Fwog Pwince

The girls saw the frog and the princess movie today. I tried to find out what the story was since I was home with Annabelle. I asked about the plot and Lexie said "The pwincess saw the fwog on the bawcony and hitted him with a book, but he wasn't squished, and that was the mowal of the stowy."

According to Ina, the mowal of the stowy is more like "You already have all you need." Or "You get what you get, don't throw a fit."

I don't know what the mowal of the stowy is, but I like the idea of unsquishable fwogs.

Going Commando

I'm trying EVERYTHING to get through to the kids. My sister said that some expert she knows said kids are physically incapable of remembering things until they reach a certain age. I say BS. I don't have to tell them every single time which car to go to when we go to the garage. I don't have to tell them to go sit at the counter when they first get up for breakfast. They know which bed is theirs. In the middle of the night, they know which side of the bed holds Mommy and which side holds a growly bear.

So my pet peeve is panties on the floor. I can work with just about everything else, but panties on the floor make me CRAZY. I decided, therefore, that if they left panties on the floor, they lost their privilege to wear panties. Nothing came between Lexie and her Target Leggings the next day. Apparently this was not noticed by Ina who left her panties on the floor on a Sunday night. I made the announcement that she would have to go commando the next day. You would think I'd ripped the head off her pet puppy. Oh the hysterics! She went to bed sobbing for any other consequence. She woke up begging for another consequence. She was so upset I realized this could spin out of control. I actually had to e-mail her teacher the following:

Subject: Well into the realms of TMI

So I'm trying to banish screaming mommy from the house by simply and calmly implementing consequences. One of my pet peeves is to have worn panties simply cast on the floor. The rest of the clothing one does theoretically have a hope of wearing again (except for me, since with Annabelle's VPI, I usually look like I've lost a hard-fought battle with about 100 slugs).

So if I'm calm and the kids are screaming, that means I'm getting through. The consequence for leaving panties on the floor has become that they lose the privilege of wearing panties for the following day. We call this "going commando" although I really don't know why. Angelina, of course, "forgot" and left worn panties on the floor and will be arriving at school tomorrow completely bent out of shape 'cause she's "going commando." Please DO NOT send her to the school psychologist for an unexplained change in behavior or sudden outburst with vague reference to commandos. She is not a danger to her fellow first-graders.

She went to bed completely bent out of shape. I don't expect her to be calm tomorrow morning either as we get her dressed. Here's wishing us all luck.

Evelyn

She has a message.

On Tuesday at the swimming pool, I watched Annabelle heal a man's soul. "She has Downs, right?" he asks. Me "Yeah" "My baby (8 mos) was just diagnosed as developmentally delayed, how do you deal with the stress?!!!" He says, scant inches from my nose. And Annabelle launched herself out of my arms and insisted he hold her. I could see sparks of blessings all around. Here's this big black guy with beautiful ebony skin holding this tiny pale baby who's all about finding noses these days and grabbing his. It was beautiful. We chatted. I told him how much I honor her for choosing a harder path. How privileged I feel that she chose us, and me in particular. How having a special needs kid is like a vote of confidence from GOD. His ears heard what I was saying, but his heart heard Annabelle's love. And I think it'll be easier for him to hear the love of his own beautiful sweet baby and whatever message he has to bring.

The MOOSE IS LOOSE

I've decided that my mother's visits are kind of like the visits from the moose who wants a muffin. 'Cept it's usually messier.

I HATE SCHOOL

So I abandon my 6 figure a year career to raise my kids and now I'm being asked to surrender my six year old to the public education system. I'm not liking this. I'm really hating this. So I get her to the point where she's really fun, and interesting, she's helpful around the house and you can have a conversation with her quite intelligently and she's supposed to go to school? When do I get to have the fun with her? I begrudge every freaking minute that my kid isn't with ME. I'M the one who loves her like crazy. I'M the one who would wrestle a bear for her. I'M the one whose soul came alive when she was born. I'M the one who holds her while she's puking. I'M the one who falls in love with her anew every day. I'M the one from whose body she was surgically removed. I'M the one who breastfed her until she was nearly two. I'M the one who is awake at midnight with tears running down my face thinking of how much I'm going to miss her.

And what do they have to offer her? Lots, regrettably. If I could offer her more than they can I would home school her in a minute. But no, I have to run the household. So that pisses me off to a quantum degree that she's going to school to free me up to do what... more laundry? How fucked up is that? Really I have to leave that crap go and home school the two I still HAVE at home. Lexie will do well with the individualized attention. Annabelle will -- hopefully -- survive her toddlerhood and thrive. I found her having climbed onto the couch, OVER the couch, and there she was sitting cross-legged on the windowsill. She's climbing on the table, the counter... Given the chance, she'll be swinging from the chandelier.

So where's the upside? Right now I'm so blind I can NOT see it. But maybe it's 'cause my heart is breaking.

We went to the "meet the teacher" event today. Some chirpy 24 year old is going to be her teacher. Oh YEAH! She lists as one of the 10 things to know about her that she was a cheerleader. Not something a crusty ex-cop like me is going to find endearing. Really! How am I supposed to take someone seriously for whom pom poms were a major portion of her life? She doesn't have any kids of her own. She likes to play with her dog. (#8 on the 10 list.) Lets hope she proves herself worthy of spending that much time with my kid. Let's hope I get my Ueber bitch under control. I don't want to ruin this for 'Ina.

Just an ordinary day

The girls are running around with 2 balloons tied together between their legs. I sharpied a horse's head on the front balloon and they're screaming "Narnia and the North!!!" while running around chasing each other.

Lexie had nutella all over her face. I told her "Go look at your face!" She said, like it should be obvious "I CAN'T look at my face, Mommy. My eyeballs are on my face." I told her that's what mirrors are for.

