Musician

Adelaide, at the tender age of 3.25, is learning to read music. I wasn't sure if the piano would be a good choice so young, but we had a very laid back few tries in the summer attached to Gillian's lesson when G's school music teacher did the rounds to give teach in people's homes. Addie loved it. So, we continued into this year. Their music teacher is fantastic, and the girls have a wonderful rapport with her. So, without further adieu, here is Addie actually reading the notes to "Merrily We Roll Along" or for most of us, Mary Had a Little Lamb. Note: she isn't there yet with figuring things out by ear, so, she was really reading the notes. Gillian's violin teacher told me that the siblings always pick music up faster. She says "it's almost not fair" how much better they do in Suzuki as a result. If all goes according to plan, Addie will start cello next Fall when she's 4. Like Gillian, I hope the piano provides a good foundation for her musical beginnings with string instruments! I need to post a video of Gillian, who started violin in mid November of 2011. She has progressed at warp speed with a very excellent, very strict teacher, and a very dedicated father to help her learn.

Hanging On

I feel like someone who has Alzheimer’s and is totally aware of that, but can’t stop a runaway train hurdling toward the abyss of cognitive dystrophy. Except it’s with my kids. I am acutely aware of how I won’t get this time back, but somehow I can’t get to a place of blissed out motherhood these days the way I did when Gillian was little. I remember with fondness watching her in absolute peaceful happiness personify rocks, but those days are long, long gone and have been replaced with a constant feeling of Just “hanging in there”. I guess I know the various factors contributing to not feeling super connected and tender every second. They go kindof like this:

1.      Whining-constant

2.      Fighting and bickering-constant

3.      Selective listening-constant

4.      Resistance to acquiescence-constant

5.      Mess making-intermittent

6.      Saying no when we ask them to do something-more often than not (which = Time Out)

7.      Meltdowns-for whatever reason, more frequently of late with Addie

8.      During said meltdowns, zingers thrown about like “I DON’T LOVE YOU”; “IF YOU SAY THAT I WON’T LET YOU PLAY WITH MY PONY”; “I HATE YOU IF YOU DO THAT”, “I WILL ONLY LOVE YOU IF YOU APOLOGIZE” (the apology usually follows something unfortunate she did to ME-I have yet to know how she figured out how to be so hurtful; each one is followed up by me with a “Well, I’m sorry you are feeling that way. I love YOU.”).

9.      I never get enough sleep

10.  We have lots of stress having to do with changes that are putting a serious financial strain on us.

11.  Don’t need to say it but: EVERYONE IN THIS HOUSE THINKS THEY KNOW EVERYTHING (including yours truly). Yeah, that’s a big one.

Add that all together and VOILA! Skipping record quality of correcting the children, asking them not to hurt eachother, putting them in time out, all of this while I am feeling blaringly exhausted, stressed, and overextended. It makes sense, then, that the kids’ behavior isn’t nearly so tolerable in this state of existence. With of all this surficial BS distracting me from living and connecting with my family, you can add a heaping serving of guilt to that tall order (oh, that and the added guilt of knowing I am whining about a situation that could be approximately 90 million universes worse in a slew of other infinite possible circumstances-the proverbial White Whine).

So, what do we do? Well, I would say take a deep breath and know it won’t last forever, except we have had a pretty good run of disruption lately. It all started with that oven fire in July (I haven’t told you about that yet-needless to say, we finally got the house put back together in September). OK, so I’ll just say we need to take a lot of deep breaths and have faith that this is in our deck of cards, that it is just a part of the plan en route to sunnier days. Because there are no accidents, you know.

Another good thing would be to show myself some compassion, but that has never been one of my better virtues. I think a good bit of parenting your second child when you have a first child pleading for your every extra second of energy involves operating in survival mode. All the time-which gives the second child the shaft, completely, and makes you feel like an absolute failure most of the time as a mother. I’m not sure if it’s that or the fact that our psychological angst is manifesting itself in all kind of crazy in their behavior that makes it feel worse.

