Adjusting to the New Life

So you're wondering how the new job, thus life, is going.

Considering that it's been nearly two months since my last post, I can tell you that it's been a monumental adjustment. Not just the job, but my oldest starting kindergarten and my youngest starting preschool. Between juggling work, two different schools and sorting out all that goes with each (including homework), marriage, and dance class twice a week, I tell ya, I just can't see straight. I feel like I'm constantly in a hurry, already worrying about the next thing I have to do but feeling I haven't done a one of them justice.

The good news is I love the job. It is by far the most challenging and creative work I have ever done. The atmosphere is relaxed and fun, the people are great, and I'm developing a whole new skills set that will serve me so well in the future.

A major bonus is my new company is only 5-10 minutes away from my previous employer, so I get to meet my best buds from there rather regularly for lunch. Man oh man, do I miss them. What makes me most sad is I feel like with some of them that our friendships were just blossoming and then I left, cutting them short. I'm committed to still giving them the opportunity to flourish.

I stopped in the old offices before and after our lunch together last week and we just had the best time, joking and horsing around. It was like I still worked there, but only better (because I don't, but I get to see them!). I'm looking forward to some evenings out together that we have planned in the coming weeks.

As for my girls, taking those two weeks off in between jobs was a bad, bad idea. For my kids, it was like they had forgotten I had ever worked, so when I went back it was torture. My youngest barricaded my bedroom door almost every morning for the first month. The guilt was nearly insurmountable. It's a struggle I endure every day and I suspect it will be like this until they are teenagers, when they will want nothing to do with me. Unless they want to borrow my shoes.

My Stint as a Domestic Goddess

Tomorrow I start a new job at a new company. I've been off for the past two weeks, which has been a really nice break and couldn't have come at a better time. My older daughter started kindergarten on the 5th, and my younger daughter started preschool on the 10th. On top of that, this past week was the first week of dance class for both of my girls (first class ever for my youngest). I have had the rare opportunity to drop off and pick up both of my girls from school every single day, make their lunches, enjoy their everydayness, their routine. I've been able to thoroughly enjoy and savor every single second instead of rushing through the day. It's been nice. Perhaps a little too nice. I worry how my daughters will do tomorrow when they're thrown back into our "normal" life of grandma as their chauffeur and only seeing their stressed and rushed mama maybe three hours every weeknight. Ok, I worry more about how I will do. It ain't gonna be easy.

Everyone keeps asking me if I'm excited about my new job. It's a nice step up to Editorial Manager and in a new and exciting industry. I'll get to work on magazines and online content instead of textbooks, which will be a great change of pace, and I'll get to manage people. I'll also have an opportunity to write more, which is something I've really wanted to do. So, yeah, I am very excited, but I honestly haven't been thinking about it. During these past two weeks, I have been totally "clocked out" when it comes to my career and 100% focused on this temporary gig as a stay-at-home mom. Besides "mommy" duties, I have cooked dinner almost every night (I can hear you gasping) and have done probably three loads of laundry every single day. I have scored huge brownie points with the husband. I don't think he knew I had any domestic talents. It hasn't been all roses, though. These past two weeks have been much, much more exhausting than any professional job I have ever had. But the rewards of kisses, hugs, and smiles, well no 401k package could ever match that.

So you're wondering if I considered chucking the career and making the stay-at-home mom thing permanent? Of course I have. Many times. And to even further confuse matters, a friend of mine, who was a partner at a law firm at which I used work, called me on Friday about a job. An attorney who shares his building is looking for a paralegal sort and he was wondering if I would be interested. I was pre-law in college and worked at a law firm for a few years, so I know the work. The office is literally just up the street, maybe five minutes away. The job would be part-time and flexible. My friend knew I had played with the idea of looking for something part-time, so he thought this would be perfect for me.

But of course I can't take it. I already accepted this other position, and it is an incredible opportunity - one that might not ever come back around. And in just a couple of years, both of my girls will be in school until 3:15 pm, basically eradicating my reason for wanting to be home in the first place. Meanwhile, my future marketability in the constantly evolving publishing industry will plummet, making it extremely difficult to re-introduce myself to the field when I'm ready to come back. And I know I will want to come back.

So, for now I will enjoy the 14 hours and 7 minutes that I have left as a domestic goddess. It was beautiful while it lasted.

I'm Nice

I have a confession to make. I'm nice. No, I mean really, really nice. Not a lot of people know this. I'm much nicer than I let people know and I'm much nicer than I allow even myself to believe. In fact, I would classify myself as being "in the closet" in regards to my niceness. Oftentimes, I have asked my husband to take credit for some good deed I have done for our friends because I simply do not like the attention. I like to give off this tough-as-nails exterior. And I am tough, but dang it, I'm nice, too.

Well, unfortunately today I was schooled in the hard reality that not everyone is as nice. Not half as nice. At this point, I would settle for neutral. But there are mean, callous, manipulative savages out there, often dressed as lambs. I knew this. But it cuts so much deeper when you go out of your way to sacrifice something of great value to yourself solely for the benefit of another, only to have that same, very altruistic behavior used to stab you in the back and literally create a severe loss for you and your family.

I knew better than to be so nice in the situation at hand. I should have thought of myself and my needs. But it still absolutely floored me when my niceness was used against me and came back to bite me in the butt.

I was so furious today at this discovery that I literally could have spit nails. I won't go into details or name names, but it was quite a wake-up call. It made me want to retreat within and only look out for me and mine. Screw everyone else. But then I remember my very last blog entry, about Elena, her family, and the way their story affected me, and I just can't. As much as I want to fully unleash my Scorpio-Italian fury (and believe me, it ain't pretty), I can't. I'm a mom. I'm a professional. I'm nice.

But I do think I'll go punch something about now.

Thank You, Elena

Three days ago, while browsing on channelcincinnati.com, I came upon http://www.desserich.org/, which journalizes the story of a beautiful little girl named Elena Rosemary Desserich, who was diagnosed with a rare form of brain cancer. Elena passed away on Saturday, August 11th, 2007, just nine months after being diagnosed. She was only six years old.

I have read every word of the journal (which is written by her parents), beginning to end, and viewed every picture of Elena’s journey. I feel like I cried a tear for every single word written in that journal. Bawled is actually more like it. My emotions caught me by surprise because I’m not usually a crier.

I never met this little girl or her family, but I was heartbroken to see the life of this bright-eyed, loving little girl, who was not much older than my own elder daughter (and seems to be very similar to her in temperament and style), so devastated by this disease and ultimately cut way too short. It shook me to the core. I shared the site with my husband, and he, too, could not tear himself from this family’s story or hold back his own tears.

When I first began to read their story, I was overwhelmed with feelings of sadness, disbelief, and sympathy. Then my emotions quickly turned to anger. I was angry that something so devastating could strike a child, without rhyme or reason. A beautiful, loving, innocent child. She was robbed of her future, of life’s full journey, before it had even began. Her parents, her little sister, and all those close to her, they were just robbed. Robbed of the gift of Elena. She wasn’t even my daughter and I just felt so angry about that. Why?

