6 1/2

These two might be the fastest aging children the world has ever known.

And now this...

Poor Anna.  At least it's only at night.

Mrs. Wachs

Anna has decided she has a spy alter-ego.  

She said, "Please call me Mrs. Wachs."  

I said, "Isn't Mrs. Wachs your librarian at school?"  

"Yes," she said, "But I like the name for a spy.  It's mysterious."

Time will tell... when it's too late

I read the sheet she'd given me, and I shook my head a little.  I found her instructions endearing, despite being completely unnecessary.  And it wasn't her who I was shaking my head at, it was myself.  I felt embarrassed.  But, how was I to know?

I love babies.  I really can't get enough of them.  If they didn't grow up into school-age kids who I still love but find much more challenging to care for, and if it wasn't for my husband, I might have nearly a dozen babies.  But, because they do grow up, and because I'd like my husband to stick around, we capped the number of our own children at four.

The love of babies and the knowledge that there'd be no more of my own made me want to offer to care for a teacher's baby when she went back to work last year.  But, I was worried.  New moms are a little crazy.  Was I prepared to deal with the mother's worries and demands?  But, I really liked the mom and I thought we could make it work, so I took the chance.

And, to my astonishment, she was completely easy-going.  She trusted me to make my own judgement calls on the baby's care and had very few requests at all.

I chalked it up to the mother being a remarkable person, an exception to the rule.

Then this year, I agreed to watch another baby.  This mother is more like me, very organized, kind of particular.  But, again, this mother is really easy going.

It occurred to me that there was a chance that new moms weren't all crazy.  There was a small chance... a really small chance, of course... that I was just exceptionally crazy.

I remembered the three pages of type-written instructions I sent with our first dog when I left him with friends for the weekend.  They included a half page of hand-drawn illustrations detailing step-by-step how to put on the dog seatbelt I'd included in one of the three bags of supplies I'd brought them.  I shuddered.

Then, when going through some of the memories I saved when Kate was a baby, I find pages and pages of instructions.  And, I never left her for more than a few hours.  The instructions detailed everything, including what nicknames we called certain books and what exactly we said when we left her in her crib.

One of the pages had hung in our own house.  It was entitled, "What to do if Kate is uncooperative or not listening."  It lay out the entire Love and Logic procedure for a bedroom time (time out).  I'd made this when Kate was 9 months old.  And, since we had no child care, I made this for Dave and myself.  This sign got hung next to the baby sign language posters I'd made, laminated, and hung next to every place we did an activity.  The sign for "change" hung above the changing table.  The signs for "eat," "drink," "more," and "all done" were in the kitchen.  The sign for "play" next to her toys.

I realize only now how unnecessary all these things were.  The people who watched Kate (and our dog) were perfectly capable of coming up with ways of doing things and Kate would survive any small changes in how routines were done.  And, Dave and I were also capable of surviving on a day to day basis without reminders of what I'd determined to be the ideal ways of doing things.  Although I realize it now, it's over ten years too late to change the ridiculous things I did.

So, today when I was watching a 13-month-old and the mom typed up a sheet, I respectfully read it over twice (and I was impressed it was only one page long).  I smiled a little that she detailed how long to microwave each of the foods, and I smiled again when she explained exactly what words I could use to ask if the baby was all done with her food.  But, I smiled with love and understanding.  And I prayed a little prayer that maybe the people I left my dog and children with had shown me the same understanding.

Sweet Kate

Anna got her braces on Tuesday.  She had been really worried for weeks and she was in pain when she got home.  She kept asking if the tooth fairy would come.  Dave told her, no, that the tooth fairy doesn't come for braces, but I was wavering. 

 Then Kate informed me she was going to take care of it.  

When Anna woke up the next morning, she found $2, a Kit Kat, and this note.

Barbecue and Hollandaise

Luke finally began to eat chicken a couple years ago when Dave introduced him to Sweet Baby Ray's Barbecue sauce.  Instead of calling it barbecue sauce or Sweet Baby Ray's, my kids all call it what it says on the bottle, "The Sauce is the Boss."

When I put chicken on the table for dinner, someone will ask, "Can I get out the Sauce is the Boss?"  When I made a full fledged Turkey Dinner a couple weeks ago, Luke grabbed the bottle from the fridge.