So, here I am, having my usual October-where things are drastically in flux, where I am feeling melancholy at best, and where God is asking me to step off the cliff and have faith he will provide. I need to take better care, get some sleep, do some yoga on top of my walking, restart the meditation, and put our current brand of crazy in perspective. I need to have more afternoons like the other weekend when the girls and I made a giant mound of leaves and played in it for hours. I know when I do that, my lenses will be clear to see my beautiful little girls being beautiful, and silly, and sweet, for me to see my blessed life, and so that I can recapture my usual iron clad tenacity for dealing with what the world throws my way.

All about the teeth

On Wednesday, October 3 Gillian lost her first tooth. As fate would have it, I happened to be there at lunch helping out in the classroom when Gillian said "OUCH! Mama-I bit my tooth and it HURT!". Then a second later she said "Oh, here it is! It came out!". Instant celebrity. All the kids gathered around as if it was the hottest ticket in town to see her tiny little tooth, freshly plucked from her little mouth with a drop of blood on the bottom for legitimacy.

The teacher, Mrs. K., immediately went into tooth loss mode: whipped out a ziploc baggy and a little cardstock tooth board, wrote the date and "Gillian-congratulations on your first lost tooth!", stuck it in the baggy, and Gilllian proudly displayed it throughout the rest of lunch time. For this was a SPECIAL day-the day she became a big girl (in her own mind, anyway-let me tell you, a lost or wiggly tooth is a status thing in the jetsetting Kindergarten crowd). For me, well I was both proud and verclempt, though above all, relieved-this is proof that Gillian is not enough of a biological Colledge to freakishly hang on to her baby teeth into middle age like her Aunt and Grandfather (the Aunt, into her 50s, had her canines removed and had braces pull the adult teeth down; people like to tell the story of how the grandfather lost his last baby tooth when he was in the war, or something), or lose them really late, like everyone else. I was proud that she was delighted with her bloody little tooth and not freaked out by it. I heard her tell someone that the tooth fairy brings gold coins, and made a mental note for later to get me to the bank for some gold dollars.

And then y'all-after lunch was done and the floors and tables were clean I got in my car and wept like a baby about that little tooth. I wallowed in the realization that my little girl is growing up-a visceral feeling of loss. What can I say- I remember this toothless sweetness:

I pulled it together like mamas always do. I went to Target and got a few groceries and then went to the bank and got three gold dollars because this was a SPECIAL occasion-first tooth loss and all. And I found a suitable little box for the tiny tooth. And I located some fairy dust glitter (because every fairy I ever knew left a trail of fairy pixie everywhere they go, don't you know..?)...and some pretty paper to wrap the gold coins.

Gillian decided the box should go under her pillow. We had a discussion about how big the tooth fairy is, and Gillian was a little worried she wouldn't be able to lift the lid of the box (interestingly, she was NOT worried how the tiny fairy would lift her melon sized sleeping head and pull the box out from underneath the pillow, but I digress). I assured her the tooth fairy was hella strong and not to worry, but also at least as tall as her hand is long. Luckily, all the excitement on earth couldn't keep Gillian awake, so she was asleep before she even got her evening back tickle. Still, I waited a bit to swap things out. I fashioned a tiny scroll and wrote this (I wonder if she thought it curious how everyone always seems to nag her to be nice to Addie-maybe Santa gave the TF a heads up that this was a recurring issue):

I tied it with a little ribbon and put it in the little box with the wrapped gold coins. Later, we discussed that the fairy was probably a good 6 inches tall given the size of the scroll and handwriting. At any rate, the fairy left sparkly pixie dust everywhere, and Gillian was beyond herself waking up and discovering this. Faith in magic and everything else, preserved!

(While we're on the subject, I would also like to mention that Addie's teeth have really realigned since the num num went away. They almost look like she never had an oral fixation.)

Every since the tooth loss day, Addie has wanted to read Dr. Seuss' The Tooth Book. Addie likes to look at Gillian's dental crater (and enjoyed marvelling at the tooth itself before it got taken by the TF), but doesn't seem to be wishing for her own. That tells me she's a little creeped out by it, because she always wants everything Gillian has. Anyway, new Milestone-came and went on our high speed trajectory to adulthood.