Gratitude

Sometimes, my kids can't stand me.

I've gotten the, "You're mean!" and "I don't like you!" and "You're drunk!" more times than I care to admit.

I'm incredibly short-tempered, and I don't like repetitive noise. I don't like screaming, whining, or tattling. I don't like anyone in the kitchen with me when I'm trying to cook dinner or make lunch. I don't like when someone knocks on the bathroom door when I'm going to the bathroom. I don't like being asked to get someone a drink when I'm balls deep in doing other things in the kitchen. I don't need help making my coffee. I don't need help with the dishwasher. I don't want little butts on the kitchen counter. I don't like having the seat in my car kicked (or even TOUCHED by little feet) while I'm in it. I don't like pounding, banging, or knocking. I don't like whistles. I don't like toys that make noise. I don't like unfinished dinners followed by "But I'm HUNGRY" at 7:58 when bedtime is 8pm. I don't need help turning the pages in the book, and I don't want to read 70 bedtime stories.

But you know what I love? I love being a mom. I forget how much I love it sometimes, because it is so difficult and relentless. But it's also the best. School and soccer and gymnastics and sweaty hair and dirty nails and swimming and headbands and nail polish and coloring and Old Maid and hula hooping and jumping rope and reading and playing house and middle-of-the-night cuddles... it's all extraordinary.

I had a thought this weekend that I should tell them how much I wanted to be a mom, and how no matter how frustrated I get with them, they made my dreams come true and there was nothing in the world I wanted more than them. I tell them I love them all the time, I kiss and hug them every day repeatedly. But I thought it would be good to really explain to them that they are the best things about my life. I figured a way to do this would be to ask them if they could think of something they really wanted, more than anything else in the world, and tell them that what I really wanted was to be a mom, and that they made that happen for me, and I love them so much and I'm so grateful.

So yesterday, Maddie and I were playing on my bed, and I said, "Hey, can you think of something you want more than anything else in the world?"

She smiled her huge Maddie smile and said, "A new family!" She saw the look on my face and said, "Just kidding!" and started laughing.

She's always going for the joke. I can't imagine where she gets that from.

My hesitant little goose.

What's funny about adopting a child as a baby is you actually get a front row seat to the nurture vs. nature debate. What makes us who we are? How much of it is what is running through our veins and how much of it is what we see and learn from the world?

Isabella came to us when she was a few days shy of 8 months old. She remembers no other life. We are her parents. She knows she grew in another woman's belly, but she knows this like she knows her eyes are blue. There is no opinion attached to this fact. It's just part of her story. (Up until about a week ago, I think she thought everyone gets adopted at some point. She asked Gina, "Mommy, what was your name before you got adopted?")

Despite the fact that she has none of my blood running through her veins, I look at her and how she sees the world and I'm reminded of myself as a kid. She is curious and insightful. She is happy to entertain herself quietly, writing out letters or coloring or looking at books. Where Maddie is strong and athletic, Isabella is observant and intellectual, and would prefer someone else do the athletics, thank you very much.

But more than all of this, she is so CAREFUL. And this - this is where she and I seem like we must be biological mother and daughter. I'm not saying she never gets hurt - she is the clumsiest kid I've ever seen - but wherever there is clear danger, she is not interested. When we let them play in the street (with close supervision - don't worry, I'm not THAT terrible of a mother), Isabella will run to the side of the road when she sees a car two blocks away. "CAARRR!!!!!" she'll scream. Our street isn't heavily traveled, so about 70% of the time, that car is going to make a turn and not even come down our street. But she isn't taking any chances. A few weeks ago, Maddie rode her bike down a set of steps. This wasn't intentional, but Isabella just would never have let this happen to herself. She has a near blanket-refusal to ride her bike down hills. "TOO FAST!!" she will scream, terrified. There is a kid roller coaster at Disneyland that we rode, and seriously, it is the littlest roller coaster ever. She SCREAMED the whole time, clearly convinced her life was about to end.

Part of me revels in this about her. This is how I was when I was a kid. And guess what? I never broke a bone. I didn't drink until college. I never skipped school. I never lied to my mom. I was always aware of danger, and I never put myself within reach of it. I was every mom's dream, and I'm not just saying that.

