We talked and talked in Henry's room after bedtime. And Henry kept turning on the light and getting out toys. And we would play with them, and then turn out the light, and then he would turn on the light AGAIN!
And at Henry's house at the sleepover we were fighting again about how old we were, because he is 58 months and I'm 61 months old. But the truth is that Henry is a little bit taller, and I'm a little bit older.
We played with legos and cars.
Henry's clock turns green when it's 6 in the morning, and we looked, and it said 5:01. And we couldn't believe it was almost morning!
You know Mama, we talked all night long. We actually did.
(For more on this momentous event - from the parent perspective - see Amelia's blog.)
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
report from the village
Here I am, winding down Day Four of our week in Lancaster, sitting in my mother's blessedly clean and peaceful home, watching the light fade in the garden through the big bay window. The children are sleeping in a questionable arrangement upstairs, both of them crammed into the corner of the room where later tonight I will try to squeeze through the door in order to avoid the squeak and crawl into bed as silent as a mouse. Or as silent as a mama who really needs some sleep.
When we were first driving into town, I realized that my family moved to Lancaster almost exactly twenty years ago. We moved into the big white house on President Avenue on my thirteenth birthday. And over the years, I have come to understand something with utter clarity: longevity has benefits! My family had lived in three other cities before we landed here; when people ask me where I'm from, I hesitate. But now - twenty years! We are rooted, it seems.
And what a fertile spot to send down roots. We are having a beautiful visit (despite the face that we are missing Mike sorely, who had to return to Annapolis to teach yesterday). In the mornings Frances is going to a summer camp at a local Montessori school, carpooling with her friends Henry and Tessa. The theme is drama and she is pretty much in heaven. Gabriel is hanging out with a babysitter who is playing Titania in my mother's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream and whom Mike and I first saw on the stage many years ago as an extraordinary, hilarious twelve year old chicken. While the kids are occupied, I have been either working at the charming neighborhood coffee shop or pursuing interviews with immigrant mothers for an independent project I am just beginning work on.
And what happens in the afternoons and evenings? A swim in the new kiddie pool at the park down the street. Porch swinging, sidewalk chalking, video-watching on Grandma's fabulous TV, neighbor chatting, endless playing with toys procured at a phenomenal garage sale on Saturday morning. Walking in the rain in a borrowed stroller, dining with friends, running into a lovely young man who has grown taller and more adult since the days when we were his youth group leaders. Today I went for a jog in the beastly humidity and ran past our old family haircut stop, so stuck my sweaty red face in the door and scheduled two kid cuts and a bang trim for me Thursday afternoon, which will turn into a wild lollipop-laden playdate because the salon owner's daughter Lulu will come join in the fun.
This place is a village, and my children absolutely blossom in it. It's sweet to realize that most of the village vibe we're enjoying is the fruit of our time living here as adults, back when Frances was our precocious only and Gabriel was a twinkle in our eyes. But all the connections seem to entwine in this small town - my family, the UU church, my old job, our dear F&M friends, our Episcopal church, our neighbors - and the roots support unexpected and brilliant blooms.
Gabriel is darting around and offering bits of information to anyone who will listen - a butterfly who can flit around and easily keep up with his sister. He was a shy baby and a sometimes taciturn younger toddler around new people. Now all the world gets to enjoy his language, his dancing, and his wacky sense of humor. He basked in the attentions of a sweet twelve year boy at dinner last night, building towers with him, begging to ride his skateboard, and accompanying him with a few joyful and erratic high notes during Fur Elise on the piano. And he ran like the wind down the big hill at the park, following Frances and Henry, without giving my whereabouts a second thought. This was beautiful for me to watch!
Even more interesting: he is self-weaning this week. I figured doing the whole child-led weaning thing would mean I was going to be nursing the kid to sleep until kindergarten. But the day before we came to Lancaster, he started carrying around his very soft stuffed alligator and insisting on sleeping with him. And the first day here, with his new transitional object under his arm at bedtime, he told me to "just put [him] in the crib." No song, no nurse. He has only asked to nurse once since then. We were only nursing at naptime and bedtime previously, but he has up until now been very attached to that routine. I cannot help but think the independence and openness I am witnessing are related to his readiness to give up nursing.
Frances is also growing in indepenence, developing a new sense of herself as a kid among kids. Last night, as we walked up to our friends' house for dinner, she gazed at some older neighbor kids playing in the yard with stars sparkling in her eyes. Gracious Amanda saw and suggested nine year old Izzy take Frances with her and her friends to walk their pal Max home. Frances eagerly raced over and grabbed Izzy's hand, and I couldn't stop smiling as I watched her talking nonstop and heading down the street in the evening rain with those big-hearted big kids.
Frances loves Tessa next door, and the two of them amused themselves this morning while waiting for their ride to camp by walking hand in hand up and down my mom's street, immersed in some fleeting imaginary world known only to them. And Frances counted the seconds til it was time to go to Henry's house this evening for her First Big Kid Sleepover Ever. I bathed the kids, put them in pajamas, and wheeled them down to Mary Street, where we discovered the sleepover had to be postponed. That was a major disappointment, but it certainly wasn't the first time I'd carried a sobbing Frances down Henry's front steps (in fact our first visit to their house ended that way - it is always sad to go). Happily, it is a well-known fact that a little ice cream before bed at Grandma's house cures most every ill.
