It all seems like fun and games until... THE HOLIDAYS

My parenting plan has been for each child to have one sport and one musical instrument in addition to school. Rosie has also shown an interest in the arts, performance and visual; Dash enjoys strategy games like chess. There are after- or before-school classes for any or all of these interests; I don't discourage, but choose what we can fit in very selectively.

Sport
When our pediatrician told me last year that the kids were both overweight and needed to have at least an hour of sweaty activity every day, I enrolled them both in tae kwon do. TKD meets three times a week, which covers some of that allotment. Their PE class only meets a couple days a week and lasts about 30 minutes, so that doesn't cover much. Rosie also has a tap dance class that meets once a week, and seasonally, I put Dash in soccer or track (each meets one day a week).

Music
Rosie started the cello program at school last year, took weekly lessons through the summer, and (despite sporadic practice at home) is now a "leader" in the cello section, according to her Strings teacher. Dash is taking weekly piano lessons with a neighbor.

Performance Arts
In addition to Rosie taking tap lessons, I take modern dance classes and Jazzercise to stay healthy and have fun in my spare time. Rosie is in a weekly "art club" at school.

ALL OF THESE ACTIVITIES HAVE HOLIDAY PARTIES. 
Starting today, there are non-stop winter performance/open house/holiday parties through the weekend. Thank goodness the piano teacher took a holiday — there is no piano party.

Thursday (today): 
5-6 PM, Tap Class Open House (Rosie performs)
7-9 PM, School Winter Strings/Band/Choral Concert  (Rosie)

Friday: 
5-6:30 PM, Tae Kwon Do Studio Holiday Party (optional, Dash wants to go)

Saturday:
9 AM, Jazzercise Holiday Party (optional, Nylon, going to bail)
10:30 AM - 12 PM, TKD Belt Testing (Rosie)
[no specific times] Taking kids to an overnight with Auntie, Nylon gets coiffed/primped
6 -10 PM: Office Holiday Party in DC (Nylon & Monkeyrotica)

Sunday:
[no specific time] Picking up kids from Auntie's, Nylon gets coiffed/primped/costumed
1 - 3:30 PM, The Dance Studio Holiday Program (Nylon performs with modern dance class)

I'm sure I'll make it through the weekend, but I'm crawling into a hole Sunday afternoon.

My new morning schedule, with rabbits

Adding two rabbits to our household requires more than a few adjustments, especially in my morning schedule. Looks like I'll need to actually get out of bed *with* my alarm, and not goof around for 10-15 minutes...
 
5:25: AJS gives me a kiss, leaves for work
5:30: Boss texts me not to pack a lunch, we're having a group lunch today (BTW, good morning!)
5:35: Alarm goes off; check texts, Facebook, play words with friends before dragging self down to shower.
5:50: Shower, dress, load laundry in the washing machine
6:15: Get kids up, pester them to wear their swim outfits for summer camp water-park day
6:30: Put up barriers, let rabbits hop around while I make breakfast
6:45: Kids shuffle out from their bedrooms; tell kids to pack their dry clothes and towels
7:00: Hand kids their breakfasts over the rabbit barriers
7:05: Prep kids' lunches, get nose-bumped in the legs by hungry rabbits
7:15: Pack kids' lunches, give rabbits carrot & apple scraps
7:20: Chase down escaped rabbit who hopped over a two-foot barrier (taller than her), toss her back over the barrier
7:25: Put rabbit food (hay and pellets) into their cages, chase rabbits into cages 
7:30: Yell at kids for not dressing in a swim suit (Dash), packing their clothes and towels, brushing their teeth, or putting their shoes on; blow-dry my hair
7:35: Using a Sharpie pen, draw flames on previously rejected OMG pink! hand-me-down water-shoes for Dash; they are deemed okay.
7:40: Get in car, drive to summer camp, drop off kids
7:50: Head to work

I haven't fully wrapped my head around letting the rabbits run free through the house. I've noticed that when we corral them outside of Dash's bedroom (where the cages are), they poop and pee all over; but when they do have access to their cages, they scamper back to the cages every few minutes and I don't see poop anywhere. Once I have a chance to secure all of our chewables (especially electrical cords) I'll consider letting them run around with express access to their cages and see if this prevents the free-pooping that happened last night in the corral. Trial and error!!

