Miracle

Wowza. I think Alexandra was in time out about five times tonight between the hours of 5 and 7pm. New record? Probably not, but it was exhausting for both of us. She just has no control of herself lately. I was commenting on this to our wonderful daycare teacher as I desperately asked her if four years old was better than three, and she kindly told me that at four they regress back to being babyish. But I thought that was what she was doing now! I guess there is just no way out of this. When folks say they don't know how I teach high school, nah...I don't know how ANYONE teaches early childhood or early elementary. No way, Jose.

I was thinking of the one last great photos of regression--Alexandra demanding to be swaddled what was then Nico's Miracle Blanket. Today, while she was thrashing around having a tantrum I thought a toddler-sized Miracle Blanket might be handy. Too bad that would pretty much be a straight jacket.

But as much as Alexandra is giving me more gray hair by the millisecond, when I look at this photo of her in the Miracle Blanket from the summer of 2007, I get all mushy inside and so full of love that my heart might burst and I mostly forget that she has been acting like a rabid squirrel lately. These children are certainly bewitching; she's still my little miracle.

The Little Things

I am on a mission to get in shape--tired of the "baby fat" lingering when the baby is now 10 months old (!!!!!). So today I went to spin class. There was this skinny, uber hot girl in front of me. She was tan, had on a cute workout outfit that matched well, had cute jewelry on, hair in a pretty bun and I was set to stare at her perfectness for a 45 minute class. I was betting her butt wouldn't even jiggle a tad during sprints.

But then she lifted up her tank top to tuck it into her sportbra (of course, to show off her gorgeous muscular lower back that didn't have an ounce of backfat on it) and her lower back had a HUGE patch of hair on it! HAIR! BLACK HAIR! It looked like it had been waxed and was growing out, but it was gross. And hairy. And suddenly she looked a bit like a transvestite.

Now there's something to be thankful for. I might have a muffin top at present, but it is a naturally hairless one. Praise the Lord and pass that girl some Nair. Nobody's perfect.

Mom of the Year

As I have lamented, Alexandra got the memo that three equals being an emotional roller-coaster of a child. She went through a phase like this around Christmas, too, when she was simply intolerable. It lasted about 4 weeks, and just when I was about to ship her off to live with the gypsies (she actually does have gypsy blood in her, so I figured it would make a small bit of sense) she settled. Right now I am waiting for that settling.

But it is hard. The only solace I get is that my other friends of three year olds are miserable, too. All of them. Misery does love company. It makes me feel like maybe I'm not that bad of a parent after all. I mean, if everyone's kid is freaking out, then it can't be something that I have done, right?

Parenting is one constant question of performance. Some days I am an awesome mom--full of patience, compassion, and the right thing to say. Some days I am not. The other night when Alexandra threw two tantrums at 3am and 4am I was not. Well, I was good then bad then good during tantrum #1, but during tantrum #2 (when she woke Nico up) I was ready to throw her into the backyard until dawn. Thankfully Adam took over, as I had to go nurse Nico.

During tantrum #1 when I was getting her back in bed she said her ear hurt. This was after she said she had to go pee pee (didn't go), that she was hungry (we don't let her eat in the middle of the night), and that she was scared (maybe?). I told her if it still hurt in the morning we'd go to Dr. Gold, our peditrican whom Alexandra adores. I figured she just wanted a lollipop. But the next morning she mentioned going to see Dr. Gold again. And again. So, I figured to appease her I'd take her. I mean, that's what we have health insurance for, right? $15 for lollipops and 1/2 hour playing with the cool toys in the office were a small price for my sanity.

Well, turns out she has a double ear infection. Not one that warrants antibiotics, but two mildly infected ears that would especially cause pain upon laying down. Nothing that motrin can't help (generic, of course, due to the recall), but as Dr. Gold said when she looked over Alexandra's head, her ear ache was "R-E-A-L."

Go, Lori. Although we poo-poo-ed her tantrums the night before as 3-year-old insanity, we at least took her to the doctor. Motrin-ed her up last night and all was peaceful.