Tonight I was making a butternut squash Brussels sprouts hash.  Since it's not the kids' number one meal, I decided to make skillet fried potatoes to go with it, so they'd have something they liked.  As a treat for Dave and myself, I decided to make hollandaise sauce.  I hadn't made it for the kids before, and they were asking me about it.  "It's the best sauce ever."  Then I joked, "This sauce is the boss of the boss!"

"No, Mommy," they said, "The Sauce is the Boss is the boss."

"I know it is," I told them, continuing to joke around, "But this sauce is the boss of the boss."

"No," Ally argued, "the boss doesn't have a boss."

I just smiled and said, "You'll see."

When we were sitting down for dinner, I was serving the kids all their food with a side of sauce and Luke said, "So... The Sauce is the Boss is actually second in command?"

Finley and Ally

Ally is a sensitive soul.  

Thank goodness for Finley.  

She can let Ally's ire roll off her back 

and come right back to give comfort whenever its needed.

Call mom

I was trimming Luke's nails and began feeling sentimental.  His feet are still so little.  Kate has started trimming her own nails, and before I know it, all the kids will be.  It's not that I love the way the toe nails occasionally fly up and hit me in the face, but someday they will leave the house and barely need me at all.

"Luke," I said, sentimentally, "when you're big, will you still be my buddy?"

"Mm hm!" he said with a big smile.

I pressed on, "Will you call me a lot and tell me what's going on?"

My always pragmatic little guy proposed, "How about Saturdays?"

It felt like a little punch in my sentimental gut, "Just once a week?"

I know I was being ridiculous.  He's six, and more than that, he's right.  Once a week is probably generous.  But, can't we just... at least for now... pretend that even as an adult he'll have an overwhelming desire to talk to his mommy several times every week?

An hour or so later Luke, Anna, and Ally were all playing while I worked in the kitchen.  Out of nowhere Luke yelled from the living room, "Mommy, I'll call you on Saturdays, Sundays, and Wednesdays, okay?"

Since I was feeling less insane, I lightly replied, "That sounds great, Buddy!"

I heard Anna tell Luke, "That's not a lot.  I'll call mom every day!"

I tried not to wonder how many of those times she'll be asking for money.

Luke walked into the kitchen with this consolation, "Okay, Mommy, if it's a Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, or Friday, you can still call me if it's really important."

"Thanks, Buddy," I said, shaking my head and laughing a little.

Then Ally yelled, "Mommy! I don't know how to use a phone."

Letter from Trump

Shortly after the election, Anna wrote to Donald Trump.  In her egocentric and optimistic way, she was certain it would just take someone telling him what's what to get him in line.

I don't have her optimism, but it's pretty cool that she got this letter back.


Addendum:  The letter was hanging on the refrigerator and Luke was reading it.  He read aloud, "Donald J. Trump."  Then he said to me, "Mommy, this is a joke.  I think Donald Trump's middle name is Jupiter."  Then he snickered at himself.

Not always one to have good restraint, I said, "You think so?  I thought it might be Jerk."

My comment didn't phase him.  He said, "No, Mommy.  Get it?  Jupiter?  It's a joke."

My sweet kids

At the end of one of Ally's assigned reading books there was a "Goldilocks and the Three Bears" play.  She asked Luke and me what parts we wanted to read.  I told her she could decide.  She gave Luke the narrator part and took the part of Goldilocks.  I was assigned Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and Baby Bear.

Luke had the bulk of the reading for the first couple pages, with Ally having short parts scattered in.  After Luke finished one of his parts, he looked at me and whispered, "Sorry."  I wasn't sure why he was sorry, but Ally was reading, so I didn't respond.

When Ally finished her part, she said, "Okay, how about this, Mommy?  You'll read the second narrator part on this page, and..."

"No, I'm fine," I told her.

"But," Ally responded, "You haven't gotten to read any part yet."

"Yeah," Luke agreed, "It's not fair."

They both tried to divvy up the parts more fairly.

"No," I interrupted, "It's totally fine.  It's your reading practice.  I don't mind."

"Are you sure?" they asked.

"I'm totally sure," I insisted.  And with pride in my heart, I told them, "but, I sure do appreciate you both trying to be fair and thinking of others."

Snow cones and other kid toys

Ally got this for a belated Christmas present from my mom this afternoon.  They cranked for 15 minutes.

They each wanted a snow cone before bed, but at this rate it would take about two hours to make one for everyone and it was nearly bedtime.

So I whipped out my food processor and 15 seconds later had enough for everyone.

So, it's probably a blessing I never got that Snoopy Snow Cone machine I so wanted.