On the flip side, I feel like I missed out on a part of development by never having a rebellious phase. I was never daring. I'm still not. And I don't love this about me. And I don't want Isabella to be afraid. (I am very much not worried about this with Maddie. In fact, I wish Maddie were afraid of anything at all. She's not.) I want her to be careful, yes, but I don't want her to be so timid she misses out on all of the cool stuff life has to offer her.

We went tubing this weekend with another family. We all wanted to go down the hill together, which means four tubes (each parent with a kid on his or her lap) attached speeding down the hill. Isabella was not interested at all. She knew this multiplied the chances of someone getting hurt, and she was having none of it. She didn't try to stop anyone from doing it, but she was not going be a party to these shenanigans. Everybody kept trying to convince her to do it, that it would be fine, and the people behind us in line were not happy that we were taking so long. I finally said, "No. She doesn't want to do it. It's okay. I'll go down with her." Why were all of the adults trying to peer pressure my kid into doing something she didn't want to do?!

Finally, after a few more times of going with just one adult, she said she wanted to try it all together. So we did. Almost immediately, two of the tubes got separated from the other two, and they hit the bottom of the hill first. She was in one of those tubes. When the second set of tubes landed, we hit the first set, and she got hit in the face by someone's shoulder. She wailed. I felt so bad for her - she insisted she didn't want to do it and she finally agreed and she gets hurt. Classic Isabella.

But here's where the story changes. She asked to do it again. She asked if we could all go down the hill together again. And that time, she didn't get hurt, and she had fun. I was unashamedly beaming with pride.

"You were scared and you did it anyway!" I told her at the bottom of the hill. "That's fantastic!" Her chapped cheeks spread into a huge smile.

I just hope this doesn't give her any jumping-out-of-airplanes ideas.

Emergency

EMERGENCY

A play in one act

By Katie Papa

THE SCENE: A small house in a very cute neighborhood with good schools, but not too far from the city, and not too far from cool stuff to do... a very SCENIC place that is quiet and has nice sunsets... Okay. It's the suburbs. A small house in the suburbs.

THE CHARACTERS:

GINA: Energetic, playful, optimist. Mom.

KATIE: Annoyed, impatient, pessimist. Mom. 

MADDIE: 5, prone to fits of rage.

ISABELLA: 4, prone to weeping and clumsiness.

NOODLE: A dog.

LIGHTS UP on the PLAYROOM, a room scattered with toys, an old Ikea couch, and a flatscreen TV. Kid art covers the walls. It is 7:10pm. Bedtime is at 8, which means getting-ready-for-bed starts at 7:30. 

GINA: Hey girls! Who wants to play "In Case of Emergency"?

MADDIE & ISABELLA (in unision): Me!!

GINA: Okay, so what we do if there is an emergency?

Isabella, dutiful, runs to Gina and reaches her arms up to be picked up. Gina slings Isabella around to her back.

GINA: Okay, Izzy, hold on to my neck. Maddie, come on over!

MADDIE: (arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed) No. *I* want to be in back.

GINA: You can't be in back. You are heavier, you have to be in the front.

MADDIE: (screams her patented Bloody Rage Scream) I WANT TO BE IN BACK. (melts into hysterics)

GINA: Come on, Maddie, we practice this. Just come here and let me pick you up.

MADDIE: (Bloody Rage Scream)

GINA: You know what? Fine. Let's not do this. (she sets Isabella down.) 

ISABELLA: (starts jumping up and down) Mommy! I want to do the Emergency! I want to do it! Please!

GINA: No! I tried to do it and Maddie freaked out.

ISABELLA: (freaks out, cries, screams) Mommy, please! I want to do it! Please! (Gina walks away.) MOMMMYYYY! PLEASE!!!!! (carries on thusly for several minutes.)

Finally, Gina goes back into the playroom.

GINA: Okay, do we want to try this again? (the girls voice their approval.) Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here.

MADDIE: I. WANT. TO. BE. IN. BAAAAAACKKKKKK.

GINA: Oh my God. Forget it.

ISABELLA: MOMMY! I WANT TO DO IT!! PLEASE!! (wail, sob)

MADDIE: MOMMY! I WANT TO BE IN BACK! I HATE YOU, IZZY!

GINA: THAT IS ENOUGH. We're not doing it.

BOTH: PLEASE MOMMY! WE WILL LISTEN!

Minutes pass.

