I think last week my husband and I may have done something impulsive. And sorta stupid. We’d been talking about it for months. How our two kids are getting to be the perfect age for someone new. Annabel had been leaving notes on our computers, begging for a new member of our family. I’ve been reading articles online about how to transition my kids to this new change.
And then we just kinda pulled the plug and did it.
Some of you may have heard that we’ve had record breaking snow amounts in Vermont lately. You can tell it was record breaking because they actually closed schools and government offices; that never happens. So today I had my first real snow day with my 20 month old. Alone. This event has compelled me to offer some advice for others who might be trapped in a similar situation. (As a bonus, a good proportion of this might also apply if you fell into the polar bear’s pit at the zoo.)
Most of us, at multiple times throughout the day if your toddler is like mine and likes to use items off her dinner plate as hair product, have looked at our child and thought, “Wild thing!”
“Luke,” I asked my three year-old, “what do you think you want to be when you grow up?”
He shoved a spoonful of granola in his mouth and replied, “A firefighter and a dada.”
Affirming his choices as good, noble ones with a nod of my head, I probed deeper. “WHY do you want to be a firefighter, buddy?”
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In honor of Black History Month, I thought I would share with everyone the story of my daughter’s racism. It all came out one day a couple of weekends ago when a co-worker of my husband’s visited us with his four kids. When we informed Penny that they would be coming over, she asked, “Are any of the kids dark?” Hoping rather desperately to hear some concern about the dangers of tanning, I responded, “No, why do you ask?”
This post is a bit late (sorry, Mom!), but it deserves to be posted nevertheless.
Annabel, aged 6 and not quite 2 months, lost her first tooth. She’d been wiggling it for weeks, and it hung on by a thread. I was in my bathroom, brushing my teeth, when Annabel burst in, smiling and bloody-mouthed.
I’m having a hard time getting dinner on the table lately. Blame it on working in the afternoons, and then rushing around with the kids. Or blame it on the fact that I’m utterly bored with my cooking repertoire. I think even the kids are getting sick of black bean quesadillas and Italian bean and pasta soup.
Last week at the grocery store, for the one millionth time, an old lady instructed me to treasure my daughters while they’re this age. Now I, like you, typically smile at whatever old fart is in front of me and go about my business with a “Oh, yes! I am!” But this time, with Addy strapped to my back and kicking, and Penny whining she wanted to buy some flowers, while I searched vainly for some garam masala in the spice aisle, I responded, “You know I’m trying. But it’s getting awfully hard to treasure those 3 AM wake up calls. Followed promptly by a 4 AM wake up. And winter? Do you know what it’s like to get them bundled up, out the door, and in their car seats everyday when it’s below freezing? Not to mention the fact that I somehow neglected to put gloves on my daughter’s hands today, and now I’m going to have to buy a ridiculously overpriced pair just to make it home. To be honest, I can’t get through these times fast enough.”
Annabel is going home from school today with a friend from her class. This little girl’s mom is picking them up, driving them to her house, and keeping my daughter for 2 1/2 hours for a fun-filled playdate. I’ll pick up Annabel before dinnertime and drive her the 1.5 miles home.
And I’m ridiculously sad about this.
New Year’s Eve is one of those notoriously overrated holidays. Even though you know this, at the back of your media-led mind you consider dressing up in a black sequined shirt, red lipstick, and thigh-high boots that cost too much even from the sale rack. You, for one half a second, ponder paying a disgusting surcharge cover in order to enter an already overpriced restaurant and order off of their special occasion menu.