, with the extra time I'll have this summer, I can be more diligent about planning playdates, something I typically fail at, miserably. Also a plus: camp is at her school, and a handful of her favorite girls will be in it, too, so both of us will have more of our routine returned, at least for a few weeks.
With transition, not change, in mind, all of the three-year old acting out makes perfect sense. Without the conceptual understanding of an ending (i.e., she will not go to school with this group of kids ever again), the ending stage of transition must be particularly hard for EJ to work out. I'm privileged to get the opportunity to navigate through it with her, to help her put words to her feelings, and to figure out some activities that honor the happy memories she has from this year.
There are only two more stages of transition, according to Bridges---the neutral zone, and the new beginning. I'm not jumping ahead, though. I've learned from experience that, if I work on this ending, I'll be in the neutral zone before I know it, sorting out what our new patterns and routines will be, and testing out what works and what doesn't. Until then, we're just living in the moment, taking the feelings (and tantrums) as they come, and thoughtfully letting go of school to make way for new adventures.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
They Call It R-E-A-D-I-N-G
There is simply no denying it anymore. Beyond the bedtime stories and hours spent on our laps with her books, there are so many other markers. The road signs. The take-out menus. The TV guide as we scroll looking for shows. Her requests for us to leave some books out for her after we put her to bed, so she "can read them as soon as [we] are gone." EJ, exactly two months shy of her fourth birthday, is a proficient reader. We had just begun to believe it in March, but now, there is no doubt.
She has attended several birthday parties lately, and has loved them all. Since her friend, Nutmeg, turned five and she received a thank you note in the mail, she has looked forward to her note almost as much as the party itself. I remember thinking mail addressed just for me was magical as a kid, and the fact that EJ can (in general) read the mail that comes for her makes it all the more exciting.
In the past week, she has received two thank you notes in her cubby at school for back-to-back birthday parties she attended last Saturday. As soon as I arrived to pick her up, she asked me to open the notes up, and she tore through them with great delight. With the exception of one or two words (i.e., Tonka, would), EJ read the following notes completely by herself.
Dearest EJ,
Thank you so much for coming to Antonio's birthday party and for the AWESOME Tonka Trucks! We loved them, and we loved your home made birthday card too!
With love,
Antonio and Family
Dear EJ -
I loved the glitter kit you got me for my birthday. Thank you for coming to my party & making my birthday so special! It would not have been a great party without you.
Love,
Belle
I can't make this stuff up. Of course, I'm proud of her, but really, I'm more flabbergasted than anything. We have always told her about letters and phonics and such when she has asked or it has been part of some fun game we are playing, but really, truly, we have not "prompted" reading or worked on it in any deliberate way. She's just picking this stuff up, which I guess was also the case for her dad, a very early reader.
It falls in line with other milestones she has hit lately, including an ability to solve line mazes on her own (two today while at lunch at Leona's), or the way she can now conceptualize her own thinking about things. The other day, for example, while we were up in Kenosha visiting my folks, I told her that if she took a nap, it would seem like her daddy's train arrived even faster, because she wouldn't be paying attention to the clock while she slept. She asked me if her sleeping would make the train move faster, and when I explained that it wouldn't actually go faster, it would just feel like the time went quicker to her, like magic, she replied, knowingly, "Oh, I've got it. The magic is in my head. I will think it goes faster in my own head."
As I've heard stories about my childhood or Mike's, I've often wondered how much of the developmental stuff is on target, not because my mom or my mother-in-law would fabricate details, but primarily because things move so fast, it is really hard to keep track of it all. I'm making note of this reading feat now, in this blog, for all to read, so someday, I will believe myself when people ask when EJ started really reading well and I say, "Three."
She has attended several birthday parties lately, and has loved them all. Since her friend, Nutmeg, turned five and she received a thank you note in the mail, she has looked forward to her note almost as much as the party itself. I remember thinking mail addressed just for me was magical as a kid, and the fact that EJ can (in general) read the mail that comes for her makes it all the more exciting.
In the past week, she has received two thank you notes in her cubby at school for back-to-back birthday parties she attended last Saturday. As soon as I arrived to pick her up, she asked me to open the notes up, and she tore through them with great delight. With the exception of one or two words (i.e., Tonka, would), EJ read the following notes completely by herself.
Dearest EJ,
Thank you so much for coming to Antonio's birthday party and for the AWESOME Tonka Trucks! We loved them, and we loved your home made birthday card too!
With love,
Antonio and Family
Dear EJ -
I loved the glitter kit you got me for my birthday. Thank you for coming to my party & making my birthday so special! It would not have been a great party without you.
Love,
Belle
I can't make this stuff up. Of course, I'm proud of her, but really, I'm more flabbergasted than anything. We have always told her about letters and phonics and such when she has asked or it has been part of some fun game we are playing, but really, truly, we have not "prompted" reading or worked on it in any deliberate way. She's just picking this stuff up, which I guess was also the case for her dad, a very early reader.
It falls in line with other milestones she has hit lately, including an ability to solve line mazes on her own (two today while at lunch at Leona's), or the way she can now conceptualize her own thinking about things. The other day, for example, while we were up in Kenosha visiting my folks, I told her that if she took a nap, it would seem like her daddy's train arrived even faster, because she wouldn't be paying attention to the clock while she slept. She asked me if her sleeping would make the train move faster, and when I explained that it wouldn't actually go faster, it would just feel like the time went quicker to her, like magic, she replied, knowingly, "Oh, I've got it. The magic is in my head. I will think it goes faster in my own head."
As I've heard stories about my childhood or Mike's, I've often wondered how much of the developmental stuff is on target, not because my mom or my mother-in-law would fabricate details, but primarily because things move so fast, it is really hard to keep track of it all. I'm making note of this reading feat now, in this blog, for all to read, so someday, I will believe myself when people ask when EJ started really reading well and I say, "Three."
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