Because it’s so damn unfair.

But another reason might be a bit selfish: the Desserich family remind me so much of my own. They have two daughters, Elena and her little sister Grace. And in appearance, age, and interests, the girls remind me so much of my daughters. And of course it reminds me that this could just as easily happen to me, my family, anyone. Cancer does not discriminate. And I think if I were in that situation, being the control freak that I am, I would be so angry because I would feel like there was nothing I could do about it.

But that’s where I would be wrong. The Desserich family is doing something about it. They are keeping Elena alive in so many ways every single day, including sharing their journal and story with people like me. They are bringing awareness about pediatric brain cancer through The Cure Starts Now charity, helping other families fight the fight against this devastating disease.

I have not quite been the same since discovering the Desserichs, and I want to thank them for that. Because of Elena I no longer rush through bedtime stories at night. I hug my girls a little longer, listen to them more intently, play with them with my full attention. I try to cherish every second. Elena has reminded me that the physical life is precious, uncertain, and fleeting. A gift. A beautiful gift that Elena, even at her tender age, never took for granted.

But the Desserichs have also reminded me that every life should be cherished. Not just those in my own personal world. The Desserichs didn’t stop caring after Elena left this life on August 11th. I’ll be participating in the first annual The Cure Starts Now Walk-a-thon on September 30th. For more information, visit http://www.thecurestartsnow.org/

Get Off Your Bum!

This past week has been intolerably hot. Over 100 degrees hot. It was so hot that I, who am someone who thinks it's a sin to waste a minute of summer weekend hours indoors, spent nearly every second of this past weekend inside our house. It was actually quite nice, taking it easy, instead of trying to fill up every second with some kind of memorable outdoor activity.

Our girls seemed almost overjoyed to have an opportunity to stay in and do nothing special (perhaps because Mommy normally overplans our summer weekends). For once, they kept themselves very entertained, without our help, by coloring, drawing, playing dolls.

My husband and I quickly took note that we had some free "us" time, so we decided to watch a movie. One movie turned into two and before we knew it, we were engaged in a movie marathon on TNT: Wyatt Earp (not my choice), The Patriot, and The Gladiator (although seeing Russell Crowe all buffed and beautiful in The Gladiator did nothing to cool me down). It was extremely rare for my husband and I to be allowed that amount of time to sit calmly and watch movie after movie together without protest from our girls, so we felt we really had to take advantage of such an opportunity.

My five-year-old, who has become quite skilled in Internet Gaming in a nickjr.com-kind-of-way, spent a bit of this time playing Dora's Magical Castle Adventure online. She kept asking my husband every few minutes to come in to the study and tell her if she won (since she can't read yet). Of course these interruptions would come at the most pivotal moments of our movies, so he was not very responsive to her requests.

After several minutes of unanswered "come-see's," she asked us where our digital camera was. Digital photography is yet another hobby my technically-inclined soon-to-be-kindergartner has recently taken up, so we figured she had just decided to stop playing her game and start snapping pictures instead. Within minutes, she returned to the family room, handed my husband the digital camera, and asked, "Did I win?!"

That's right. My little-smarty pants had taken a picture of the screen of the computer monitor that showed the results of her game so that she could bring it in to show us since we wouldn't get off of our lazy butts! Is that simply ingenious or what?? We were astounded, but also rather embarrassed, that my daughter had gone to such creative measures to get not only our attention but also the answer she needed. What a resourceful little girl we have.

In our defense, couch-potato-ness really is a rarity in our home (at least in the summer)! But my daughter's display did motivate us to turn off the TV and get off the couch.

Our Special Adventure

So I know everyone out there has been sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear how my five-year-old did last month during her tooth extraction...

Well, I know you all been dying to at least see exactly what a supernumerary tooth looks like? Well, you've come to the right place.

Behold the critter that wreaked havoc on my princess's mouth:

Pretty nasty, eh?

At the consultation about the extraction, the dentist had told me to not prepare my daughter for the day of the extraction - that I should just bring her without warning. He explained that otherwise she would be anxious and worried for the weeks preceding and that she would build it up to be worse than it would be. So I didn't say a word about it.

The day of, I told her I was taking off work to be with her and that we were going on an "adventure." She was so excited to have this rare opportunity to have her mommy all by herself, without the distraction of her little sister. On our way to the appointment, I kept looking at her joyful little face in the rear-view mirror and I felt like such a traitor, knowing what was ahead.

As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, she recognized the building, and her happy face immediately transformed into one of panic. She then took her seatbelt off and ran to the back of the van. I had to literally chase her to the back and drag her out of the van, kicking and screaming. She kept crying, "But it's my special day. It's my special adventure! I don't want to go to the dentist. I don't want them to take my tooth." My heart just sank. I felt l had betrayed her and that she would never trust me again.

I had anticipated that I would feel like this but my thinking had been that if it meant that I would shorten the time that my daughter would be consumed by worry and fear about the procedure, then I'd be the bad guy, to spare her that pain.

I'm honestly not sure how I feel about it now, though. I'm not convinced that freeing my daughter from worry and fear is an even trade for losing her trust. I think the latter is more painful to us both.

Once inside the dentist office, things only got marginally better. She would not cooperate well with the nurse in any of the pre-op activities: getting her weighed, determining her blood pressure, etc. She of course would not listen to anything I, Benedict Arnold, had to say. We had to arrive early so that she could also take some "fun" juice to get her feeling loopy. The nurse warned me that there are several different ways a patient will react to the medicine:

1) They will get really happy OR

2) really sad OR

3) seem really out of it OR

4) They will get really angry. Angry as in bar-room brawl angry, including throwing and destroying things.

I guess this medicine is a good indicator as to what kind of drunk one will be later in life. I am happy to report that based on this test, my daughter will be a happy drunk! I'm such a proud mom!

Minutes after getting her to drink the juice (which was no small feat in itself, by the way), my normally rather shy daughter was just the life of the dentist office - smiling, laughing, making small, silly talk with everyone and anyone. My husband showed up unexpectedly at the office at this time, so he was there to enjoy the show as well (although I wish he had been there to take some of the blame for the dishonest car drive!).

When it came time to go back to the operating room, her fear returned just a bit and she started to cry. They allowed my husband to take her back (I was not allowed because they said she was too attached to me). Within a half hour, the both of them were back, with that nasty supernumerary tooth in a box ready for the Tooth Fairy. She also scored a stuffed monkey, stickers, and three balloon animals (in addition to her own, the sweetie said she wanted a red one for her mommy and a blue one for her sister).

I feared that she would be sullen the rest of the day from the entire experience, but as usual, she surprised me. She was smiling and showing off the new space in her mouth within hours. We spent the rest of the day together, just the two of us, watching movies, cuddling, and coloring. At the end of the day, she looked at me and said, Mommy, I loved our special day together, even though I went to the dentist, because I was with you.