GINA: Okay, can we try this?

MADDIE & ISABELLA: Yes!

GINA: Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. 

MADDIE: Wait! What about our stuff?

GINA: What do you mean?

MADDIE: OUR TOYS!

GINA: We leave the toys here in case of an emergency.

MADDIE: (wails) I WANT OUR STUFF! ALL OF OUR STUFF!

GINA: We can get more stuff. We can't get more US. So let's just go and practice this!

MADDIE: I WANT MY TOYSSSSSS!!!!!

GINA: Oh. My. GOD. FORGET IT.

ISABELLA: No no no no, Mommy, PLEASE! I WANT TO DO EMERGENCY!!

Both girls continue to cry. Minutes pass.

GINA: Okay, can we try this for real?

MADDIE and ISABELLA: Yes!

GINA: Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. 

Okay, Mommy Katie, pretend there is an emergency!

KATIE: Quick, there is an emergency! I'll get Noodle!

Gina, with Isabella on her back and Maddie in her arms, runs to the front door, followed by Katie, with Noodle in her arms. Gina opens the door and rushes out. Halfway out the door, Maddie's hair gets caught in part of the door. Not realizing it, Gina is still moving quickly ahead, while Maddie's hair is stubbornly caught in the door frame. Maddie's head jerks. 

KATIE: Oh God. That was bad. Oh, honey, are you okay?

MADDIE, who has JUST MOMENTS AGO STOPPED CRYING ABOUT BEING IN FRONT AND NOT IN BACK: (Crying. Hysterically. Rubbing her head.)

Cuddles and ice pack on the couch. Apologies. Minutes pass.

GINA: Are ready to try it again? Okay, Isabella, get on my back. Maddie, come here. Okay, Mommy Katie, pretend there is an emergency!

KATIE: Quick, there is an emergency! I'll get Noodle!

The family rushes out the door. It's now 7:45. 

LIGHTS.

Miss H

Who has two thumbs, a lot of snot in her nose right now, AND a new therapist? THIS GIRL.

This is her third therapist, and each has worked on different aspects of her life. The other two were good - we got along with both of them, they helped her (and us). But this new one... she is amazing. She specializes in adoption and issues that arise out of situations like ours. She has so much energy, GOOD energy, and it is obvious she loves her job. But she's also sarcastic and funny and knows how hard this parenting thing is.

We're only on our third session, but Miss H and Maddie connected immediately. Maddie loves her, and Miss H delights in Maddie. Miss H is big on "reflection," which is essentially paying attention to your kid and reflecting back what you see. ("I love the colors you chose for that lego tower!" or "I see you are really excited!") We've learned this technique before as a bundle with other techniques, but Miss H seems to think this is the most important one, and she does it throughout the entire session with Maddie. This is what she wants us to work on. 

When our first therapist taught us this technique, she said it very matter-of-factly, as though she were giving us instructions on how to deal with a child we were babysitting. But Miss H said, "I promise you, this is the best thing you can do for her. You will be exhausted. It is exhausting. But it works." 

I said, "Do you have kids?" And the reason I asked was because I was thinking how she SHOULD have kids. 

She said, "Yep. Five. All adopted." 

My mouth hit the floor. She said, "The best stuff I've learned is not stuff I learned in school, but stuff I learned from parenting. And reflection will change your life."

She also said what no other therapist has said. "When you feel like you can't take it and you're ready to lose your mind and strangle her, call me. You reflect with Maddie, and you call ME and scream at ME. You tell me what's working and what's not working. You call me and we can talk about anything you want, any time you want." I almost cried. I didn't, but I felt like I might. 

We've been lucky to have had good experiences with all of Maddie's therapy, but this is the first time I feel like we are working with someone who has been in the trenches, someone who GETS what it is that's happening. She is so. good. And I want her to move in with us. I suggested this. She thought I was joking. I'm not.

Here is a video from the tail end of therapy last night:

Filed under The Worst: Filling out Valentine's Day cards.

Dear people-without-kids: Have you heard this idea that a lot of parents aren't the parents they thought they'd be? That life as a parent is way different than they imagined it would be?

THIS IS VERY REAL.

You'd think there would be a general sense of solidarity among parents as to how fucking insane this journey is... and there IS, to a certain extent, but it's very difficult to forgive yourself for how much you're failing at this thing when it LOOKS LIKE everyone else is doing so well.

