As EJ told her teacher at camp this morning, "I had a rough morning already, Miss Laura." I didn't disagree. Sometimes, it is just tough being four, which means it is also tough being a four year old's mom.
Despite my status as hero last night when I let her go to bed in her new Tinkerbell dress-up outfit (snuggled with her Build-a-Bear bunny rabbit dressed in a matching Tinkerbell outfit, of course), I quickly fell from grace this morning when I insisted that she wear an adorable blue swimsuit to school instead of her adorable pink swimsuit. Maybe I'm just unreasonable, but when a suit has been worn two days in a row to camp, and has come home so dirty with sand and mud that it is no longer technically pink, I think it is time to pick a new suit for the day.
Did I not realize that she LOVES PINK and now HATES BLUE? Yes, she HATES it. She's been playing with the word "hate" a lot, and I have been spending a good amount of time trying to extinguish it. It is exhausting, and if I could say "I HATE trying to teach you not to say HATE!" without modeling that word, I would.
Then, to add to her dissatisfaction with my mothering---have I mentioned that when she gets upset she calls me MOTHER, as in "Yes, MOTHER, I will put on my pajamas."---I made her pick up all of her brand new Barbie clothes and accessories before she was allowed to leave for camp. She went from zero Barbies to three this birthday, and we now spend hours every day dressing and redressing these dolls. So, as she picked up tiny, tiny boots and tiny, tiny swimsuits and tiny, tiny purses, she muttered to herself how frustrated she was at her MOTHER.
Sigh.
I had to discipline her for talking back. I had to discipline her for not doing what she was told. I had to discipline her for acting out. It was a rotten start for both of us.
By the end, she was just sobbing. She threw herself into my arms and said, "Mom, you have broken my feelings! They are just breaking, I am so sad and mad at you." As frustrated as I was with all of her behavior, I was so glad that she could tell me how she was feeling, and come to me for comfort. I hugged her and held her, we did some big, deep breaths together, and as she calmed down, she declared what I always remind her: "Even when I'm mad, I still love you." I told her I always love her, too, and we packed up for camp, 30 minutes late, but no longer teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff.
When I took her out of the car, she said, "Mom, I am still a little upset, but I love you a lot." Good enough.
I can't say I'm not stealing myself for our afternoon together---I leave in a few minutes to pick her up from camp---but a plan to make zucchini muffins together will hopefully be enough to sail us through peacefully, at least until her daddy gets home from work. "Four years old" is going to be an interesting year.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Four Years Old
Today, EJ turned four. I'd say that I can't believe that four years have gone by so quickly, but when I look at this kid of ours---this kid that attacks the world like a mini-adult---I can't believe she isn't ten. The difference between age three and age four is particularly significant: last year, potty training was still in the trenches, this year she is a pro, last year she had a few playground friends, this year she has a year of preschool under her belt and a slew of favorite friends in her life, last year, she was flipping through the alphabet and spelling her name, and this year, she is reading so well that you can hand her greeting cards and chapter books and menus and she will plow right through. She's such a joy, such a challenge, such an experience...we are very lucky.
When I think of my start as EJ's mom four years ago...the bad, bad birth, the months of lingering melancholy that never got treated appropriately as post-partum depression (but sure knocked me out), the terrible nursing struggle, the feelings of loneliness and failure and worst of all, fear, I just want to wrap that poor new mommy up and and hold her tight and say,
"Oh, my goodness, it will get so much better. You will bond with this baby---you don't think it will happen, but I promise, it really will. You will love her more than you can imagine. You will learn from her everyday. You will feel hopeful and happy and will even laugh at the hysterical process that is parenting an imaginative, expressive child. Before you know it, you will be delighting in your daughter's request for an 'all-girls, drop-off, movie birthday party' and a dinner at 'the dipping restaurant' (aka fondue). You will love this, and you will forget so much of the painful birth and first year. You won't forget it all, but you won't need to, because it will really, really be okay. You will be better than okay---you will be her mom."