So, I've learned two big lessons from this "special adventure":

1) I'm going to be honest with my daughter, no matter what any "expert" says, and no matter how badly it hurts; and

2) My daughter is incredibly resilient and loving and forgiving. I could learn a lot from her.

Five Questions

I've been tagged by friend and fellow blogger Julie with the following five, getting-to-know-you questions.

1) How do you really feel about Britney Spears?

Five years ago, I was a fan, even at my age. Now, I just feel pity for the girl. She had the world at her fingertips. She was young, rich, and beautiful. She was at the top of her game in the music industry; she was even being dubbed the next generation's Madonna. And then wham -- a loser of a dude steps in and literally ruins everything in one big swoop - her image, her family, her career, and even her hair. She is a lesson to all young girls out there to never allow themselves to get so totally caught up in someone else that they lose who they are and destroy everything they've worked for in life.

2) Do you believe in love at first sight?

I believe in lust at first sight. True love has little to do with "sight." I've felt the instant stomach butterflies for a few that eventually became love, but I've also felt weak at the knees for a few who turned out to not be worthy of anything approaching love. Further, I've met a few that didn't knock my socks off when I first met them, but they became more attractive and lovable as their character came through.

3) What was your favorite book from childhood?

Do I have to pick just one? I'll give you my top three:

The Best Nest - by P.D. Eastman. This was the very first book I had memorized, beginning to end. I think I was drawn to its rhythm, much like the Seuss books.

Me and the Bee - it was an Read About Me book from the 70s, where you send in your name and vital statistics (city, friends, pet's name, etc) and the book is customized so that it incorporates you and your friends and your info into the story. I still have it, and it's funny to look at now because it looks like it was manually typeset - old school style. But back then, that was high-tech.

Charlotte's Web - E.B White and Garth Williams. We just got the new movie on DVD. While the book is of course better, the movie does a good job. Julia Roberts is a perfect Charlotte.

4) If you had to choose one song as your personal theme, what would it be?
Livin' La Vita Loca

5) When did you realize that you had become a grownup?

Even though I have a husband, two kids, a house in the suburbs, and a minivan, anyone who knows me knows I ain't no grownup.

Because That's How We Roll in My Family

This is how my 74-year-old father arrived at my house this past Wednesday to watch my kids while I tried to get some rest.

He could not understand why I could not stop laughing when I saw him. Apparently, my dad picked up one of my younger brother's t-shirts and put it on without even looking at it.

My father is not the only one of my family's elders to have committed such a Jerry Springer-like fashion faux pas. His 78-year-old sister, who is dang near a nun, once went to church sporting a "Party Naked" t-shirt. Like my father, she picked a shirt out of a bag of clothes that her college-aged niece was giving away. My aunt put the shirt on without even looking at what it said. She was appalled when we told her what her shirt said. She screamed, WHAT??! I received communion like this!! What I would've given to have seen that priest's face!

So this apparently runs in the family. At least I have this to look forward to in about 40 years.

A True Hallmark Moment

We celebrated Mother's Day yesterday because my own mother had to work today. Our gathering was planned to be a low-key celebration - lunch out with my husband and girls, my parents, and my brothers. Everything started out beautifully. My girls had been angels all day, they looked picture-perfect in their pretty spring dresses, we got a prime table for nine at our restaurant of choice easily, appetizers of choice were flowing and delicious, and hugs and tears of joy were being shared as gifts and sentimental cards were being exchanged. I actually thought, Wow, this is a Hallmark Mother's Day in the making. Then the crisis hit.

Conversation and debate were being had across the long table at our typical elevated decibel (as only Italians can do) when I noticed my five-year-old daughter had put her hands over her ears. Then she got her signature pouty/angry look at on her face and screamed, Everyone, stop talking! My ears hurt!

I wish I could say that this was an unusual comment to come from my daughter, but this is a tactic that she has used many times when her father and I dare to try to have an adult conversation that does not involve her. She can become quite irritated when the attention is not focused entirely upon Her Highness and will often do whatever it takes to redirect attention back on herself.

I told her not to be rude and that we could all speak if we wished. This sent only sent her deeper into her fury, and the tears started flowing. She insisted in between moans that her ears really did hurt. I again asked her not to be rude, but she was unrelenting.

My parents, being the loving and indulgent grandparents that they are, immediately started buying into my daughter's complaints, asking what was wrong and what they could do to help. I of course thought they were just feeding into her strategy. However, after a few minutes of my daughter crying and starting to show true signs of pain, I began to believe that maybe she wasn't crying wolf this time - that maybe the kid did in fact have an earache. Imagine that.

I took her outside to sit on a bench to try to calm her down and assess the situation. It was becoming clear that I was wrong (making my parents right again - dang it) and that she really was in pain. A Meijer store was right next door to the restaurant at which we were eating, so my husband left the restaurant to get some Tylenol. By this time her head was in my lap and I was trying to soothe her. My husband was back in a jiffy with the Tylenol, and we hoped that it would kick in quickly. No such luck. She then started asking for ear muffs, claiming that would comfort her ears. Being that it was May, I didn't have any ear muffs on me, but I thought maybe the ear phones for our portable DVD player in the van might pacify her. Again, no such luck. My concern for my daughter was growing, as was my guilt - guilt for not believing her to begin with and guilt for spoiling everyone's "perfect" Mother's Day.

I could see my daughter was clearly now in a lot of pain and that it was not going to subside on its own, so I asked that my filet mignon be boxed up and gathered my husband and kids to go home to care for my daughter. We called the doctor, who quickly faxed in a prescription for Amoxicillin and ear drops. She was in pain off and on throughout the rest of the night, but she is doing much better today.

At the time of this episode I thought, what a miserable Mother's Day. I didn't get the chance to properly acknowledge and celebrate my own mother, which I sorely wanted to do after all she has done for me during my recovery. In fact, I pretty much skipped out on her during lunch, barely saying Goodbye in my hurry to get my own daughter home and well. My poor little girl was sick. I questioned my own abilities as a mother for not recognizing my own daughter's pain or believing her.

But then it hit me. This Mother's Day celebration was very much a Hallmark moment. More so than if things had gone exactly as planned. Because it was real. It was a true Mother's Day, in the purest sense of the word and enveloped all that being a mother is. Pain, love, concern, self-doubt, vulnerability, everything that is raw and true and real. It's also about learning, giving, making and accepting our mistakes, and forgiving (others and yourself). That's what being a real mother is all about. So I guess my Mother's Day was perfect after all.

Happy Mother's Day Weekend

Yesterday my daughter gave me the gifts she had made at preschool for Mother's Day.

One was a a picture she had drawn of the two of us together. Underneath the picture, the teacher had filled in responses my daughter had given her as information about me. The bold are my daughter's responses:

My mommy is 55 years old.

She weighs 50 pounds.

She loves to eat chocolate.

She always tells me to be nice to my sister.

I love it when my mommy takes me to the playground.

Yeah, it's a little scary that she thinks I'm 55, but at least the weight answer makes up for it a bit. I think.