This is the valentine from one of Maddie's buddies. Those are rock crayons! This mom is winning the game of Mom.

I wanted to be a mom, more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life. I looked forward to the struggle of motherhood. I was thrilled at the idea of school projects and holiday-themed photos and crafts and baking and cooking healthy meals. 

I am here to tell you this is all terrible.

Yeah, yeah, the kids are cute. They make you want to be a better person. You love them like you've loved no one else. My gratitude for their existence is unmatched.

Still. TERRIBLE.

Maddie's kindergarten teacher gives out a calendar every month with suggested daily activities. Check out what the activity was for the first Tuesday in February, which would be February 2nd.

I did purchase the valentines the weekend prior. But we found ourselves filling them out on Wednesday, February 10th, after school, before dinner, with two little girls who can't read. 

I've been home from work for maybe four minutes in this photo. Valentine-filling-out started immediately.

Through the stacks and stacks of paperwork that comes home between both schools, I was pretty sure both girls were having their parties on Thursday the 11th. (Maddie's ended up being on the 12th. So we were technically early filling out the cards.)

I bought the kids the same valentines so there would be no fighting. 

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. OF COURSE THERE WAS FIGHTING. Maddie was furious that Isabella had the same valentines she did. THE HORROR. 

Also, Maddie insisted the girls get the pink envelopes and the boys get the yellow envelopes, despite us telling them repeatedly that there is no such thing as a "boy color" or a "girl color." 

Both of our girls know how to write their own names and the alphabet, but this didn't stop Maddie asking me how to write a "d." Repeatedly. (MADDIE: THERE ARE TWO Ds IN YOUR NAME.) Also, we had to talk Maddie off the ledge when we told her she wasn't allowed to give her teacher the two $5 bills she got in the mail from one of the grandparents.

You can see the paper next to her has all of her classmates listed on it. That didn't help her.

It is also very hard to be patient when they are both eager for your help, and there is only one of you (Gina was making dinner), and they have no idea how to take turns. So it was constantly, "MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY. MOMMY." And if you're telling one of them how to spell one name, the other one thinks you're talking to her and she'll start writing the letters on HER card, even though there is only one Paolo among the two classes. They are impatient and self-centered and exactly how they are supposed to be, and it makes projects like this insufferable. THANK GOD the teachers took care of the "Valentine box" making. I've seen some fantastic card boxes on Facebook from some friends around the country, but that would've put me over the edge. 

The DGAF Valentines bag for Izzy. Preschool is the best.

Here is the good news: we do get repaid for this trouble with some amazing presents that actually make me overjoyed to be taking this ride with these two little girls. (I mostly feel this way when they are in bed, and I come in the kitchen to get some wine and see the presents displayed in the kitchen. Still - I'll take it.) So yes, the journey is hard, and at times feels impossible. But it's my journey, and I know I'm lucky to be on it.

Ceramic candy dish!

We love you too, kid. More than we can possibly ever tell you.

I (did not) woke up like this.

I wore makeup yesterday.

This isn't a first, but it is rather rare. I have maybe too many feelings about makeup. I pushed against it as a young adult (oh my god, am I not considered a young adult anymore? DESPAIR!), because I felt like it was unnecessary, that we should be celebrating how beautiful people are, period, without women feeling like they needed to put on makeup to look a certain way.

Truthfully, this was probably planted when I was in middle school and high school and never learned how to do my own makeup, and was actually never remotely interested in learning. I wish I could say this was some feminist statement that little Katie was making, but it wasn't - honestly, I felt like I wasn't pretty enough to put makeup on, that people would look at me with makeup and think I was trying to hide something that wasn't able to be hidden, and ridicule would follow. I would've preferred invisibility to eyeliner.

Ah, adolescence.

I didn't realize how lucky I was in my 20's to actually not need makeup. I have never had everything going for me, but my skin has always been relatively clear, save for my freckles - which I wear proudly and feel no need to cover up - and while I am fair skinned, I somehow managed to have a bit of a "rosy glow" so that I never looked dead.