Then I'd pull out the online photo album, and show that gal this:
Birth
First Birthday
Second Birthday
Third Birthday
Fourth Birthday
When I think of my start as EJ's mom four years ago...the bad, bad birth, the months of lingering melancholy that never got treated appropriately as post-partum depression (but sure knocked me out), the terrible nursing struggle, the feelings of loneliness and failure and worst of all, fear, I just want to wrap that poor new mommy up and and hold her tight and say,
"Oh, my goodness, it will get so much better. You will bond with this baby---you don't think it will happen, but I promise, it really will. You will love her more than you can imagine. You will learn from her everyday. You will feel hopeful and happy and will even laugh at the hysterical process that is parenting an imaginative, expressive child. Before you know it, you will be delighting in your daughter's request for an 'all-girls, drop-off, movie birthday party' and a dinner at 'the dipping restaurant' (aka fondue). You will love this, and you will forget so much of the painful birth and first year. You won't forget it all, but you won't need to, because it will really, really be okay. You will be better than okay---you will be her mom."
Then I'd pull out the online photo album, and show that gal this:
Birth
First Birthday
Second Birthday
Third Birthday
Fourth Birthday
Friday, July 10, 2009
Three Going on Thirteen
Early this morning, starting at around 4:00 a.m., I was woken by my very awake daughter. Apparently, she had seen flashing lights outside her window (entirely plausible with her view of the alley that leads right to the President's house), and she wanted to come sleep in our bed. My sleep hasn't been so great lately, so I said that coming into bed with us wasn't an option. For a thunderstorm or a cold or something actually disturbing, she is welcome, but for early-morning "let's see if I can get Mom up to play with me," I don't think so.
She did not want to go back to her bed, so I said she was welcome to camp out on our floor until "wake-up" time. We went to her room, grabbed a pillow and blanket, got her set-up on the rug at the foot of our bed, and I fell back asleep, thinking that we might have a winning plan.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
She woke me again at 4:37 a.m., then at 5:16 a.m. Was that all? NO! "Mama, can we get up now?" was heard at 6:09 a.m., followed by an impatient, "Are you getting out of bed to stay up soon?" at 6:30 a.m. She managed to try to cajole me out of bed one more time at 7:17 a.m. before my husband rose for the day and got her out of the room for some cereal and an episode of some show on PBS Kids. As soon as he was up, I fell into a deep sleep---the kind that comes only when your subconscious mind believes that you won't be woken again because your dear, sweet spouse is sparing you the agony---but was startled out of a dream roughly 20 minutes later, when he was kissing me goodbye for the day and I was on the clock.
Grrr. Not. Enough. Coffee. In. This. World. Grrr.
I'm not going to lie, I got her settled with another television show in the background, took my thyroid medicine (trying to get used to taking it every morning first thing as directed, as you aren't supposed to eat for 30 minutes afterward), then conked out on the couch, half in and half out of consciousness, for the next 25 minutes. Who wins the gold medal for parenting? Oh, yeah, it is me, big time. If I have one word of hope to parents of newborns, it is this---when they get bigger, you might be able to take a catnap in front of them without them burning down the house---maybe. Having Martha Speaks on in the background won't hurt.
While we both survived the morning, we are certainly a tired crew here, and EJ's behavior is becoming more and more indicative of a kid that has been up for eight hours+ before lunch (and for what it's worth, I've been acting like a tired kid from the get-go.) So, when I told the wee one at noon that, yes, we are going to take a much-needed nap on this rainy afternoon and no, I would not be listening to any whining or hysterics or protestations about it, it was a done deal, she seemed to take it in stride. It was a few moments later, though, when the reality of a nap had sunk in for her as I was grilling her ham and cheese sandwich, that I was treated to this exchange.
EJ: "Mom, you are ruining my life."
Me: "WHAT? Could you repeat that?"
EJ: "I think that you are ruining my life, Mom."
Me: "Really? That is not a very nice thing to say, kiddo. Do you know what that means?"
EJ: "Yes."
Me: "Okay, fill me in. How am I ruining your life?"
EJ: "You are saying, 'We are taking a nap and you can't say no,' and I think that is sad and horrible. That is how you are ruining my life, with that nap."
Me: "Ah. Well, good to know."
EJ: "Is that sandwich getting grilly?"