The other gift she had made for me was a Shrinky Dinks keychain. I'm not sure if Shrinky Dinks is what they're called anymore, but for those of you not familiar with the term-- Shrinky Dinks is an arts and craft product first created back in the 70s where thin, flexible plastic sheets are colored or drawn upon and cut into shapes. When heated in the oven, the plastic shrinks into a much smaller, thicker, and more rigid form, while retaining the colored design. I loved creating these myself when I was a kid, but I hadn't seen one in ages.

For her Shrinky Dinks project, my daughter had drawn another picture of the two of us and made it into a keychain. Let me tell you, this is by far one of the most special things I have ever received in my life, and I will cherish it forever. I have my own fond memories of making Shrinky Dinks as a kid, and to receive such a personal, precious one from my own daughter, well, it's absolutely priceless.

Here's to hoping your Mother's Day weekend is just as special.

Just Smile

I'd like to be the first to introduce you to my daughter's new smile!

This afternoon while I was getting some rest on the couch, a call came in from my daughter's preschool. She was in school at the time, so I knew something must have happened because the school only really calls if there is a problem. I knew immediately what this "problem" was -- it had to be my daughter's tooth. She's had a loose front tooth for a good month or so - her first, although not of the typical sort (refer to this post for details).

Sure enough, it was the principal calling to say that my daughter had lost the tooth today during Muscle Room (i.e gym class). The straggler had been hanging by a string for about a week and had become pretty hideous looking - it was discolored and longer than the rest of the teeth. I wanted to rip the thing out myself, but I knew that would be too traumatizing for my little drama queen. She wanted to just let it fall out by gravity alone.

Apparently during Circle Time in the Muscle Room she had been fiddling with it a little and it popped right out, sending her into an immediate, full-fledged hissy-fit. The teacher had her wash her mouth out with water while she secured the tooth in a bag. My daughter quickly became inconsolable. It was only about an hour before school was out anyway, so I told the principal that we would come get her. Since I'm still recovering from surgery and highly medicated, I had to call my mom to come get me and drive to the school to pick up my daughter.

The principal met us at the door with my somber, heart-broken little girl. She looked so sad that I wanted to cry myself. She wouldn't open her mouth right away and when she talked she covered her mouth with her hand, apparently embarrassed by her new smile. We told her we'd go through Steak 'N Shake to get her an ice cream or a shake to make her mouth feel better. This made her happier. I reminded her that everyone loses their teeth, that it was just a sign that she's getting bigger and even more like Mama (she likes to call herself my twin). This seemed to help a bit.

When we got home, she eventually disappeared into the playroom with her little sister. A few minutes later, they reappeared proudly in dressup clothes asking for pictures to be taken. To my surprise, my older daughter was very proudly and knowingly sporting her new grin. I told her I was so happy to see her showing off her new smile, to which she said, Mommy, I kinda like it!

Once again, my beautiful daughter far exceeded my expectations. I thought my rather vain daughter would be sullen and pouting and depressed about the tooth loss for at least a day, but she was actually happy about it within an hour. I could not be more proud of her.

All day she has been on the phone with our family and friends, sharing her news. She's actually even looking forward to the Tooth Fairy (whom before she had considered an Evil, Thieving Witch). After thinking all these weeks about what the Tooth Fairy does with kids' teeth she told me that she believes one of the following is the most likely scenario (since Mama, when put on the spot, could not come up with anything):

Either

(a) the Tooth Fairy saves children's teeth for little babies who do not have teeth yet and then gives the big girls' baby teeth to these new babies. She hopes our good friend's 6-month-old baby gets her tooth.

or (b) the Tooth Fairy takes the kid's teeth and throws them up into the sky and the teeth become bright, sparkling stars.

She's too smart!

I think another thing that is helping her a bit is the fact that she sees the new tooth peeking out from the gums and this makes her feel better that a replacement is on the way. What she doesn't realize, however, is this tooth will have to be pulled by the dentist probably within the month. The dentist discovered that this is actually supernumerary tooth (an extra, "fake" tooth) and has to be removed asap. But I've learned not to underestimate my daughter's strength. In fact, I think I could learn a thing or two from her.

What a Pain

Yes, I know. It’s been nearly two months since my last entry. But I have a good excuse. The mother of all excuses. I had surgery in March, and I have literally been bed-ridden for most of the time since. Even now, I have to create this very post from bed via a laptop. Besides that, I have been on heavy painkillers. Despite what my cousin says I just don’t think blogging on narcotics is the best of ideas. Well, maybe for your entertainment, but not so much for my reputation. What is my reputation, by the way? Something to ponder…

Since I’m on the subject of painkillers, let me say now—Mama doesn’t do well on them. I was first on Percoset, which did nothing but make me absolutely nauseous. I could barely eat anything for a good two weeks (but hey, I lost 8 pounds!). My doctor eventually switched me to Darvoset, which is supposed to be of milder form. I did ok on that for a few days, but I apparently was not eating enough while taking it. One morning after taking two before I went to bed and then one more when I woke up, things started getting wicked crazy. I got extremely jittery, everything started spinning frantically, and I ultimately ended up upchucking twice until I dry-heaved. I'm trying to get away with Advil as much as I can and only switch to the heavy stuff when it gets to be too bad. I prefer to be in pain than feel so sick.

When I was four months pregnant with my first child, I developed kidney stones. The pain became so intense that I started to go into preterm labor. I had to be hospitalized until I passed the stone, which took four days. I remember that on the way to the hospital, I was literally trying to envision a way to throw myself from the car without hurting my unborn child just so I could knock myself out from the pain. To head off the pain and thus the contractions, the doctor put me on Demerol while in the hospital. I was very hesitant about taking anything while pregnant, but they assured me that it was safe and that it was much more dangerous for me to be in pain and labor at only four months pregnant.

Let me tell you, the minute that Demerol was released into my IV, I was in love. Up to that point, I had never taken a prescribed or over-the-counter drug stronger than penicillin (prescribed of course). I had never tried a recreational drug a day in my life. In fact, I had never even taken one puff of a cigarette (and still haven’t). So this was a very new and foreign experience to me. But it did the trick – the pain went away, the contractions nearly ceased completely, and I was in absolute la-la land. Being the smart lady that I am, however, I realized very quickly that I was enjoying the effects of the drug too much. That scared me. After just a day or two, I asked the nurse to switch me to Tylenol. Day Four, I gave birth to a beautiful stone that I affectionately named "Mick" (as in Jaggar, after all he was/is a Stone) and I was released from the hospital. The doctor said that if it had gone a day longer, he would’ve had to go in and get it with a stint.

The doctor said that the good news about my stones experience was the pain of the stone was about equivalent to that of childbirth, so in a way it had prepared me for the pain to come in another five months. LIAR. Being the unlucky recipient of both kidney stones and labor pains (both within a five-month span), I can tell you, labor is by far much, much, much more painful. And remember, the pain of the stones made me insane enough to want to throw myself from the car. (Imagine the joy that was me during labor!) That alone demonstrates how truly miraculous and rewarding having a child is. Because I had two. On purpose.