I'd say once I hit 35, I started to think I should maybe learn how to do my own makeup. The dark circles under my eyes were getting more prominent, and the blue in my eyes just kept looking more grey. I always enlist the help of my younger sister Jessie to do my makeup for parties and concerts, and the older I get, the more positive comments I get when I wear makeup. There were some people at my company party this year that didn't even recognize me, which is hilarious - I just had on eye makeup, lipstick, and big earrings. "WHO ARE YOU?!" and the subtext was definitely, "YOU LOOK SO GOOD!"

Of course, I have two little girls at home who I need to consider. There is part of me that doesn't want them to see put on makeup, because I absolutely do not want them to think they ever NEED it. However, I do want them to express their femininity and personality in whatever way they want, and if makeup is part of that, that's okay. My instinct is to not let them play with makeup, lest they assume this is a required part of being a girl, and that makeup is necessary to make you look pretty. But I also want them to have fun and dress up if they want, and not be intimidated by makeup like I was.

What's curious is that they have two moms who almost NEVER wear makeup. Gina really doesn't ever wear it - she wore some to the aforementioned holiday party, and that was the first time I've EVER seen makeup on her. I wear it so infrequently. And still, the girls are both deeply interested in it, and they are always wanting to play with it. Some of this blame is on Aunt Jessie, but I think some if it is just who they are. They are girls who like makeup.

They didn't see me with makeup when I left the house yesterday morning, and when I came home with it on, they both noticed immediately.

Izzy: "Are you wearing makeup?"

Maddie: "I like your makeup!"

Izzy: "You look beautiful!"

So...yeah. I do look better with makeup on. I just do. I don't want that to be true, but whatever. It's not earth-shattering. It's not a big deal. It's just another choice, like having pierced ears or red hair or new sneakers. And that's what I need to remember when my girls are teenagers and asking me if they can wear makeup to school. Sigh.

College Katie. No makeup + Tasmanian Devil t-shirt. The '90s, everybody.

Me and my buddy Jamie on a hike. No makeup.

Me and little sister Jessie. She dolled me up for the Beyonce concert. We're pretty hot, right? 

The time both of us wore makeup, to the '70s themed company holiday party.

Stranger danger

We probably haven't spoken with our kids enough about stranger danger. And that's most likely because we don't think it's smart to make our kids afraid of people, since most people are completely safe and have no interest in harming our children. It's hard to find the balance in teaching them what's okay when it comes to people we don't know.

Isabella has been getting reprimanded at school for saying hello to people outside the gate of the school. The first incident was Monday, and the teacher recalled the story with a thick incredulity that took me by surprise.

"She was just talking to people outside the gate! And I was like, is that your mom? No? Then you don't talk to that person!"

I just did that awkward parent-smile thing that says, "Hashtag kids, amirite?"

I didn't really think anything of it, until the director of the school stopped me in the parking lost last night.

"We had to speak to Isabella again about talking to strangers outside the gate."

Again, I was dumbfounded at the apparent severity of this infraction. "What did she say?"

"Oh, just 'Hi, I'm Isabella, what are you doing?'"

The horror. "Okay, I'll talk to her," was all I could manage.

When I went into the school, I overheard the teacher from Monday reprimanding Isabella. "And I told you to not talk to strangers, and you did it again! You're not listening to me!"

Listen - I know there are some monsters out there. I get it. We get it. But our kids are already shy, ESPECIALLY Isabella. She is so distrusting of everything. The front playground of the school is surrounded by a gate that she can't get through and no one can get to her. I think it's worth talking to her about it, but reprimanding her - especially in front of other children - seems harsh and unnecessary.

It's not that I want to keep them naive about the dangers of people they don't know. I just want them to stay curious. Learning to talk to people you don't know is an incredibly valuable skill, one that I have not developed well. I'd like them to be better at it than I am.

Side note: she bit her best buddy on the finger this week (she has never bitten ANYBODY), and I feel like they are taking the stranger thing way more seriously that the bite. Maybe the stranger thing is Isabella's attempt at distracting them from the bite. She is a smart kid.

PJ photo by Gina.

A list: 40 things my children will fight over.