(Photo of me "watching" the kids around 6:30am after getting up at 5am. Not too criminal, except that it was on Alexandra's birthday...busted.)

Get Over It

I love my nabe, but every so often the folks here just drive me bonkers with their "Oh, I'm so liberal and loving and that's just wrong!" (gasp, sob, snot) and then they go treat the checkout person at Barnes and Noble like they're chopped liver. I swear, the hypcrocy is out. of. control.

Example 1: A month or so ago a woman posted on Park Slope Parents that their new nanny, who had been employed for four weeks, had been found sleeping on the job five times. When confronted as to why she was sleeping the nanny replied, "I'm bored." The woman posted that she didn't know what to do. I replied to her (and the listserv) to fire that nanny and get one who doesn't sleep/find watching a child a bore. You would have think I told her to sew the nanny's eyelids open--the responses were enraged and accusatory. "I am appalled at your callousness! I find my own children boring! I'm tired." Whatever. Maybe I am callous, but in any other job if you were caught sleeping five times in one month and told your employer you were asleep b/c you were bored, you would be fired. Period. Grow and pair and fire that nanny.

Example 2: The oil spill. I am still in such shock that the oil spill/eruption in the Gulf has provided the world with a platform for whining about the environment without doing anything real about it. The cost of gas has not gone up, SUVs still dominate the road,and nothing has changed. All I have to say to those sitting around whining about the birds and the wetlands is shut the f*ck up if you're whining and you have an SUV which you drive around a city that has excellent public transportation. Seriously. I saw a LandRover the size of a tank in my 'hood yesterday with one person in it. Just plain wrong. Go jump in the Gulf and cover yourself with tarballs. I'm sick of you.

Example 3 (and what sparked this tirade): The geese in Prospect Park. There's been lots of moaning over the mass euthanization of 400 geese in Prospect Park last week. The neighborhood is up in arms over it. But I bet if you compared the folks in Park Slope to say the folks in Brownsville (or any less affluent neighborhood) that people here fly about 100x more (the geese were killed to avoid goose/plane collisions like the plane that landed in the Husdon). I don't want the senseless killing of animals any more than the next guy, but I also don't want my plane to crash b/c of some geese. You can't have it all--nature, an urban environment, and two of the largest airports in the country. Suck it up.

Man, I am pissy today. And I haven't even had my coffee! Guess those two tantrums Alexandra threw at 3am and 4am have already gotten to me. ROAR!

Pro Soccer Players & Three-Year Olds

I decided today, while watching the World Cup final game, that professional soccer players are pretty much the emotional equivalent of a three year old. Alexandra has completely changed since she turned three. I know she has only been three for three weeks and there was some build up to this change, but honestly--on her birthday--she morphed into an emotional, whiny, baby-ish child who is completely intolerable at times because her responses to situations make. no. sense. She is just like a World Cup Soccer Player. Let me illustrate:

1. FALLING & WHINING/CRYING LIKE A BABY: When she was two, Alexandra could take a fall like a professional stuntman. Seriously, she'd have trips and spills that would make the bottom of my feet tingle with fear and she's buck up, brush it off, and walk/run away. But not now. The smallest bump, tumble, or tap elicits a full-blown freak out of tears, snot, and screams. I must kiss the boo-boo and often band-aid it. It's ridiculous.

These soccer players are big ol' babies. I know they're acting to get a foul called on the opposing team, but Jesus Christo guys, you've got shin guards on. If someone kicks your shin, don't lay on the ground moaning like he just ripped your man parts from your body. It is so annoying to watch. Seriously. I fully understand why folks think soccer is a game for punks. They look like three year old crybabies out there.

2. LOOKING TO MOMMY/DADDY/REFEREE TO SEE IF THEY'LL GET IN TROUBLE: As soon as Alexandra does something she's not supposed to do--like rip a toy out of Nico's hands or directly defying me--she'll look over at me to see my response to gauge how she should respond. If I give her the teacher eye of "You're gonna get it" = immediate tears, throwing herself limp onto the ground, and full Oscar-winning hysterics. If I ignore her, she usually does it again later. Yes, it's just another day in paradise around here.