The Tooth Fairy is an Evil Thieving Witch

A couple of Sundays ago, my family and I were enjoying a late afternoon movie together when my four-year-old, who was sitting on her daddy's lap, suddenly blurted out, Daddy, what's wrong with my tooth?

He looked at the tooth that my daughter had apparently been touching and said, Oh my God, it's loose! That discovery completely shocked us because she is only four, which I thought was very early. Not a single one of her preschool or dance school classmates had lost a tooth yet. So I replied with a little bit of a panicked, WHAT??!

My daughter, who I have to admit is the vainest four-year-old I have ever met, immediately burst into tears, screaming in fear and absolute sadness, No! I'll never be pretty again! I'll never smile again! I'll never eat again! She was positively inconsolable for a solid hour. At least. She even said that if she had to lose a tooth now, then her two-year-old sister did, too! I was afraid she'd downright take it from her herself if she had to! She was that upset.

I tried to explain to her that losing her tooth just meant she was becoming a big girl. I reminded her about the Tooth Fairy, and how the Tooth Fairy would bring her money for her tooth. She did not like this concept at all. She immediately got angry and said, Why does she want MY tooth?! Doesn't she have her own? She clearly thinks the Tooth Fairy is some thief in the night that steals children's teeth - that she's the very reason children even have to lose their first teeth. I tried to explain otherwise, but it was of no use.

When we ate dinner that night, she made us cut everything up into bite-size bits. Not only did she push everything to the back of her mouth, but she also turned her head sideways so that all of the food stayed to one side of her mouth. To say she was being a drama queen would be a major understatement. I felt very sorry for her, but a part of me also thought, Dear Lord, we still have a lot of future tooth losses to endure this through!

I eventually had a good friend of hers, who is a year older and has lost a few teeth, call her and talk to her about it. My daughter really looks up to this girl, so the call did seem to help.

The next day, I did some research on the Internet about primary tooth loss because I was concerned about her losing one so early. I found that the typical age for losing a first tooth ranges from five to seven, but the most common age is six. I also read that premature loss of primary teeth could be a sign of bone disease or other problems, so I was a bit concerned. She was already scheduled for her routine six-month checkup with her dentist that following week, so I figured I could discuss it with him then.

Well, it turned out to be more than just the typical loss of a first tooth. When I told the hygienist about the wiggly tooth, she seemed concerned. She said that 1) she was a little young to be losing her first tooth; and 2) that the typical first lost tooth is one of the bottom from, but my daughter's loose tooth was one of her top front ones. She asked if she had received any trauma to the face, which she had not or I would've heard about it from my little drama queen. Believe me. The hygienist said that she felt something else was going on and wanted to do some x-rays.

When she said that of course my findings on the Internet about bone disease began to worry me. When she came out with the x-rays, she called other dental assistants over and said, Look at this!!! as if whatever the x-rays showed was a big deal. I didn't even wait for her to come back to me. I interrupted their huddle with an insistent, WHAT??!

The hygienist called the dentist over and they explained that my daughter has a rare condition called hyperdontia, which basically means she has a supernumerary (extra) tooth. These "faux" teeth do not look like normal teeth - they are long, skinny and peg-like. My daughter's "extra" is in the place where one of her front teeth should be, causing her real permanent tooth to not only shift, but it has completely rotated and is now facing sideways. And of course the rest of her teeth are shifting and becoming over-crowded.

Her dentist said that as far as this kind of problem goes, it's a good case because the extra tooth is coming down straight, whereas most kinds of these come in really strange - sideways or sometimes even pointing straight up towards the nose, still in the bone. He said as soon as she loses this primary tooth and the "faux" tooth erupts, they will have to excise that fake tooth. Hers will be relatively easy to remove, as opposed to some of these other cases, but it will still be a major excision. The hope is that after this supernumerary tooth is removed, the other teeth will move and shift back to at least a semi-normal position. She will have a sizable gap and she will most likely have years of radical orthodontic work ahead of her.

The dentist told my daughter that the good news is that she will cash in on at least one extra tooth from the Tooth Fairy. My daughter almost audibly growled at the mention of this evil, thieving witch.

I worry that this entire procedure, which will undeniably be a very unpleasant experience, will leave her absolutely terrified of the dentist, whom she currently very much likes. My friend works at a dental office and says she has patients who had not been to the dentist for 20 years because of a bad early childhood experience at the dentist. She suggested that my daughter be put to sleep for the excision, but the dentist said it wouldn't be necessary. I'll have to think about that one.

Beyond these concerns, however, I am also worried that she will suffer a severe blow to her self-esteem due to the problems she's going to have with her teeth for quite some time. As I stated early, my daughter is very vain. She loves, loves, loves to dress up and feel like a pretty princess. She was worried about her looks just at the thought of the "normal" loss of a tooth. But now she very well might have a severely, severely misaligned grin - the kind I remember bullies torturing kids about. If this were my other daughter, I would not be as concerned. In fact, it would almost suit her quirky personality. But the truth is, maybe this is exactly what my older daughter needs to jolt her out of her emphasis on her "perfect" looks and focus on other things. We have been trying to do just that (even before the discovery of this supernumerary tooth), and have always told her she is beautiful on the outside and inside.

Her teacher has helped tremendously in turning the situation of the upcoming tooth loss into a positive experience. Since my daughter is the first in the class who will experience this (and probably the only one), she has been focusing lesson plans around teeth, trips to the dentist, losing first teeth, etc., and all of the kids are very interested and giving my daughter a lot of attention because of it. Of course they don't understand that her tooth loss will not be a "normal" case, but that doesn't matter. My daughter is starting to become proud of her wiggly tooth and it's impending departure. And no matter what happens I hope that she will always be proud of her smile because it will always be beautiful to us.

Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

Last Tuesday the tri-state area was plummeted with an average of seven inches of snow. Given what’s going on in New York right now, I know that seems miniscule, but for Cincinnati, that’s a blizzard. In typical Cincinnati style, the whole city nearly shut down. A snow emergency was called, schools closed, businesses let out early, people were absolutely freaking out.

My parents are definitely on the fanatical side when it comes to weather-related issues. I think part of that comes from being a Cincinnatian, I think the other part comes from the scale of our side of town, which is appropriately named “Western Hills.” I grew up on a street that is at the bottom of a huge hill. To make matters worse, people park on both sides of this very narrow street, even during snow emergencies. Only one car can go up or down at one time, which makes room for error during snowstorms very, very small. In fact, an ex-boyfriend of mine suffered three car accidents in one winter on that street. One snowy Valentine’s Day he tried to be proactive by parking at the top of the hill to avoid another winter collision. He walked all of the way down to my house in the blustery weather to see me. When he returned to where he had parked, his car was a good 10-feet further than where he had left it. Apparently another car had slid in the snow and totaled his car. Luckily they left him a note.