Me: "Yep. Should be done soon...at least before I ruin your life."
EJ: "Oh, Mama, you aren't really ruining my life. Can I have some more delicious lemonade? It is SO DELICIOUS, really, Mama, it just is."
I just can't make this stuff up. I guess when you are eleven days shy of your fourth birthday, your life can be easily ruined (by naps) and easily rescued (by grilled ham and cheese and lemonade). Three going on thirteen is probably more apt, given her expressive vocabulary, and I've already given her some fodder for future therapy. Good thing I'm writing it all down---should be easier for her therapist to connect the dots, if nothing else. EJ's connecting the dots, too, or at least making some. While I was writing this post, she made me this picture, which she says is "All the candy for YOU, Mama, because I love you!"
She did not want to go back to her bed, so I said she was welcome to camp out on our floor until "wake-up" time. We went to her room, grabbed a pillow and blanket, got her set-up on the rug at the foot of our bed, and I fell back asleep, thinking that we might have a winning plan.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
She woke me again at 4:37 a.m., then at 5:16 a.m. Was that all? NO! "Mama, can we get up now?" was heard at 6:09 a.m., followed by an impatient, "Are you getting out of bed to stay up soon?" at 6:30 a.m. She managed to try to cajole me out of bed one more time at 7:17 a.m. before my husband rose for the day and got her out of the room for some cereal and an episode of some show on PBS Kids. As soon as he was up, I fell into a deep sleep---the kind that comes only when your subconscious mind believes that you won't be woken again because your dear, sweet spouse is sparing you the agony---but was startled out of a dream roughly 20 minutes later, when he was kissing me goodbye for the day and I was on the clock.
Grrr. Not. Enough. Coffee. In. This. World. Grrr.
I'm not going to lie, I got her settled with another television show in the background, took my thyroid medicine (trying to get used to taking it every morning first thing as directed, as you aren't supposed to eat for 30 minutes afterward), then conked out on the couch, half in and half out of consciousness, for the next 25 minutes. Who wins the gold medal for parenting? Oh, yeah, it is me, big time. If I have one word of hope to parents of newborns, it is this---when they get bigger, you might be able to take a catnap in front of them without them burning down the house---maybe. Having Martha Speaks on in the background won't hurt.
While we both survived the morning, we are certainly a tired crew here, and EJ's behavior is becoming more and more indicative of a kid that has been up for eight hours+ before lunch (and for what it's worth, I've been acting like a tired kid from the get-go.) So, when I told the wee one at noon that, yes, we are going to take a much-needed nap on this rainy afternoon and no, I would not be listening to any whining or hysterics or protestations about it, it was a done deal, she seemed to take it in stride. It was a few moments later, though, when the reality of a nap had sunk in for her as I was grilling her ham and cheese sandwich, that I was treated to this exchange.
EJ: "Mom, you are ruining my life."
Me: "WHAT? Could you repeat that?"
EJ: "I think that you are ruining my life, Mom."
Me: "Really? That is not a very nice thing to say, kiddo. Do you know what that means?"
EJ: "Yes."
Me: "Okay, fill me in. How am I ruining your life?"
EJ: "You are saying, 'We are taking a nap and you can't say no,' and I think that is sad and horrible. That is how you are ruining my life, with that nap."
Me: "Ah. Well, good to know."
EJ: "Is that sandwich getting grilly?"
Me: "Yep. Should be done soon...at least before I ruin your life."
EJ: "Oh, Mama, you aren't really ruining my life. Can I have some more delicious lemonade? It is SO DELICIOUS, really, Mama, it just is."
I just can't make this stuff up. I guess when you are eleven days shy of your fourth birthday, your life can be easily ruined (by naps) and easily rescued (by grilled ham and cheese and lemonade). Three going on thirteen is probably more apt, given her expressive vocabulary, and I've already given her some fodder for future therapy. Good thing I'm writing it all down---should be easier for her therapist to connect the dots, if nothing else. EJ's connecting the dots, too, or at least making some. While I was writing this post, she made me this picture, which she says is "All the candy for YOU, Mama, because I love you!"
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Not the Mama
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