And yet not much has changed when you look at the soccer field. These players do insanely dirty things, and then they look at the ref to see if he saw it, and if he did then they throw a mantrum (man-tantrum) with their arms flailing, teammates holding back their testosterone-y player, and furrowed brows and yelling mouths. If they get away with dirty soccer, they just continue to play dirty soccer.

3. IMMEASURABLE ATTEMPTS TO GET AWAY WITH PLAYING DIRTY: And this leads me to my last point. Alexandra would put Nico in a headlock "hug," cover the couch with wet washcloths, and use yogurt as fingerpaint on the table all day long every day if she could. And she tries and tries again. That girl has the persistence of a worker ant when it comes to pushing the boundaries of what is legal/allowed in the house under the definition of good behavior.

And those soccer players, too. They are relentless when it comes to getting in that shove, kick, head-butt--you name it--on the other team. They are quite sneaky. And mean. It's pretty crazy once you start looking for it because it is always there. It is like they have no impulse control; they just have to be bad if they can.

In conclusion, professional soccer players are pretty much three year olds in the bodies of grown (very sexy) men (with unbelievable quad muscles and who look amazing all sweaty...). As annoying as they are, the World Cup is still my favorite spectator sporting event. Looking forward to those mantrums and dirty playing again in 2014--when I'm 40--holy sh*t!

I'm 36--A Photo Essay

This Thursday, July 8th, I turned 36. Birthdays always give me pause in many ways. This year I felt this crazy sense of accomplishment in that I feel I'm done having kids. I look at my life and am more than often astonished that I have created a family. When the kids go to sleep, I sit around and stare at pictures of them on the fridge and am shocked that in the next room are two living, breathing little babes who came out of my body, were made from Adam and myself, and who are our children. I wonder if I'll be in awe of this my entire life.

I am also aware that I am getting older. The second kid really took a toll on my pre-baby body in many ways. One crazy way is that my hair is totally different. It's a different color (very brown with an increasing amount of gray) and it has gotten wavy, frizzy, kinda curly. Look that this photo I snapped on my birthday of a hair I pulled out of my head! Me--the girl who had pin straight hair her whole life. Crazy.

But I try to embrace aging. As said in the most recent Margaret Atwood book (one of my fave authors)--if you're not aging, you're dead. Amen sista. Bring on the wrinkles, and let me live to be a healthy, spry, sassy Betty White.

Here are a few pics of the kids. They were unbearably horrid that evening (both crying inconsolably all through daycare pickup) until Alexandra put on Michael Jackson's Greatest Hits album and her and Nico both starting dancing (Nico in the high chair) and we all got happy, ate cake, and put them promptly to bed.


Is he not the cutest thing? Kills me.



Alexandra sang to me. Tried to sing, "Are you 1? Are you 2?" but I had her skip and start at 30 instead. Or else we'd still be singing.



Lovely lemon cake. Ate half of it the next day during a dissertation anxiety attack. It was only a 4" cake, but still...

Pretty

It takes a lot to make me feel pretty lately. With boobs that still leak (even though Nico is almost 10 months old), baby food smeared on my legs or my shoulder, a complete lack of time to maintain my eyebrows or shave, there are some days I glance in the mirror after the kids go to bed and am more than slightly appalled at my looks. Then I shrug it off, try not to get depressed about it, and fold laundry while listening to NPR. That's the glamorous life I lead.

But every so often one little thing can make me feel pretty, and this summer the prize for this goes to my Saltwater Sandals. As always, I am a summer or two too late to be wearing these sandals when they were all the rage (my fingers are no longer even close to the pulse of fashion...if they ever were), but I have finally nabbed a pair of these sandals and I am loving them. I got a pair in bright red and they make me feel cute. Red surprisingly goes with a lot of colors, and when I put them on I feel like I have an outfit--even if the rest of my attire is randomly selected, wornI , and covered in baby drool.

Another good thing is these sandals are cheap ($35) and waterproof! Great for daycare pickup in afternoon thunderstorms. I got Alexandra a silver pair and they are sooo cute.

If you have any one thing that makes you feel pretty, clue me in. I'm all about the quick fixes lately.