My parents still live in this winter-unfriendly neighborhood. Three years ago my husband and I built a house on a street almost as difficult. Our house sits atop of a very, very steep hill. A significant snowfall pretty much leaves both my family and my parents stranded until the plows come through. Because my father was terrified of not being able to make it home from my house on the day of this latest storm, I left work around 1:30pm, about an hour after the first flakes of snow fell. I thought I would make it home before the roads got too bad, but snow was falling at about one to two inches per hour and accumulating quickly. My normally 30-minute commute took me two and a half hours. I called my dad from the road and told him to bring the girls to the neighbor’s house because I knew he’d never make it home if he waited for me.

By the time I got to our neighborhood, our roads were pretty treacherous. You first have to go down a big hill and then immediately go up the even bigger hill. Because I went down the first hill too slowly, I didn’t have enough speed to make it up the monstrous second. I made it maybe five-feet up and then my wheels just started spinning. I reversed back down the hill and back up the first as much as I could, gunned it, and made a run up the second hill. Through a lot of sliding and spinning, I eventually reached the top of the hill to my house.

My husband made it home about a half hour later. Apparently a lot of cars were getting stuck all over our hill, so he put on a few layers of clothing, grabbed a shovel, and walked down to help people up the hill. See what an incredible guy I married?? He arrived back home about an hour and a half later, cold, exhausted, and covered in snow from head-to-toe. Instead of feeling fulfilled for his work as a Good Samaritan and friendly neighbor, he returned feeling very aggravated and frustrated. He said most of the people he helped were pushy, inappreciative, and exhibited entitlement to his help. Most did not thank him for going out of his way or even give him the grateful “wave.” They acted as if he should be there, that he was the hired help or something.

One woman, whose car had slid sideways and was stuck on the hill, was on her cell phone when my husband approached her to help. She kept putting her finger up to him, ignoring him when he was trying to ask if he could help her. She eventually rolled her window down just a crack and said, Hold on, I’m on the phone with my husband trying to see what I should do. My husband replied, How about I push you up? I’m here. She just rolled her window up and continued to talk on the phone, acting as if my husband were a bother.

I tried to remind him that most of the people he helped were probably freaked out because of being stuck in the snow and didn’t mean to be rude. They were preoccupied with the current crisis, and by the time they were freed, they were probably too far from him to thank him. He said he wasn’t looking for thanks, he was just very surprised by some of the neighbors’ superior and condescending attitude towards him when he was there volunteering to help!

The next afternoon I got a call from my neighbor who lives across the street, asking who was shoveling our driveway. Because my husband had been so busy helping the neighbors on the night of the snowstorm, he hadn’t had a chance to shovel our own driveway. The question bewildered me because both my husband and I were at work, and my kids were at my parents’ house that day. I asked my neighbor to peek outside again to see if she recognized the person. She said the person was very bundled up but that he looked like another neighbor who lived about six houses down from us. This neighbor’s wife happened to be one of those that my husband had pushed up the hill during the snowstorm. She had actually called my husband that night when she got home to thank him.

When we got home, we found our driveway completely cleared as well as our sidewalk, which must have taken at least an hour or so. We looked for a note or a message from the good-deeder, but found nothing. My husband called the neighbor we suspected and said, It seems the Snow Shoveling Fairy visited our house today. Do you know anything about that?”Our neighbor replied, I might know a little something about that. He said he shoveled our driveway and sidewalk in appreciation for helping his wife up the hill during the storm. What was most wonderful about this token of appreciation was the neighbor attempted to do so anonymously, without any credit whatsoever.

In the following days, we received several bags of homemade cookies and treats from other appreciative neighbors that my husband had helped that day. And while my husband certainly didn’t need this recognition, it fully restored his faith in neighborly kindness. Tonight we are supposed to get hit with another snowstorm, and I’m sure my husband will be out in the trenches again, digging out what we both now know are wonderful neighbors. I have no doubt in my mind he’d be doing the same even if he had never gotten the cookies, treats, or snow-shoveling courtesy. This time he’ll just remember that if the stranded motorists seem curt or rude at the time, it’s just the inborn Cincinnatian snow-phobia talking.

Star Light

A couple of nights ago, my daughter was looking out the window and said she saw a star. Given the weather and time of year, I was sure what she saw was actually a plane, but I didn't correct her. I watched her as she quietly whispered,

Star light

Star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may

I wish I might

Have this wish I wish tonight.

I then asked what she wished. At first she wouldn't tell me, saying that if she did, it wouldn't come true. I told her that that rule didn't apply to mommies and daughters.

So she looked at me proudly and excitedly said, Mommy, I wished it was spring.

Boy, did I share her sentiment, but one day later we were hit with seven inches of snow. Yeah, that "star" was definitely an airplane. Thanks for trying, sweetie.

Burnt Play-doh

Did you know you can cook Play-doh?

At my daughter's preschool, parents are required to sign up to bring in certain items for the classroom, one of which is the monthly supply of Play-doh. I signed up for January, which is blue.

What I didn't know is you cannot buy a tub of the store-bought kind, but the school wants you to home-make it by mixing common household ingredients and heating it over the stove. I'm not sure why this is, but I'm guessing it's in case one of the more curious children decide they'd like to eat Play-doh. I'm not sure what the store-bought kind is made of, but the home-made kind is made with all edible ingredients, but I would never recommend that parents pack it in their kids' lunches as a snack. Although, given my recent allergic reactions to food, I have to admit I was mildly curious to try it since it doesn't contain any of my no-no foods. I''m getting desperate here, people!

The school provides the following recipe:
********************************************************
Ingredients:

• 3 Cups Flour
• 3 Tablespoons Oil
• 1 1/2 Cups Salt
• 2 Tablespoons Cream of Tartar
• 3 Cups Water
• Food Coloring

Mix ingredients over low heat. Once mixture is not sticky to the touch, remove from heat. Allow to cool a few minutes. Knead mixture until soft and pliable. Store in a plastic zip-lock bag or an airtight container.

*********************************************************

Ok, I am not the most domestic person in the world, but I thought I could handle this simple, for-pre-school project. I followed the directions to a T. However, once in the pan and over the stove, the mixture remained very watery. I expected that it would become solid fairly quickly. I wasn't sure if I should continue to stir it over the stove or let it sit. Nothing was happening and I was growing impatient very quickly, so I turned the heat up from Low to Middle and left the mixture on the stove quite a bit longer than I had anticipated it would take. The mixture started to bubble in big, scary blobs. I was very afraid that it might suddenly explode and leave a royal blue glob on our porcelain white ceiling, so I removed it from the stove. It still appeared liquified to me. After poking it with a spoon, I discovered that there was just a thin layer of liquid on the top, and the lower half seemed to be solid. Because I didn't want to be mistakened for a Smurf the next day at work, I put on a pair of plastic gloves so that I could grab and knead pieces of the mixture. Well, I had apparently left the mixture on the stove too long because I soon discovered burnt blue Play-doh stuck to the bottom of the pan. Leave it to me to burn Play-doh!!!