The importance of being cozy

Dash's favorite word, above all others at the moment, is COZY. He likes to be cozy, wear cozy clothes, and have fluffy, cozy stuffed animals with names like "puffy," "furry," and "fuzzy" around him. When he's "cozy," he becomes an adorable caricature of a happy little boy. He curls up into a ball, a sweet smile shows up on his face (pictured above), he might start bouncing around a bit, and emits giggles or what seems to him to be happy-baby noises, i.e., "hoo-hoo, hee-hee, aaaaah!"

If his big sister Rosie is nearby, this cozy activity will jump-start her maternal and dramatic instincts. She rushes over, announces, "Oh, what a cute little baby!" and gives him hugs or pretends to rock him to sleep; she might stage a baby-feeding session or cover him with more blankets or toys. Clearly, this is the type of attention he's looking for! They both soak it up and symbiotically enjoy the baby-play.

At five years old and a few days scant of eight, this is all pretend play, of course. Rosie has quite the flair for improvisational drama while Dash loves to channel memories of being a baby. Some days, I'll find him in a melancholy, nostalgic mood, pining for his "baby things." When I try to pin him down on what baby thing he misses, he won't really be able to specifically say. He just knows that he had "baby things" and that we gave them away. I'm pretty sure what he's missing is the Nuk. He was awfully attached to it, and while we weaned him off two years ago, he probably has retained faded memories of something he once had that made him feel comforted.

For now, he'll just have to stick with cozy.

The Empty Bed, or Sneak-out of 2009

The following is a very long post, and it actually happened to us, the Strings, this past Friday, October 2nd.

4:50 a.m. “You Call 911.”
Monkeyrotica (whom I’ll call Joe for the rest of this post) woke me up, suddenly, with urgency.

“Rosie’s gone,” he said.

Still mostly asleep, I didn’t respond.
“She’s not in her bed, she’s not in the house. Help me look for her.”
Blearily, I responded, “She’s probably hiding somewhere. You know, in the closet or under the bed. I’ll check in her usual spots.” I got out of bed, now a little worried.
“No. The front door was open,” Joe told me. “We always latch it before bed, why would it be open?” He was freaked. I started to get cold all over with a lump in my stomach.

I looked in her room, in her bed. Dash was still sleeping on his side of the double bed, but on her side, there was no Rosie. Instead, there was one of her blankets loosely covering several small pillows, arranged to look like a prone body in bed. This scene convinced me that her leave-taking was premeditated, that she was not abducted. My rising anxiety came down a notch. Several high-profile childnapping cases have made the news, and while I’m certain abductions are rare, they do happen and they make good money for the news media, working on the emotions of parents who can’t stop reading the dramatic, terrifying stories. One of a parent’s worst fears is to lose a child. I was terrified.

Joe grabbed a flashlight and went outside to search around the house, calling her name in case she was hiding in the bushes or playing with toys in the backyard. I did the same, inside, looking in closets, the basement, bathtub, under beds. She sometimes hides on us, well past it being a fun game, so I hoped she was just playing an overused trick on us. Dash was awake, so I asked him, “Did Rosie tell you that she was going somewhere, sweetie?” “No,” he answered, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. Joe came back inside.

“I’m going to take the car and drive around the neighborhood. You call 911,“ he directed, then walked outside.

5:07 a.m. “What Was Your Daughter Wearing?”
“What is the nature of your emergency?” the 911 dispatcher asked.
“My daughter isn’t in the house,” I answered, shakily.
“How old is your daughter?”
“Six.”
Under her breath, it sounded like the dispatcher muttered, “That’s wrong.” In a normal tone, she continued, asking for our address, her full name, and other details. She asked, “Is there any reason your daughter left the house? Does she sleepwalk?”
“She has, but she’s never gone out the door before. She’s never gone out the door by herself without asking even during the day. She doesn’t do this.”
“Has she said anything to you about wanting to leave?”
I thought for a moment. “She’s been asking for a lot of playdates and sleepovers lately. I’ve been working late and haven’t been able to schedule them very often.”
When she asked me, “What was your daughter wearing?” I choked up.
“Uh, I… I don’t remember! She dressed herself. I dressed my son, and I… don’t have any idea what she wore to bed.” Long pause.
“Do you know what shoes she is wearing?”
“No…”
“Can you look around and see if there are any of her shoes missing?” After I fitfully stomped around the house, accounting for shoes, I discovered that one pair was not around.
“Her pink mary-janes aren’t here. They have a Velcro strap.” The dispatcher made notes.
“Is there a creek nearby?”
“Yes, at the end of our street.”
“Does she know how to swim?”
“No! (I cringed inside) But the creek is only a few inches deep, just runoff.”
“Officers are on their way to your house. They should be there shortly.” We ended the call.