1. Who gets to turn the page in the book.

2. Who gets to take a bath first.

3. Who gets to take a bath second.

4. Who gets their back scratched longer at night.

5. Who gets buckled first.

6. Who gets more time with Mee Mee and Aunt Jessie.

7. Who gets to pick the TV show.

8. Who picked the last TV show.

9. Who gets the flower cup.

10. Who gets the Elsa-and-Anna-without-a-lid cup.

11. Who gets the Supergirl jammies.

12. Who gets the only Frozen jammies that we have one of (we have two of every other Frozen pair).

13. Who gets to sit on the counter.

14. Who gets to help make the macaroni and cheese.

15. Who gets the Christmas coloring book in the car.

16. Who gets Lambie.

17. Who gets to sleep with the book we read.

18. Who ate more dinner.

19. Who is a better listener.

20. Who gets to hold Noodle on a walk.

21. Who gets to cuddle with which mommy.

22. Who gets to hold the "silver remote."

23. Who is Shimmer and who is Shine.

24. Who is Zach-from-Mako-Mermaid's girlfriend.

25. Who plays the mommy and who plays the baby.

26. Who plays the dog and who plays the dog-walker.

27. Who gets the baby high chair.

28. Who gets the baby crib.

29. Who gets to hang up the phone when we do FaceTime.

30. Who gets the marker.

31. Who gets to sit at which side of the table.

32. Who gets to wear which dress.

33. Who has the better clothing/shoe choices.

34. Who gets their hair brushed first.

35. Who gets their hair brushed second.

36. Who gets the mail.

37. Who gets to climb across the back seat to their seat in the car - Maddie across Izzy's side, or Izzy across Maddie's side? Both is never okay.

38. Who gets the bird feather in the front yard.

39. Who gets to cuddle with Gina's binky - which is a crocheted blanket from when she was a little girl.

40. Who gets to pick the movie in the car. (YES. THE MOVIE IN THE CAR. THESE G.D. SPOILED CHILDREN.)

Perfect vs. Good

"And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good."
-John Steinbeck, East of Eden

I've heard variations of this quote in different places over the past few years, and I love it every time. It's a thing I think of a lot while working, either on my own projects or on projects for which I am getting paid. And lately, it's something I've been thinking of with my kids.

When you give birth to a baby that you conceived with your own body, I imagine you see that baby as an extension of yourself. A mix of you and your partner's DNA, the baby is bound to look like one of you, and probably act like one of you. If you're a perfectionist, chances are, you're going to expect near perfection from that kid. If you did well in school and went to college and graduate school, you're going to expect the same from that kid. If you're smart, you assume your child will be smart, and "smart" might mean different things, but whatever it means, your child's intellect is a reflection of you (or so you think), so you're expecting it to be high.

Of course, not everyone thinks this way, but I'm a part of some mommy groups on Facebook, and let me tell you, a lot of people do. A lot. I think I would've been this way if I'd given birth to my children. It's reasonable. But if you are someone who grew up at odds with your parents, can you imagine how different it might have been if your parents didn't expect you to be something you're not? Imagine if they just accepted you fully for who you are, and concentrated on the strengths you have instead of identifying and trying to correct the perceived weaknesses.

Both of my children had rough starts. Both were exposed prenatally to drugs. Both had issues as infants. With Isabella, they thought she had Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. Her legs didn't work properly, and one of the first things I asked the social worker after meeting her if she had been tested for cerebral palsy ("I think they tested her for CP..." was the response. Yeah, this wasn't a stressful time at all.).

It seems strange to say, but coming by children this way made me re-think what success is. I grew up with a natural inclination to want to learn. I loved to read, I loved school (except for 5th grade - 5th grade sucks), I loved being good at school. I was a smart kid. It was my thing. My mother never pressured me to do well in school - I just wanted to. And I did. She was mystified. My sisters were the same way. I think we were this way because my mom respected our autonomy - she knew we weren't her, and she was pleased to let us be who we wanted to be and who we were. (My mom is pretty great.)

If I'd given birth to my kids, I don't think I would've been as good at this as my mom was. But because I came by kids the way that I did, I am focused on them being the best they can be, not the best *I* think they can be. It turns out, Isabella is a lot like me - she loves learning, she loves to read, she likes solitary, quiet activities like drawing and coloring. She is incredibly bright and curious and thoughtful. Besides her 4-year old outbursts, she tends to approach things pretty logically. I'm not worried about her. Not yet, anyway.

