dearest daughters & son

Abstinence Only Duplos

Dearest Daughters,

I asked Lolopop several years ago why people have children? I mean, really. They're just a disappointment.

This was before I had you two. I think it was a passive agressive way to get him to say that I wasn't a disappointment.

He didn't bite.

He replied simply that you have children so that you can have grandchildren.

I see how it is.

So far, the only Reals For Reals reason to have children, that I can come up with, is so that you can play with their toys. Toys that you decided you were too old for or that someone else decided you were too old for.

That noted, I will never take away your toys or allow you to get rid of them, even if there was a child who would die without your Duplo sculpture of a kidney. Perhaps, then, you will continue to play with your toys all day? And will have neither the urge to grow up nor to procreate?

I can stop this growing up thing, if I try hard enough, right?

Love,

Intergalactic Awesomeness

Dearest Daughters,

Sometimes we go days on end staring at our belly buttons.

Every once in awhile, lightning strikes.

Like last night. I was being addicted to Pinterest. Danjo was wreaking general havoc. And Babybel was sitting on the kitchen floor drinking a cup of milk, a mini Buzz Lightyear figurine in her hands.

"Mommy, I want Buzz Wings," she epiphanized.

"Okay. Put it on your Christmas list," which is my reply to most of your requests these days.

"No. You can make them."

And she was right.

So in two shakes of a lamb's tail we procured a take-and-bake pizza box (that's an important detail, because I don't want you to think I let you play with gross greasy cardboard) and we cut, stapled and colored our way "to infinity and beyond!"

Then, you spent an hour working on drawing Star Command buttons on the cardboard scraps.

How awesome are we?!

Awesome enough to defeat Emperor Zurg. I know THAT much.

Love,

Have I Told You Tuesday: You're a Genius

Dearest Daughters,

Lola makes sure to regularly ask you, her other grandchildren and other children in her life: "Has anyone told you today that you're [fill in the blank]?"

... beautiful? ... clever? ... smart? ... creative? ... strong?

I think it's a wonderful way to build your self-esteem and confidence. Better than just saying, "you're beautiful" or "you're so smart!" Which is just a few years and an eye-roll away, from "sure, whatever, mom."

"Has anyone told you?" implies that someone should have DAMN SURE WELL TOLD YOU ALREADY!!! As in, no one told you that you're smart today, Babybel? Well, lemme at 'em! Because YOU ARE. And you deserve to be told. And even though those adults forget to tell you these things, they are still, forever and ever, one-hundred percent, TRUTH.

Babybel, the smarty pants that she is, usually replies, "Yes. My best friend Ava told me!" Which she totally didn't, because they haven't seen each other in at least two days. But, maybe during a secret late night phone call? Or dream? I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.

Babybel, did anyone tell you today that you are an artist?

No, seriously. I mean, I know everyone is an "artist." Yes, your kid is cute and talented too. Blah. Blah. Blah.

But look at this!!! Really!!! You have to!!! The exclamation points beseech you!!!

Lola told me you painted a robot while I was at work. And I was, all: sure, great, whatever. But, look at it!

IT'S A FREAKING ROBOT!

With a rectangular robot head! And robot eyes! And robot ears! And robot shoulders! And robot arms!

Lola told me she didn't help or coach you at all, other than writing a title when you TOLD her to. You were alone in "the Studio" as we call the garage, with your paint and your paper.

And here's your "berry tree":

As in all you do, you are precise and intentional. You've moved beyond that two-year-old scribbled mess of mixed muddy brown paint. That was SO last week. This week, you're painting actual figures. From your mind.

Maybe, I'm biased. And easily impressed. Someone please put me in my place.

But, I didn't see this coming at all! Firstly, because, well, you're two. Painting or drawing things that make actual sense is not something I expected or was training you to do. And secondly, because I don't think of you as an artist "type." Danjo's the musician, the free spirit, the child who will give me gray hairs as I wait for her to "discover herself" while doing performance art and still living at home.

But, Babybel, did anyone tell you today that you are a truly talented artist?

Love,

What I Like About You

Dearest Daughters,

This is my view from the porch right now.

The experience of drinking my tea, peacefully watching Babybel play is enabled by the fact that Danjo the Destructo is in a far, far away land called Lola's House. I would otherwise be cleaning spills, saying "no", avoiding projectiles, and investing every penny (I keep Danjo from swallowing) into orthodontia futures.

When I'm with just one of you, even if I'm not playing with you, you become different children all together.

Without Babybel around, Danjo is a sweet, cuddly thing that plays quietly by herself, reading books and discussing poetry.

Without Danjo, Babybel stops her needy, injured every time the wind blows, pee in her pants regression. And she plays, pretends, we have pleasant conversations.

Bel made a make-shift stool by turning a toy bus upside-down. Clever girl.

"How're ya doin' up there, Mommy?"

"Fine, thanks, how're ya doin' down there?"

"Oh, good. Just needs one more thing and I'm almost done."

"What are you making?"

"I'm just moving ant hills. Like this," with an emphatic scoop, dump and pat of her shovel.

"The ants won't be angry that you moved their home? Look, they're running away."

A thoughtful glance from the planter full of dirt and ants to her relocated ant hill condo construction, "Okay, Mommy. I'm just make a stomach instead."

Sure, kid.

"And I'm only just make a head later."

Whatever floats your boat.

Love,
Mommy

Lazy day.

Dearest Daughters,

Call me lazy. Call me resourceful. Or just call me the usual: Mommy.