In short, they seem confident and happy, and they are heading off without me. This visit marks a time of standing back and watching, something that is impossible to do when the children are clinging to my legs. I have experienced moments of growth and separation as bittersweet in the past, but this feels decidedly good. I'm grateful that we have this special place, a home away from home, where they can go a little farther and run a little faster, safely surrounded by people who know and love us - people we know and love.
When we were first driving into town, I realized that my family moved to Lancaster almost exactly twenty years ago. We moved into the big white house on President Avenue on my thirteenth birthday. And over the years, I have come to understand something with utter clarity: longevity has benefits! My family had lived in three other cities before we landed here; when people ask me where I'm from, I hesitate. But now - twenty years! We are rooted, it seems.
And what a fertile spot to send down roots. We are having a beautiful visit (despite the face that we are missing Mike sorely, who had to return to Annapolis to teach yesterday). In the mornings Frances is going to a summer camp at a local Montessori school, carpooling with her friends Henry and Tessa. The theme is drama and she is pretty much in heaven. Gabriel is hanging out with a babysitter who is playing Titania in my mother's production of A Midsummer Night's Dream and whom Mike and I first saw on the stage many years ago as an extraordinary, hilarious twelve year old chicken. While the kids are occupied, I have been either working at the charming neighborhood coffee shop or pursuing interviews with immigrant mothers for an independent project I am just beginning work on.
And what happens in the afternoons and evenings? A swim in the new kiddie pool at the park down the street. Porch swinging, sidewalk chalking, video-watching on Grandma's fabulous TV, neighbor chatting, endless playing with toys procured at a phenomenal garage sale on Saturday morning. Walking in the rain in a borrowed stroller, dining with friends, running into a lovely young man who has grown taller and more adult since the days when we were his youth group leaders. Today I went for a jog in the beastly humidity and ran past our old family haircut stop, so stuck my sweaty red face in the door and scheduled two kid cuts and a bang trim for me Thursday afternoon, which will turn into a wild lollipop-laden playdate because the salon owner's daughter Lulu will come join in the fun.
This place is a village, and my children absolutely blossom in it. It's sweet to realize that most of the village vibe we're enjoying is the fruit of our time living here as adults, back when Frances was our precocious only and Gabriel was a twinkle in our eyes. But all the connections seem to entwine in this small town - my family, the UU church, my old job, our dear F&M friends, our Episcopal church, our neighbors - and the roots support unexpected and brilliant blooms.
Gabriel is darting around and offering bits of information to anyone who will listen - a butterfly who can flit around and easily keep up with his sister. He was a shy baby and a sometimes taciturn younger toddler around new people. Now all the world gets to enjoy his language, his dancing, and his wacky sense of humor. He basked in the attentions of a sweet twelve year boy at dinner last night, building towers with him, begging to ride his skateboard, and accompanying him with a few joyful and erratic high notes during Fur Elise on the piano. And he ran like the wind down the big hill at the park, following Frances and Henry, without giving my whereabouts a second thought. This was beautiful for me to watch!
Even more interesting: he is self-weaning this week. I figured doing the whole child-led weaning thing would mean I was going to be nursing the kid to sleep until kindergarten. But the day before we came to Lancaster, he started carrying around his very soft stuffed alligator and insisting on sleeping with him. And the first day here, with his new transitional object under his arm at bedtime, he told me to "just put [him] in the crib." No song, no nurse. He has only asked to nurse once since then. We were only nursing at naptime and bedtime previously, but he has up until now been very attached to that routine. I cannot help but think the independence and openness I am witnessing are related to his readiness to give up nursing.
Frances is also growing in indepenence, developing a new sense of herself as a kid among kids. Last night, as we walked up to our friends' house for dinner, she gazed at some older neighbor kids playing in the yard with stars sparkling in her eyes. Gracious Amanda saw and suggested nine year old Izzy take Frances with her and her friends to walk their pal Max home. Frances eagerly raced over and grabbed Izzy's hand, and I couldn't stop smiling as I watched her talking nonstop and heading down the street in the evening rain with those big-hearted big kids.
Frances loves Tessa next door, and the two of them amused themselves this morning while waiting for their ride to camp by walking hand in hand up and down my mom's street, immersed in some fleeting imaginary world known only to them. And Frances counted the seconds til it was time to go to Henry's house this evening for her First Big Kid Sleepover Ever. I bathed the kids, put them in pajamas, and wheeled them down to Mary Street, where we discovered the sleepover had to be postponed. That was a major disappointment, but it certainly wasn't the first time I'd carried a sobbing Frances down Henry's front steps (in fact our first visit to their house ended that way - it is always sad to go). Happily, it is a well-known fact that a little ice cream before bed at Grandma's house cures most every ill.