And then there's Maddie. She is restless and physical, and runs almost solely on emotion. She is strong-willed (read: bossy, stubborn) and has trouble coping when things don't go her way. She doesn't want to learn how to do things - she just wants to know how to do them. When she has to take time to learn, she gets annoyed. Isabella likes the journey of learning - Maddie is only interested in the destination, and fuck the journey. She is strong and coordinated - she picked up jump-roping immediately after she tried it. She is tireless on the playground. But when it comes to actually sitting down to work, she has trouble. She answers questions without thinking. She looks at words and guesses what they are instead of actually trying to figure them out. She's more interested in competing with Isabella on who gets to turn the page as opposed to what is happening in the story. She seems like she's listening to you, but can't remember what remotely what you just read or what you just explained to her.

Every single morning, I tell Maddie the same thing: "Take your time and do your best, and treat other people how you would like to be treated." Every morning. And then I kiss her and hug her and tell her I'm proud of her. So yesterday, when I picked her up from school, I asked her if she learned anything at school. Usually she says she doesn't remember. But yesterday, she said yes.

"What did you learn?"

"The golden rule."

I was excited. "What is the golden rule?"

"Treat other people how you want them to treat you."

"And who says that to you every single morning?"

"Um... nobody."

"Maddie. What do I say to you every day before you go to school?"

"Um... I don't know."

FACE PALM.

Also yesterday, I found some test scores in her backpack. Her first test scores. Yes, she's in kindergarten. She is just barely at level or under level on everything. It appears that the mark "X" is the one to worry about - and she had none of those. All check marks and circles. She is well-spoken but has trouble recognizing sight words and words that rhyme. She seems to be good at geometric concepts but has trouble with other math concepts.

It's just information. It's just letting us know where she is. She's the youngest in her class. It's natural for her to be behind the other kids. Still, there was a moment as I was looking at those scores where I thought, maybe she's just not going to be great at school. Maybe school isn't her thing. As long as she tries her hardest, and as long as we can see she's trying, that's all we can ask for. I don't want to force her to learn how to read at home - if she gets sick of trying, and I push it, she'll hate reading.

All I want is for her to be a successful human. When she's an adult, I want her to have a job she likes. I want her to value herself enough that she only dates people who treat her well. I want her to vote. I want her to care about other people. I want her to make smart, healthy decisions most of the time.

While she's growing, I want to push her but I also don't want to set her up to fail. I want to expect things from her that she can achieve, not things that are impossible for her. I want her to be proud of herself, but not complacent.

I won't demand perfection from her, but I will push her to be good. I hope I can teach her the difference.

The Invisible String

The Invisible String is a children's book that I know we have read to Maddie but I'm not sure when. We certainly haven't read it in awhile - we don't own the book, so it's probably been over 6 months. They may have read it at school, but I think it was at the beginning of the year.  

Here's a little bit about the story from Amazon: 

"That's impossible", said twins Liza after their Mom told them they're all connected by this thing called an Invisible String. "What kind of string"? They asked with a puzzled look to which Mom replied, "An Invisible String made of love." That's where the story begins. A story that teaches of the tie that really binds. The Invisible String reaches from heart to heart. Does everybody have an Invisible String? How far does it reach, anyway? Does it ever go away?"

Maddie has been touch-and-go with drop off lately. Some days are hard. Some days are fine. Some days, she skips into the building, waving. Other days, she holds back tears. Still other days, she can't hold them back and they pour out of her.

This kindergarten thing is no joke.

Her teacher has told us that her biggest issue at school is that she's not taking her time, that she is always saying, "I miss my moms," and her day is all about just getting through it to come home. So since then, every day, I tell her to take her time and do her best, and I tell her how proud I am of her, and I remind her of how brave she is. I try to remind her of something exciting coming up, like soccer or girl scouts or pumpkin carving.

Yesterday, I was able to see her in class, helping another student who was having trouble writing his numbers. So last night, I told her how proud I was of her for being a good friend to him, for being helpful, and that it's important that we treat other people how we want to be treated. She is actually a pretty shy kid, and she is the youngest in her class, so I was impressed to see her on the way to school this morning saying hi to at least 5 kids who were also walking to school. "Hi Tyler!" "Hi Sophia!" "Hi Finn!"

She seemed to be in a good mood, so I had a good feeling about drop off. Sure enough, as I was leaving, I was about 15 paces away from her, she turned and looked at me and made a motion with her hands like she was pulling something near her heart, and she said, "Do you feel my string?"

That. Kid.

So THIS is what it feels like.