Angelina wants me to teach her balloon duck language and asked me if I know it. I said "Sure, Quack QUACK quack quack." She said "NO they say (singing) 'Everyone wants to be a duck DUCK DUCK!" Oh wait, it wasn't her balloon (I'm obviously not keeping up) it was the duck on a stick with little wheels and flappy feet.

Annabelle has started picking up sign language really quickly as she signed mouse after only seeing it once at the pet store. Of course we apply it to ferret, rat, and any small furry thing that looks like it could have been related to mice in the evolutionary process.

Lexie, who's 3 going on 35, picked up a lunch bag full of school supplies. "Mommy, this is DREADFULLY heavy."

Anne Leaves

Wow. We've been so blessed to have an au pair for a year. In this last year, I really don't quite know how we'd have gotten along without her. We managed the move from California to Virginia, but while in Virginia she was SOOO important. I was able to handle a lot of Annabelle's appointments, have dates with each kid. Simple things like walking Ina to school without having the other two along. Taking Lexie to the Smithsonian while Ina was at school and Annabelle was napping. Sitting in the skeleton room with Lexie on my lap making up the "Wally the Whale who wanted a wife and wandered the world wondering where she was" story. Getting a haircut. The kids got to do crafts and walk barefoot in the creek and poke dead things with sticks. While I'm perfectly willing to poke LIVE things with sticks, we wouldn't have been able to walk in the creek as I had Annabelle in the stroller. Annabelle got so many of her extra therapy hours from Anne. It's due to her that she can handle stairs safely.

And now as I drove away from the airport, I thought I'm losing a good friend. What a special bond it is to be able to look over the heads of your kids when they do something funny or silly or cute or irritating and share that with another grown up who you know also loves these funny, silly, cute and irritating kids.

I had to hold Angelina for her to get to sleep last night. She was completely beside herself. Lexie was looking to Ina for clues as to how to handle it and mustered up several sniffles.

I have all the skills to get our family happy again (at least the kids, I suspect Doug's going to be a tougher nut to crack). I have to look at all the things I have to be grateful for. That we had her for a year. That I have the kids to comfort me. That now we'll be back to being a little constellation of humans that sticks together through thick and thin. That I won't have to share Annabelle, although I'm also so grateful that Anne was truly worthy of sharing Annabelle with.

How to cope -- get up at 6:00 a.m. every day and have some time for chores or studying or working out.
-- keep the kids busy, but be open to their grief.
-- plan a visit at Christmas
-- get back to the business of being a happy, silly mom.

Annabelle

There are so many posts I haven't published here, and I really ought to, to keep the record for my kids up to date.

With Sarah Palin's resignation from the Alaska Governorship, I googled her, and Trig. Trig has his own little web site. What weird crap comes up.

All I know is that with Annabelle, the 3rd AJ, having Down Syndrome, I couldn't be more blessed. AJs 1 and 2, Angelina and Alexis, adore her. I wish the world had more contact with people like her. Special needs equals special perspectives, special love, special insights -- all of which I'd have missed out on without her.

At this point I could give a rat's ass about politics. I understand that if I, as a Mom, were to give up precious time with my family, it would have to be for a damn good reason. And being Governor, apparently wasn't a good enough reason for Sarah anymore. You GO GIRL!!!! And give that kid a hug and a cuddle for me.

Maybe someday Annabelle and Trig could be friends. Even folks who can't see auras would swear there's an almost-blinding glow about them. It's not seen as much as felt. I, for one, can feel it when the angels wings brush me as they envy my ability to hold and cuddle her. Sarah, we share that joy.

Evelyn

Note to self -- Don't feed a toilet-training toddler a Nutella sandwich. Particularly if she, like so many three-year-olds is naked. One would think that you could reliably consider the brown smudges to differentiate at about the child's equator, but I know she left the table with a smudge of Nutella on her ankle and I'm not sure the smudge around her eyebrow was there when she left, announcing loudly "I've got to go POOOOOOPY."

She usually gets it right. It's the wiping part that doesn't always work, and sometimes it goes very wrong. The juxtaposition of Nutella and a pooptastrophe was something I hadn't foreseen. She always hollers from the bathroom "Mommy! I want you to watch meeee!" And often I will sit with her as she does her business. It's a delightful time to chat and hug and do nose kissies as I sit on the footstool before her little throne. This time however, her baby sister was in the high chair and since the little one figured out how to turn around and stand up, it wasn't prudent to go watch the three-year-old.

She came back, naked and smudged with brown stuff and I knew it wasn't all Nutella. But she was grinning that grin that contains all the sunshine in the universe, blissfully unaware that there was anything wrong. She was my child, beaming at me with delight and love and a soon to be disappointed desire to sit on my lap. I vacillated between being a bit grossed out and laughing out loud. Laughing won.

I've thought of her like that so often. How that's really how life presents itself to us. It's the uncontainable bliss of a child. It's the gift from GOD / THE UNIVERSE / whatever the heck you call the big unknown we're all connected to. But sometimes there's chocolatey goodness and sometimes there's something that stinks. And so often we lose sight of the DELIGHT that is ours in every moment. We lose sight of the JOY that is our birthright as spiritual beings having a human experience. Even if all you're experiencing is a sweet confection, there is still more delight under that. And if you're experiencing a little of life's crap, I can promise you, you can get rid of it very easily by focusing on the delight beneath.

If you've ever given a three year old a shower while fending off a crawling baby, you'll know there are suds and wiggles and giggles, and you'll all wind up wet, but with the arms of a child around my neck, and a tiny one pulling up to stand against my leg, life couldn't be better no matter what it's smeared with.