I found Dash lying in his own bed, awake and told him, “Dash, Rosie’s not in the house and Mommy and Daddy are very scared. Do you know where she is?”
“No, Mommy.”
I went to the open front door and looked out onto the dark street. It was about 50 degrees that morning. What was she wearing? What was she THINKING? Where would she go? I thought about what I told the 911 dispatcher about playdates and sleepovers and the friends Rosie had named. Fiona was the closest friend, just a block and a half away. My cell phone was still in my hand; I phoned her house. While the call was connecting, two police cars were on my street, headed for my home.

5:13 a.m. “That’s Her in the Orange!”
Brian, Fiona’s dad, picked up at the second ring. “Hello?”
“This is Nylon, Rosie’s mom. I’m sorry to bother you so early…”
“She’s here,” he cut me off. “Kathy just put her in the car.”
“Oh my god. Thank you!!” I took a deep breath. My brain reeled with all the things I wanted to say; what came out was, “What the hell?!?” and, “The police are here—thank you so much.” I hung up and looked outside.

There were two police cars parked in front of my house and three policemen were walking through my yard. At the same time, Joe was parking at the top of our driveway and Kathy was pulling her minivan in behind him. The light was on inside her car and I could make out a small figure in the backseat, wearing an unfamiliar orange hoodie. The policeman was close enough to address, so I announced, “That’s her! My neighbor brought her home!”
Following my gaze, he said, “Your daughter? That’s her in the orange?”
Rosie got out of Kathy’s car and I could see that she had on a long, bright orange, terrycloth beach coverall that I bought her for swim camp. I never would have guessed that was what she would have put on to go outside. She ran into the house, past me, straight to her room, slamming her door. The policemen conferred; two of them stayed, the rest left. “We almost had the search helicopters in the air,” Officer Cook told me. “I’d like to talk to Rosie.”

While I went to get Rosie, Dash was doing what any four-year-old boy would do with big, uniformed men with weapons in his house would do: he was showing them his toys. “Look! I have a big duck!!” I heard him say. Joe tried to talk me out of getting Rosie; he was so worked up, he was afraid to explode at her in front of everyone. Rosie was on her bed in the dark. I told her she scared all of us especially her daddy. She needed to come out right now, apologize to Joe, me, and the policemen. I had to practically drag her out of her room, down the hall as she dug in her heels, grabbed door jambs, trying to stay out of sight. She kept her head down and locked her arms around me as we entered the living room. I sat in a chair and she sat in my lap, still tucked up, trying to stay small. I hugged her to me and she grabbed my arms, looping her hand around them, adjusting them. I realized she was trying to hide behind my arms, from the policemen, from everyone.

The policemen talked to her, asking her to calm down, telling her not to be afraid. Officer Cook explained to her how unsafe her actions were, how scared she made everyone. She made short, quiet responses, unwilling to talk. I was torn between wanting to yell at her myself and wanting to hold her forever.

What in Hell Was She Thinking?
Joe left for work, the police took more information and left. Everyone was up and it wasn’t even 6 a.m. I wanted to take a shower, but what if Rosie walked out the door while I was showering? How was I going to keep her from leaving? Wait, that’s illogical, but my world was off-kilter. My trust in my daughter’s good sense was shaken. Somehow I got through the morning, got to work.

Later that morning, I called Fiona’s parents to learn their side of the story. This is what Kathy told me. Kathy and Brian are early risers, getting up before 5 a.m. to talk before they start their days. They were in their kitchen having coffee together when they heard a tapping on their back door; Brian peered out the window but didn’t see anything. Then their front doorbell rang. Brian was shocked that Rosie was at the door. Kathy told me that Rosie was completely calm and asked, “Can Fiona have a playdate with me?” Rosie only started to seem shaken when Fiona’s parents’ anxiety showed. They asked, “Do your parents know you’re here?” “No,” she told them.