Luckily, I could salvage enough of the middle, unburned, non-liquified portion of the Play-doh for my daughter to bring to school. It was not pretty. It smelled awful. But it was still pliable. Gimme a break already, I'm trying.

Grilled Hamster

After suffering from an allergic reaction to something last week, I asked my allergist to send me the results of the Allergy Skin Test I took a few years ago. Here are the results (on a scale from 0 - 4, 0 indicating no reaction - 4 indicating a very severe reaction):

Epidermals
Cat 2
Dog 0
Feathers 0
Horse 2
Hamsters 0
Dust Mites
Mite (D.Far.) D2 0
Mite (De.Pter.) D3 3
Molds 1
Alternaria 0
Hormodendrum 0
Penicillium Notatum 0
Aspergillus Fumigatus 2
Molds 2
Aspergillus Niger 2
Mucor 0
Rhizopus 0
Mols 3
Fusarium
Candida Albicans 0
Pullularia 0
Epicoccum 0
Trees #2
Ash 3+
Beech 3
Moutain Cedar 2
Cottonwood 0
Willow, Black 2
Weeds
Lamb's Quarter 3
Pigweed/Careless 3
Trees #3
Elm 0
Pine Mix. 2
Oak Mix. 3
Birch Mix. 0
Sycamore 3
Box Elder/Maple 3
Pecan Tree 2
Others
Ragweed, giant 4+
Ragweed, short 4+
Cocklebur Weed 4
English Plantain 4
Grass Mix 4+
Bermuda Grass 4
Cockroaches Mix. 2
Common Foods
Soy 4
Milk, Cows (whole) 3
Egg (whole) 4
Strawberry 0
English Walnut 0
Fix Mix. 4+
Banana 4
Wheat 4
Tomato 4
Peanuts Mix. 3
Beef 4
Chicken 3
Crab Mix. 3
Lobster 4

On the day I developed the hives I had consumed five of the items on the Common Foods list that are apparently big no-no's for me: (1) a banana (for breakfast); (2) peanuts - in the form of
peanut butter; (3) on wheat bread; (4) tomatoes on my salad at dinner; and of course (4) shrimp. And who knows - maybe a cockroach crawled over my food at the restaurant, really throwing my allergies over the edge!

So I guess it's not surprising that I experienced an allergic reaction. What is surprising is that I haven't had more outbreaks more often because I've been consuming most of these common foods on a regular basis without many incidents up until now. My allergist had said that I could start reacting more severely to these items at any time, so I guess my time is up. I have noticed that the hives that started last weekend have still not completely subsided. I'm getting sporadic splotchiness - and I've also had at least one of the items on this list every single day (chicken, beef, milk). So I guess I will have to go on an all strawberries and english walnuts diet!

I wonder if Grilled Hamster is any good...

Itchin' for Some Shrimp

I love shrimp. In the immortal words of fellow-shrimp lover Benjamin Buford Blue, better known as Bubba from Forrest Gump: Dey's uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir-fried. There's pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp, shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich. That- that's about it. And it’s all good. Unless you’re allergic to shrimp.

Over the weekend, my husband took the family to a local seafood restaurant. I enjoyed shrimp scampi, garlic grilled shrimp, fried shrimp, a baked potato and a salad. Stuffed, I went to bed right after getting home. The next morning I woke up to find big, red, bumpy, itchy hives all over my face.

I’ve eaten shrimp before. Many, many times, although sporadically. I’ve never had a reaction to shellfish before, and I’m not entirely sure that the shrimp is to blame (I hope it’s not).

I have suffered from seasonal allergies (hay fever) for at least 16 years. Once the seasonal sneezing and itching became absolutely intolerable, I visited an allergist in search of relief, hoping I wouldn’t have to hibernate indoors every spring and fall. The doctor ran the whole gamut of allergy testing on me as standard procedure, which by the way is NOT fun. Those tests indicated that I was allergic to a very long list of things, many things I have enjoyed symptom-free all of my life. This list included, among other things, very standard items such as chicken, beef, cats. Of course I wasn’t consuming the latter, although I do wonder about some of the Chinese restaurants I’ve visited. The tests also indicated a reaction to shellfish. The doc said that as long as I wasn’t having reactions to those items, I could continue enjoying them as I always have, but at some point I might develop a reaction to some or all of them. I guess I reached that “some point” - at least in regards to the shellfish. Dangit.

This isn’t the first time that I have experienced an allergic reaction in the form of hives. I once developed hives after coming into contact with latex. And about two years ago, I had an outbreak very much like this one, but it was complicated with shortness of breath. Because of that, I found myself in the dreaded emergency room that evening. I don’t know why they call them emergency rooms because there is absolutely no sense of urgency in them whatsoever. They should be called “Wait-Here-for-at-Least-Three-Hours-and-We-Don’t-Care-How-Much-Pain-You-Are-In-Rooms.”

Now my case that evening was probably of the milder sort of “emergency,” but there was a guy in the waiting room who had literally cut his finger off. His now four-digit hand was wrapped in a towel, which was soaked with blood. He was writhing in obvious pain, complaining that he had already been there an hour. I told the receptionist that they better not dare call me in before this guy. About three hours later, I finally made my way into the examining room. We never did figure out what I had been exposed to that triggered the reaction. I was prescribed a week’s worth of steroids and Zyrtec.

My outbreak this weekend didn’t warrant that kind of treatment or the headache of the ER, so I just took my Allegra, hoping that would speed things along. If it hadn’t happened over the weekend, I definitely would’ve been in to see the doctor. But Monday morning I woke up to find most of it cleared up, with just traces of splotchiness and itching. My chin still feels like sandpaper, but at least I no longer look like I had been whipped in the face with a belt.

I’ve since done some research on the internet, and my reaction does seem to be in line with a shellfish allergy. However, I have also since learned that spoiled shrimp can release a histamine that can cause allergic reaction, including hives. Fair or not, we won’t be going to that restaurant again any time soon, but I also won’t be giving up my shrimp just yet either.

Sisterhood

My older daughter was just over a year old when I became pregnant with my second child. Friends and family thought we were nuts. You'll have two in diapers at the same time!, they'd say. Yeah, we knew. But we also knew we didn't want to extend the diaper-days over a long period of time either by spreading our kids far apart. This way, we'd get the diaper-filled, bottle-ridden, sleeplesss years over in one big bang. And boy did we. What we didn't consider is this "big bang" would leave us absolutely exhausted during these early years. We are starting to come up out of the fog, being diaper-free for almost a year, not having to hover over their every move in fear of them stumbling into certain death. But of course the old challenges are replaced with new ones.

The real reason we wanted to have our children close together in age was for the friendship and bond that they would certainly build. I have two brothers: one half-brother, who is nearly eight years older than me. I barely knew him, even though we lived under the same roof for the first 22 years of my life. We were always in vastly different stages of life. My other brother is two years younger than I am, which is the same age difference between my girls. He was my very best friend. Not just when we were toddlers or even kids; but even more so when we were in high school and young adults. We shared many of the same friends, hung out together on weekends, the whole bit. My relationship with him was the single-most important relationship I ever had, the one I was positively the most protective of, up until my marriage.