Regardless, I'm posting over yonder today about germs, play structures and playing at our local mall.

Oh if I only knew five years ago the excitement that my life has become! Well, I would have invested in hand sanitizer.

Love,

To Babybel on the Occasion of Being Thirty-Two Months Old

Dearest Babybel,

Thirty-two months is two and three-quarters of a year.

Quarters, you say?

The other day I found you behind the couch with my wallet. My first thought and exclamation was "ARE YOU GOING TAE?!?!" (Where, tae = TA-e = poop = feces = washing out your underwear YET again = having to do the dishes that are sitting in the sink = so they don't get poop on them = not dying of dysentery).

My second thought was that you were making trouble, imitating your sister who gets all SORTS of attention as she does her methodical rounds of the house each day, destroying, knocking over, pulling out, never resting until each and every book, toy, sharp utensil and item of clothing has been properly launched out the window and across the state of California.

But, before I could accuse, chastise or otherwise say anything I would come to regret, you popped up from behind the couch, not guilty at all, instead pointing the figurative finger at me: "You DO have quarters, Mommy! They are in your wallet. And here's your diaper." (Where diaper = Always brand overnight protection menstrual pad = you are too observant, cogent and a better listener than you let on = everything I ever say will come back to haunt me = dying of embarrassment when you discuss my "diaper" situation in the grocery store).

Quarters, you say?

"You do have monies, Mommy! For the submarine!"

Synapses fire, dots connect and I realize you're talking about the time last week when you asked if you could ride the "submarine" at the mall (even though we weren't even at the mall and last time you rode the coin-op submarine was over a month ago). And I lied. And told you I didn't have quarters.

Making up

Dearest Daughters,

The first day I felt better, I made myself take it easy. Even though I wanted to bust down the door, run a hundred miles and scream from a mountain top: "I"M ALIVE!!!"

The second day I felt better, I took it a little less easy and I went to work. We went to the library. And even to Target. Holy Guacamole!

Yesterday, it seemed my body and my psyche needed to make up for all those hours spent in bed. We had a Full-labous, non-stop day. And didn't take a single dingle moment for granted.

Lola called me one time this week while I was lying in bed. In between hacking coughing fits and my gasps for oxygen, she asked why I hadn't posted anything on this here blog. Um, duh? But, don't you have other stuff written, so you know, you can just put it up there when THINGS LIKE THIS happen?

In short, no. Sorry to disappoint, Lola.

Can I make it up to you?

Just chillin' with her big girl otter pop. No big deal.

Developmentally appropriate play. Much better entertainment than the constant stream of DVDs I put on to babysit because I was hungover. I mean, sick.

Earning her keep and/or books. Also, note the skilled circling.

We went to the library. And checked out this gorg-e-ous-o book as well as some old favorites (Madeline) and some random shelf pulls (There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Bat and Prince Cinders).

 

I hope this makes up for that. Or something, ahem, Lola.  

Love,

Investment advice

Dearest Daughters,

Awhile back I realized that Babybel was turning into, like, a kid. You know, that could actually DO things. And wasn't entertained solely by her own hands and drool. Not that I know anyone like that.

I was going kind of crazy telling you repeatedly to "JUST GO PLAY WITH SOMETHING!" And I'm the kind of mom that dreamed dreams of playing all day with her children, creating and crafting and imagining and getting messy! I've spent hours on the Internet ohhing and awwwing about all the fun things parents do with their kids. Back in Reality Land: I have two small children, a part time job and am generally lacking in discipline and structure.

So, for awhile there we alternated staring at each other and running around having screaming melt downs EXACTLY when I was trying to cook dinner.

Don't get it twisted, girls. I play with you. I spend most of my life sitting on the ground, one child asking me to open something the other climbing me like a jungle gym. And you both also do a good job of entertaining yourselves for a couple (Danjo) to dozens (Babybel) of minutes at a time. And at least two days of the week are fun-filled since I pay people to play with Babybel. And there's always a DVD or two a week thrown in there. If we're being honest. The problem was neither my availability nor my motivation.

It's just that anytime we got to the point in our day that needed inspiration, I was too drained from work and home and kids, you were too cranky from, well, being two and there was a small Danjo shaped tumor hanging off my side, making it hard to think of ANYTHING to do besides pull my eyelashes out. One. At. A. Time.

I had noticed this trend of creating a Summer Bucket List. Which, is super great if your kid is old enough to do super great things like visit museums and ride horses and fly to the moon. But, you're two and can barely walk without falling down. Nevertheless, there's something there, I thought.

Pantry

Dearest Daughters,

When we bought our house and remodeled the kitchen, it wasn't in our budget to buy all the cabinetry at once. We installed the basics and have delayed on finishing because, well, we learned to make do and haven't made the pantry cabinetry a financial priority. And besides, open shelving is, like, sooooo in.

Unless you have a crawler who likes to destroy things, forcing you to reorganize, which was a long overdo task anyway. I was able to put most disastrous things out of Danjo's reach. And I cleared a whole shelf. Just for her!



Babybel, can you hand me that can of tomatoes, the panko crumbs, and, oh, while you're over there, that tasty baby too?

Love,

Upgrade

Dearest Daughters,

Generally speaking, a cardboard box is the best toy in the universe. But, for today's flight of imagination, you traded in your frequent cardboard points for a Rubbermaid tote.

We really do need to return this chick incubator turned wading pool turned business class lounge back to its rightful owners. But after this, flying cardboard coach will be such a bear.

Love,
Mommy