Kathy had a talk with Fiona after she woke up and learned that the two girls had made plans for this. Rosie was going to come over after dark so she and Fiona could have a secret sleepover. Neither of the girls had thought through any other details. Kathy asked, was Rosie going to tell her mother? No, because her mommy would say no.

Got that right.

Consequences
I had to leave work. I couldn’t think, couldn’t be productive. I was just phoning friends, other parents to see if they had insights for me. Pretty much everyone was shocked that Rosie did something like this at six! Isn’t this more of a teenager thing? Where did she get the idea for the pillows? (I’m guessing it was from a scene in The Iron Giant). How would I keep her from doing it again? I visited my friend Staci, who has a psych background and she helped me guess that Rosie was seeking independence and suggested I call the school counselor.

While the school counselor had no experience dealing with this particular activity in any grade school children under her charge, she had ideas. Before yelling and setting punishment, talk what happened through with Rosie. Find out what motivated her. Was she scared or excited? Whatever logic drove her to make the conclusions might surprise me. Rosie’s an artist, she said. Ask her to draw a story about her experience. That might help you all understand what was going on in her head.

All that I’ve gotten out of Rosie was that she “wanted to go for a walk” and that she “wanted a playdate with Fiona.” We are considering all of this carefully and are trying not to go overboard. So far, her punishment is that she can’t have any playdates for a week. She knows what she did was wrong, since she deceived us when she snuck out to see her friend. Having the police come to our house and seeing everyone so upset must have shaken her up. I hope to g0d anyway.

Does anyone have any similar experience or advice? Please leave it in the comments.

It can only go downhill from here...

Last night, I went out with the girls and had a most fabulous time! We ate delicious sushi, indulged in some hot sake, and then really went all-out and had an eclair each at a nearby Italian bakery. Yumm-mm-m! We were all enjoying each other's company so much that we were surprised when the bakery employees started closing down their shop around 7:30 p.m. What? You're not an all-night bakery? We can't just stay and chat while you mop around us? We very reluctantly parted ways and I got home much earlier than expected.

AJS was watching the kids, and as usual when I'm out for the evening, he refuses to make them anything nutritious. Their dinner was milk plus lots of air-popped (healthier than microwaved, maybe), buttered popcorn. After watching Barbie of Swan Lake featuring Barbie as Odette (Rosie's pick) and Iron Giant (which was my pick for Dash, and wow, it should have been a Disney/Pixar movie! Why doesn't this movie have more of a following? It was wonderful, even tearjerking).  AJS brought out his newly acquired, wide-screen DVD of ZULU. Ahhh, beautiful, young Michael Caine. :-)

Now, I have loved this movie from my first viewing, and I can't stand most military flicks. Through brilliant tactics, a group of about 100 soldiers at a missionary outpost in South Africa—mostly Welsh, with some Brits and Swedes mixed in—managed to wage a defense against 4,000 Zulu warriors. FOUR THOUSAND scary mofos. COMING TO KILL THEM. And this ragtag 100 soldiers not only stand their ground, they SING at the Zulus in 4-part Welsh harmony while they defeat them. 

Only knowing that our kids love to watch The Wind and the Lion (can I watch "pirate movie?), West Side Story (let's watch "Maria!"),  The Adventures of Robin Hood (Robin Hood! Robin Hood), The Phantom of the Opera (we watch Phantom, pleeeze?) and have sat through all the Star Wars franchise and all of The Lord of the Rings series did we consider that they might sit through Zulu. They seemed interested, and Rosie asked lots of questions throughout. Dash was quiet and asked to go to bed (it was getting late) but when I got him ready, he refused. So, as I wanted to see more of the movie and didn't want to get into a struggle, I just grabbed him, his blanket, and hoped he would drift off in my lap.

[TMI warning] After a while, in the most heated part of Zulu with flames on the roofs, and "fire at will," Zulus everywhere inside the perimeter, with guns, spears, and mayhem, I smelled vomit. Dash had puked nasty, partially digested popcorn all over me. After three subsequent sets of soiled sheets + running loads of laundry all night I hardly got any sleep.