I had always hoped to replicate that same closeness and friendship between my own children. I ended up having two girls. Two beautiful, smart, funny girls. Each who knows that about themselves and even more so about the other. What does that breed, even at their tender ages? Closeness. Love. Friendship. Sure. But also competition. Jealousy. Conflict. Right now this mostly manifests in their unwillingness to share with each other. In fact, a lot of the time I feel like more of a referee than a mother. But I can already anticipate greater challenges arising out of sibling rivalry in the years to come, and I have a feeling sibling rivalry between sisters of such a close age is an entirely different beast. Something I have never been exposed to.

Even though my younger brother and I were close in age, I don't remember a lot of rivalry between us. That's not to say we didn't fight. Sure we did. I even remember a couple of occasions when I was a kid when I hit him. He'd hit me back. I'd tattle to my dad. My brother would get in trouble for hitting me, a girl. He should be tough enough to take it if you hit him, my dad would say. So, I'd get away with it (Man, that was wrong).

Even so, those scuffles were far and few between. I just don't remember anything like what I fear could potentially brew between my girls. My brother and I were into such different things that we really weren't in the same arena to even compete. I excelled in academics. My brother was a star athlete. Since our interests were different, we never wanted the possessions that the other had. While I was a bit of a tomboy, I still had the stereotypical "girl" toys: Barbies, Cabbage Patch dolls, Care Bears, you know - the standards. My brother stocked up on action figures, Hot Wheels, GI Joe, He-man and Skeletor. Sharing just wasn't an issue.

That's not the case with my girls. They are so close in age that they are both into the same exact things. These girls have no less than 50 Barbie dolls, no lie. But gosh dern it, if one kid has one particular doll, the other one MUST have just that particular one. Nothing else. And so the fight ensues: That's mine. - I had it first. - But that one is my favorite. - You can't have it. If I do not intervene, this normally progresses into a pinching match.

When the girls decide to play dolls, I try to be proactive and dump all of the dolls in the middle and have them pick one at a time, taking turns. This normally works for a few minutes, until one eyes a particularly desirable doll that the other one has. My four-year-old will either try to snatch it while my toddler isn't looking, or manipulate her way into convincing my toddler to give it to her. She likes ultimatums: I'll cry if you don't give me that doll. If you don't give me that doll, I won't play with you. I won't like you anymore. Or she tries reverse psychology: I think that doll is ugly. Why do you want it? Yep, she's good at this.

My two-year-old, while tough-as-nails, is also the most compassionate kid I have ever met. If her sister starts crying, normally she will break and give in. Even if her sister is in Time Out for doing something to her, she will join her in Time Out of her own free will and try to console her. She'll rub her back, kiss her, bring her things. But she's getting older and wiser, and while she still consoles her sister when she's sad, she's standing her ground these days, digging in those pudgy little heels, and retorts, Mine! You're mean!

My husband and I have decided that next year, we are getting all doubles for gifts. That way there will be no squabbling as to who gets what. But these are just toys, and that's just a quick fix. What are we going to do when it's more than that? I can already anticipate the challenges they (and thus we) will face as they get older, including boys. It is entirely possible and even likely that they will both end up liking the same boy at some point. Then the real drama will begin. Oh, the heartache.

I can honestly say that there hasn't been a single day in my life, even as a kid, that I wished I had a sister. I knew I had it good. My brothers didn't want my toys. I didn't want theirs. They didn't want to borrow my favorite skirt (although I did occasionally borrow a cool sweatshirt from my brothers). I was Daddy's Little Girl. Daddy's ONLY Little Girl. It was my title and there was no one there to even think about threatening that or my status in the family. But now as the mother of two daughters, I know my girls will never have that luxury, that solidarity of status. I hope that we'll raise them with so much love and confidence that they will always feel secure and equally loved, but it still worries me.

With all of that said, I absolutely wouldn't trade their sisterhood for the world and I know they wouldn't either. My four-year-old loves nothing more than trotting her sister into her classroom to show her off. And my two-year-old loves copying her sister, who she believes is the best thing since Disney.

So my husband and I got our wish: we have two precious children who are very close in every way. They are sisters. They are best friends. They bring out the best and sometimes the worst in each other. They laugh, they cry, they love (even when they're trying to rip each others' hair out). And in the end they share without even realizing it; they share a connection that they will never share with another soul in their entire lifetime. Cherish it, girls.

Magic

Has it really been almost a month since my last entry??

The festivities of December simply left me with no free time to upkeep the blog. It’s a new year, and I promise to be better.

Our holidays were, in the words of a favorite friend of mine, fantastic. How could they not be, with a two-year-old and four-year-old?? My girls are in the prime of the time of believing and all the magic that goes with that. However, I’m beginning to realize just how fleeting that precious time is. My older daughter is showing more signs of one who will figure it all out very prematurely.

On Christmas Eve, we went to my parents’ house. I brought the girls their pajamas to change into with the hope that they would fall asleep early, giving Mr. and Mrs. Claus more time to set up. On the ride home, I looked in the back seat, and sure enough, they were out like a light. It was only 8pm, so my husband and I were very excited about the prospect of getting to sleep a bit earlier than anticipated. We started talking about all that we had to do that night: assemble the 12 Dancing Princesses’ Castle, bring up all of the presents from the basement and add bows to them, set up the new Dora tent, eat the cookies left out for Santa and leave a thank you note.

When we got home, we carried the girls up to bed. As we laid our four-year-old down on the bed, a huge smile grew across her face. I said to my husband, Aww, look. She must be having a great Christmas dream. She then startled me by busting out in laughter. I asked her if we had just woken her up. She replied, No silly. I was just pretending I was asleep so Santa would come. She claimed she had never fallen asleep.

In horror I then recalled the conversation my husband and I had shared in the car on the way home, thinking both of the girls were asleep: the great detail of what we (not Santa) were going to do that night. I thought, That’s it! The secret is out. Christmas is spoiled. So I asked her what her daddy and I had been talking about in the car. She wouldn’t respond. I’m not sure if a) she really had fallen asleep for a bit and hadn’t heard us; b) she had heard us, but didn’t want to spoil our fun by telling us she knew; or c) she was awake but just didn’t hear us or just didn’t put it together. I tend to think Option C is the most likely possibility.

Regardless, Christmas was a smashing success. My daughters met the morning with glee and enthusiasm; with fun and love. Through the eyes of our little ones, my husband and I have re-discovered the happiness and excitement of this special time of year. Even if this was our last Christmas with the full-fledged “Santa” belief intact (I hope it’s not!), I know the magic that we feel together will never go away.

P.S. Ok, I admit it. This was a particularly sappy blog entry. It comes with the season. Give me some time and I’m sure I’ll be back to my old sarcastic self again.