Although the Play Doh Doctor Drill and Fill Ally also got for Christmas was everything I'd hoped it would be.

And, no, I don't think it's an accident toy makers are remarking a lot of the toys that people who now have kids wanted for themselves about 30 years ago.

Olden days

It's so funny how different technology is now from when I was my kids' age.

The other day Anna said to me, "Mommy, you know how in the olden days..."  I immediately envisioned Little House on the Prairie bonnets, blacksmiths, and horses pulling carriages, until Anna continued, "...phones had wires?"

I disputed the term "olden days" with her until we came to mutual definition.

Well, today, there was a message for Anna on my cell phone.  (We don't have a home phone.)

I had Anna call the friend's mom's cell phone back, and I told her how she should ask for her friend, "Say, 'Hi, this is Anna.  Is J there?'"

In retrospect, it probably would be more polite to say, Could I please speak to J. But, I was just going back to what I most commonly said back in the "olden days."

Anna did great, she used my line and said, "Hi, this is Anna.  Is J there?"

Her friend was so confused by the unfamiliar line I heard cute little J right through the phone say, "Yes, Anna! I'm right here!"

Sad

Anna was assigned to gather pictures and information about her life to write an autobiography. Going through the stuff from when she was a baby, we found the picture of her embryo along with the other embryo they had implanted at the same time.  Because we have Luke and Ally's embryo pictures hanging in their room, Anna immediately knew what the picture meant and asked, "Did I have a twin!?"  

I explained that many embryos don't survive.  I told her about other embryos the doctors put in that didn't make it.  I said some made it longer than others, but God knew exactly which embryos were supposed to be our kids.  

She asked questions and I answered them honestly and age appropriately.  But, she kept going back to the fact that she was supposed to have a twin and that twin died.  Nothing I said seemed to help.  The way I had consoled myself all that while ago didn't console her.  At one point, I told her something a counselor had told me.  "You know all those whirlygigs that come out of the trees in the fall.  Those are all seeds, right?  What if every one of them grew into a tree?  That would be crazy, right?  God knows which ones will become trees.  Well, just like that, it took us a lot of embryos to get just the right kids."  I thought it would be helpful, but it just led her to think of more dead babies.

Dave wasn't home, so he couldn't jump in and help.

Finally, after nearly an hour of going back and forth and trying to distract her with other things, I said something to the affect of, "It wasn't a strong embryo.  It wasn't meant to live." And she screamed, "It was strong!  Your body just didn't do things right!  Your body was supposed to help him live."

Did I mention, I also had a migraine!?  I pretended I had to use the bathroom and I texted Dave and a couple friends.  

Dave's initial response was simply, "Holy crap."

Yeah, thanks.

Luckily my friend A has a background in social work.  She, in her incredibly diplomatic way, led me to realize that just because I'd already worked through this, didn't mean that I'd worked through it for Anna.  It was a sad thing.  I'd already grieved, but Anna hadn't.  And, it was okay for Anna to be sad about it.  So, I took A's advice and told Anna, "Yeah, it's a really sad thing.  I'm not sad anymore, because I have you, but it's okay for you to be sad."  And, Anna was able to process it and she was all right.  

Often as moms, we don't want to see our kids hurt.  In my life, the sad things were a long time ago.  I'd cried a lot at the time about the babies that didn't grow up, but I eventually realized that the plan God had for our family is perfect.  But, just because I came to that point didn't mean that Anna had, and nothing I went through was going to go through it for Anna.  And, I know that I am who I am because of what I went through, so it's okay for our kids to go through some things to become the people they are meant to become.  

After a while Dave texted back, "Poor Anna.  I actually feel more sad now than I ever did before."

I responded, "I know, but it wasn't meant to live, none of the others were.  God knew to give us these crazy kids."  Then I joked, "Anna just would've fought with her twin anyway."

He wrote, "I know.  I just never really thought of the other ones as kids before."

I said, "I did.  Every time."

Maple syrup

We went to Minneapolis over winter break, and we went to see the Bucks play the Timberwolves at the Target Center.  There were a lot of advertisements on the big screen for Anderson's maple syrup.  

Ally noticed the advertisements and exclaimed, "The person that wins gets maple syrup?!"

"No," I explained, "That's just an ad.  They want to get people to buy more syrup from them."

"What *do* they get if they win?" she asked.

"They just get to be the winners."

"They don't get anything!?" she said incredulously, "You've got to be kidding me!" The smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand and shook her head.