To complicate matters, given the sick-kid situation (101 degree fever at noon), AJS and I decided to cancel on our dinner party that I organized at a friends' house. I was introducing two sets of friends who I learned were new neighbors. And the new-neighbor friend (plus wife) is a coworker, so I have his work phone and his work email, but NOT HIS HOME NUMBER. So, I was unable to contact him in advance to warn him that it was going to be a blind couples date. I dearly hope it wasn't terribly awkward for all of them. None of them have kids, so I think they won't really understand why we cancelled. 

Anyway, Dash seems okay now. I am really hoping that I get some sleep tonight. Send me good sleep vibes, please!!!

AJS can still fit in his leather pants

This weekend is AJS's 40th birthday, and he told me that all he really wanted to do is hang out with me at a decent restaurant and have a few drinks. He's all dressed up right now, polishing his black leather motorcycle boots while we wait for the babysitter. When he's not polishing his boots, he has been wooing me all evening, but we won't go there.

Usually, when we have impending plans that require a sitter, I invoke my limited resources, put out a net, and have a person on the line well in advance. This time, it all kind of snuck up on me. I have been planning Rosie's party and initially, AJS said he wanted to do something completely different that involved lots of friends and renting a room out in a lovely local cocktail bar. When he nixed that a couple weeks ago, my planning train went off track.

So, I finally booked a sitter, Ms. M., on Thursday. Whew, I thought, that's a relief. Only, she didn't give me her cell number and then didn't confirm that she got my email with directions. Yikes! I sent another email hoping that she'd follow up, but I started wondering if I even had the right address. Did she even get the directions? Worse yet, would she be one of those flaky people that would just show up without confirming or calling?

I needed a back up plan and I needed to keep AJS in the dark about the situation as long as possible.

On Friday, I called another sitter, Ms. T. and told her frankly what was going on. She said she could come, but it would be 2 hours later. That was fine, we don't have reservations.

So, this afternoon, Ms. M. phoned, only to tell us that she would be running late and she didn't know how late; she'd phone back in 2 hours. 2.5 hrs later, no call, so I phoned her. She was still in the midst of her earlier plans and would be too late. Thank goodness that we had a back up!! Ms. T. should be here in about 15 minutes. Whew!

I'll let you know how the dinner went later. AJS looks pretty smooth in his leather pants and boots!

Visible life alteration

Whaaa? Are those mountains shaped like mammaries? And they're erupting with.... ack!

Pregnancy and childbirth have made a huge impact on the work of these friends of mine.

Jeff and Ellen are couple that live and work in Boston as fine artists; they both went to college with me. As far as I've been keeping track of them, Jeff's work has been clever and funny, making homages to Japanese horror movies with animated vegetables, or poking fun at commercially packaged foods, while Ellen's has touched on explorations of many different subjects, many of them dealing with strangenesses in the world and bringing them into sharp focus, with humor.

Close to a year ago, they had a child; during Ellen's pregnancy, she was in awe of the bizarre transformations going on with her body, and these changes inspired her sculpture.

"Boob balls" and




"this little piggy goes to market" are other work that were focused on her impending motherhood.

Having gone through this experience twice myself, I completely understand the fascination with bodily changes, and applaud the Warmouth/Wetmores' hilarious and attractive pieces!

My life as a mutant.

Our beach vacation in Rehoboth was a great trip, really. The soft breezes, the warm air, the beautiful weather and gorgeous surroundings, getting outside and letting the kids really enjoy themselves: it was all worth it. It was just my second head, third eye and four extra arms getting in the way. Don't worry, they're all invisible, and as soon as my kids are grown enough for me not to need them, I'm sure I'll abandon them. I know I started to grow them the day I brought Rosie home from the hospital (listening for crying during the night and trying not to roll when co-sleeping) and as she and Dash have become increasingly mobile, my eye in the back of the head and extra arms have helped keep them out of trouble. I was even complimented by strangers in a restaurant for having well-behaved chlidren!