In short, they seem confident and happy, and they are heading off without me. This visit marks a time of standing back and watching, something that is impossible to do when the children are clinging to my legs. I have experienced moments of growth and separation as bittersweet in the past, but this feels decidedly good. I'm grateful that we have this special place, a home away from home, where they can go a little farther and run a little faster, safely surrounded by people who know and love us - people we know and love.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
a conversation fom yesterday, during which I nearly cried
Frances, picking up my book from a nearby table: Mama, how did you get Sense and Sensibility, and when did you get it?
M: I got it at the library, just before I left for my trip.
F: But why did you get it?
M: Because I was a little scared and nervous, and I love that book, and I thought it would make me feel better to read it sometimes while I was away.
(A strange silence descends. Gabriel looks up, startled, from the heretofore extremely absorbing play dough snakes he had been rolling out.)
F: You were scared? Scared??
M: A little.
F: But why were you scared?
M: Because I'd never been away from you guys for so long. And I'd never done anything like what I was going to do before. I was nervous, I guess.
(More quiet. Gabriel is staring at me intently, with that extremely-wide-open windows to the soul look that both my children seem to come by naturally).
G: You were scared when you went away.
M: Yes.
G: I was scared when you went away too, Mama.
M: I got it at the library, just before I left for my trip.
F: But why did you get it?
M: Because I was a little scared and nervous, and I love that book, and I thought it would make me feel better to read it sometimes while I was away.
(A strange silence descends. Gabriel looks up, startled, from the heretofore extremely absorbing play dough snakes he had been rolling out.)
F: You were scared? Scared??
M: A little.
F: But why were you scared?
M: Because I'd never been away from you guys for so long. And I'd never done anything like what I was going to do before. I was nervous, I guess.
(More quiet. Gabriel is staring at me intently, with that extremely-wide-open windows to the soul look that both my children seem to come by naturally).
G: You were scared when you went away.
M: Yes.
G: I was scared when you went away too, Mama.
Monday, July 5, 2010
a few of our favorite things
Above and below you see (post-croup) Gabriel enduring Frances' soccer camp last week. She loved it! What joy to see my little girl jump right in, running around the chaotic kid mass with gusto.
She didn't seem to notice that she was pretty tiny compared to the rest of the kids, and surprised me with her dribbling skills and ability to run hard without tiring. She also didn't mind a bit when we arrived on the last day of camp to discover she had somehow misheard "crazy hair day" as "freaky friday." And while the other kids had mohawks and triple ponytails, she was wearing plaid pants, a gold skirt, a tie dye shirt overlaid with my old Girl Scouts vest, and her froggie "eyes" from Halloween. But she wasn't fazed a bit. I was relieved, and very proud of her irrepresible Frances-ness. It was a high point in a week of some tough, whiny behavior. And the soccer energy level has persisted; yesterday morning she came running with me (in a pajama shirt, underwear and crocs) and jogged happily on hilly terrain for well over a mile.
What else? We downloaded the Elizabeth Mitchell & Lisa Loeb album "Catch the Moon
" that came out a few years ago. Predictably, we love it. It's more classic, quiet children's music; I think it would make an excellent new baby gift. It seems like the breathy indie girl singers from the 90s have found their true calling and we can't get enough of it.Mike subscribed to National Geographic magazine and all four of us love it. Have we read a single word? Besides photo captions, no. But the pictures are awesome.
Clafouti! We made a patriotic clafouti with red sour cherries (that we'd picked that morning) and blueberries and a dusting of white powdered sugar for a Fourth of July party last night. It is so easy and so delicious. Here is the recipe I use. (I think I took this from my mom's old copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking):
Put
1 1/4 cup milk
1/3 cup sugar
3 eggs
1 tbsp vanilla
1/8 tsp salt
2/3 cup flour (though I used nearly 1 cup since my fruit was so juicy)
in a blender, in the order listed, then whir it all around on high speed for about a minute.
Pour 1/4 inch of the batter in a buttered pyrex pie plate and set over moderate heat until a film sets (about 2 -3 minutes). Remove from heat and spread 3 cups of cherries (or blueberries, or whatever you'd like to use) over top. Sprinkle another 1/3 cup sugar over the berries, then pour the rest of the batter on top. Bake for about an hour in a 350 degree oven, until a knife comes out clean. Yum!
Newest crafting inspiration? Crafting Fun: 101 Things to Make and Do with Kids
. I finally put it on hold at the library after seeing it mentioned on various blogs. It is great! I might have to buy a copy. Activities are organized by season, and Summer features things like catching fireflies in a jar, making newspaper hats, and pressing wildflowers. Things you did a long time ago, and would like to do again.And how can I forget to mention humble agave nectar? It dissolves easily into cold tea and coffee. The bottom of the glass is just as sweet at the first sips. I've been making pots of iced tea brewed with black tea and long sprigs of mint and drinking way too much of it. That, and the addition of a floppy white sunhat to my summer wardrobe, makes me wonder if I'm going native after all, despite my insistence on alienation from nearly all things Annapolitan.
Frances has been sleeping in a play tent ever since she received it as a birthday gift on June 19th. She loves it. When asked if she will ever return to her bed, she simply replies: I can't answer that question. She began the practice surrounded by all her other birthday gifts. It was a tight fit.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)