Even so, I work full-time and am not used to having my kids in my care all day for several days consecutively. My extra appendages became overworked. Out with two young kids in tow in an unfamiliar place, my guard rarely came down. While I slept, my invisible antennae tuned in to the kids' room, listening for the "whump" when one of them might fall out of their strange bed. I was constantly on the watch for a meltdown, trying to anticipate triggers and calming measures. Most of the time I stayed on high alert, repeating inane phrases in sing-song voice like, "what's that, sweetheart?" and "sure cutie, that sounds fine," and "wow, baby, look at you!" I was trying so, so, very hard to keep them from screaming and snapping at them myself.

One of the few things that helps a mutated human more than anything is being around other mutants. My other parent-friends! They all have two or three heads, octopus-like collections of arms, and antennae that would make a milliner envious! When we're together, the collective brain power in action is a panacea like no other. I can relax as our children play with each other and all the parents, together, can keep watch over the group with our fortified extrasensory-child-field. We each reach a limb out to grab an errant child, yell to keep another in line; no worries about whose child is grabbed or compensation for our care. We relax, laugh, have a few drinks and maybe even indulge our adult-selves for a while. Thank you, my dear friends!

I know this is a fleeting time. My friends without children are blissfully unaware of how much of a change I've been through; even people with older children easily forget what it was like. They say things like, "Oh god, that was so HARD! I don't know how I got through it!" at the same time, incredibly grateful that they only have one head now and no additional arms. An older relative offered to watch Rosie once, saying, "How hard could it be? Babies only eat and sleep." I knew all her mutant-ness was long-forgotten.

At the same time I am reveling in my superpowers, I find that they are impediments in other ways. Shopping? Forget it. Alienating certain friends and family? Oh, yeah. Nevertheless, these are hard-won mutations. I love my children and am grateful that I have developed the necessary power and energy to care for them. I'm exhausted and exhiliarated. I'm adored (kiss!)and reviled (swat!). One day, I'll hang up my supersuit and it will be a fuzzy memory along with the sweet, chubby, recklessness of the toddlers that forced me to don it. For now, my extra head, octopus arms and other appendages are with me to retrieve the toddler, leaping off the table, or the sprinting preschooler, half-a-block away. I'm saving the world, one child at a time.

An early Father's Day post

I just wanted to put a few plugs in for the main Dad in my life, AJS, father of Rosie and Dash. He is one of the cleverest, snarkiest, and sweetest guys I know, and I'm so glad to have him around to make me and the kids laugh every day. He is adept at long-distance tickling (just a wiggle of a finger from several feet away will get Rosie or Dash tied up in giggles), cooks us up the tastiest dinners every night, and for those of us that he loves, lets us know regularly.

If you're loved by AJS, he will tease you, share jokes with you, drive you to the airport (if you're in a pinch), and cook you food that you know is made with careful attention and love. He's not exactly transparent, but he tells it how he sees it; if he thinks you're being an idiot, he will let you know exactly that, and at the same time show you the humor in the situation. As a father, he draws the lines, creates the rules, and disciplines thoughtfully, yet entertainingly. Rosie and Dash adore him and he adores them right back! He is the goofy guy I dated, the wonderful man I married, and the silly daddy who loves to play the clown with our kids.

AJS, thank you for being so generous with your time, your love and affection with your family. You are raising two beautiful, laughter-filled, happy children who love to be around you, so we all know you are doing it well. I love you, and wish you a happy Father's Day!

Cool Cookie!

Hey, I discovered this new magazine that looks just darling!

It's a cute little mag for "smart, sexy, stylish" moms, which of course is a club I want to join.

My subscription card is in the mail.

(and it doesn't have anything to do with the 2.5 yr girl pictured in the promo who is named "Dashiell")

Thanks! To all my devoted fans... (Kelly, that's you.)

Yay! I was nominated! WOO!

In light of this, I think I'm going to try to step up my content...

Playdump.

When you're a parent, you learn about being flexible, because kids have their own agendas that often conflict with yours. When you try to coordinate with other parents, this gets compounded. For example, for the second time, I tried to organize a lunchtime playdate with four former coworkers (I know, "former coworker" just adds to the flaky mix) who all have children under two. They all live in NoVA like us, so it seemed to be a great idea! Nobody was available for the first date I tried to organize, so I thought I'd give it another shot. We all agreed on a date two weeks out, Saturday March 24; I had a book group meeting scheduled, but I thought that I could be flexible about their schedules if they were all available that day and so I bowed out of the book group. To make a long story short, nobody showed up. Again. AND, we didn't make it to the book group because AJS already drove out to PG County that morning to see his mother and didn't want to make another trip. Aside from that, we had all sorts of partially prepared extra food in the house (to accomodate our assumed guests: 8 adults and 4 kids) and didn't want it to go to waste.

Just to assuage your curiousity, here are the excuses: family one had to go out of town unexpectedly; family two had a sick kid, coughing and tugging her ear, so a doc appt interfered; family three, um, wife had to work (? lame.); family four, well, just forgot, haven't been checking emails, haven't been checking phone messages. And, we didn't even get a day's notice from them. AJS started shopping and cooking for the lunch the day before.

AARRGH. I think I'll let somebody else organize next time.

A follow-up to the choking incident

So, if you recall, dear readers, back in January, a "friend" from Rosie's class tried to choke her over a trivial incident. I was informed by the daycare director yesterday that the boy's behavior had not improved adequately over the past month-plus, and he had been disenrolled. Whew.

AJS can take his boxing gloves off now! His first response when he heard about the choking was, "can I punch the kid out?"

Who does more?

AJS and I are working parents and both feel like we are contributing equally to the household; wait, I think we actually both think we are doing MORE than the other. But, because it's been on my mind a lot lately, and I do think it's worth having on the record, here's my take.

AJS daily/weekly/periodic tasks:
packing breakfasts & lunches
driving our carpool weekdays
grocery shopping/meal planning
ALL THE COOKING ALL THE TIME (gold star!)
taking bagged trash & recycling out
shoveling snow
washing cars
mowing the lawn

Nylonthread's daily/weekly/periodic tasks:
dressing the kids
putting both kids to bed
diapering Dash (every diaper)
washing dishes
laundering clothes
feeding/entertaining/bathing the parrot
bathing both kids
picking up after kids
paying bills/budgeting
driving on weekends
bagging trash for garbage day
cleaning all of the house
arranging for babysitters
shopping for kids' clothing
filing mail & paperwork
cleaning birdcage
taking parrot to vet
handling investments
weeding & watering plants

Shared tasks:
entertaining the kids
taking kids to doctor's appointments
picking up prescriptions/administering meds
shopping for household items

Now I grant that while AJS's task list is shorter, many of AJS's tasks are daily and time-intensive, albiet my longer list has its share of daily items, more items are bi-weekly or periodic. Still, is it even? Hard to say. My guess is that we'll still both think that we are doing more than the other.

you already knew this, but it's official...

About 1 child vs 2 (rose-colored glasses? check.)

I may be deluding myself, but I feel like I'm being a better parent with two, because I'm *not* totally focused and beamed in on Rosalie. I don't think she really benefitted from our parental-hovering-weirdness while she was the center of our world. We're a lot more relaxed about her going off on her own and don't freak out so much about the little stuff. (And she seems to have fewer long-lasting, screaming meltdowns now that she has to consider how they affect her darling Dash.) Sure, she gets less attention from us than she used to, but isn't that good preparation for how things are? Sharing, waiting your turn, playing nice with others, and delayed gratification are all necessary, valued habits that develop straight from having a sibling.

Life in the String household

Well, my lifestyle has shifted since we have two kids. I do so much housework it's like I'm a fiend, but I can't ever get the big stuff done. As soon as we're home from work, I run to the dishwasher and unload/load it, then run to the laundry machine and unload/load it, and by that time it's time to have dinner, so I feed myself and the kids, clean up after dinner, put dirty dishes in and run the dishwasher, then run downstairs and turn on the laundry, then fold clothes while I watch one episode of Dora the Explorer with Rosie. Then I give Dash a bottle, change his diaper/pajamas and put him to bed while AJS puts Rosie to bed. I might have time to read a little or watch one TV show before I go to bed.

The mornings are a flurry of getting everything loaded in the car for daycare, dressing everyone, feeding the kids and the bird, and getting on the road. Am I the most boring person ever? We only socialize with other people who have kids now and a girlfriend and I were celebrating when another couple we know told us they were expecting (they're "in the club").