There was a time I thought I could be a stay at home mom. I fantasized about the idea of getting to spend all day with the kids I was dreaming about, teaching them everything, playing with them, taking them to farmers markets and watching them feast on fresh fruit that they craved, doing art projects with them, and taking lots of pictures of all of this and putting those photos in organized albums and showing the kids those albums on rainy days.

And then I had kids. Or... in my case, GOT kids. 

And also? It doesn't rain here.

So I haven't had even the tiniest urge to stay at home with my children since they became my children. This isn't a lack of love. In fact, it's love that makes me know I need to be away from them during the day so that I can tolerate them at night. They are beautiful, perfect girls, and I love them so much it makes my heart ache, but they are difficult and stubborn. And, it turns out, so am I. And life is incredibly difficult and isn't what you see on Pinterest or even Facebook. 

Something else I've learned about myself is I like working. And I think it's important for my kids to see me happy and fulfilled, and for me, having a career is part of that. This is also why I don't feel guilty for taking a sketch-writing class, or taking a full Saturday away from them to direct a play for an instant theatre night. I know I need to be creative in order to be happy, and I want my kids to have a happy mom. 

I was not a happy mom this morning.

This has been a big transition week for us. Isabella started at a new pre-school and Maddie started summer camp at one of the elementary schools in our new neighborhood. Isabella has taken to her pre-school like a duck to water, but the transition has been a little more difficult for Maddie. Maddie is a creature of habit and structure. Those are the things she needs for her life to make sense to her. I have started her at a daycare and then a pre-school, and I have never had any real qualms about leaving her at those places. I knew both places well, I knew how their days were structured, and I knew she would thrive there and I was right. And I love being right.

She starts kindergarten in August and I've been EXCITED for this. People have asked me if I'm "ready" for it, and I'm always like, YES, I'm ready. Are you kidding? She's going to learn how to READ and we get to shop for school supplies! This is going to be amazing! I've gotten her excited about it. Any time anyone asks her about it, she grins widely and starts jumping up and down: "I'M GOING TO KINDERGARTEN!" I didn't understand why everyone was asking me if I was ready for it, or if I was okay with it.

And then we dropped her off at her first day of summer camp. Gone were the gentle pre-school teachers who bent down to say hello to her and held her hand into the classroom. Gone were all the kids littler than her, younger than her. She was the youngest there on the first day we dropped her off and the classroom was FULL of kids of all ages, up to maybe 10. The teachers were really just monitoring their activity. We had to sort of encourage one of the teachers to take Maddie under her wing so she was okay with us leaving. They assured us that she would break off into her own class with kids her own age at 10am, and that this zoo of a classroom was only a morning and late afternoon thing.

It occurred to me that day that this would be her life now. She's a kid. She's not a baby. This is the deal. And we picked her up that day and she'd had SO MUCH FUN and she was exhausted because GUESS WHAT? THEY DON'T MAKE THEM NAP! (HASHTAG AMAZING) She couldn't tell us about any friends she'd made, but she did say she had fun, so yay! No more worrying on my part!

And then this morning happened. She had a rough morning. Which made Gina and I have a rough morning. (Oh and also, Gina and I didn't sleep well last night, and not for any fun reason, just because sleep can sometimes be an elusive bitch.) She told me she didn't want to go to summer camp because it's "too long." (That's where the lack of a nap is biting us in the ass - she's at summer camp the same amount of time she was at pre-school, but now she's not sleeping through any of it.) So when I dropped her off this morning, I hugged her and she held on tighter than usual and told me she didn't want me to leave. I finally got her to walk away from me, and Isabella and I made it all the way up the hill and almost to the car when I heard Maddie SCREAMING for me. I turned around and saw her running toward me with her arms out, screaming "MOMMY! MOMMY!" The teacher explained, "She said she didn't get to say goodbye to you." So I picked her up and held her and she cried and said she doesn't want to go to summer camp anymore, she wanted to go home, she didn't want me to leave, and on and on and on. This lasted for maybe 10 minutes. She's never been this reluctant to leave me, ever. And when I finally got her to let me leave, she walked back to the classroom with her teacher, crying for me still, and I had to walk away from her, and I was crying, and some dad said hi to me and my broken voice managed a "hi" back but I'm SURE he knew I was crying... 

And what I felt in that moment was guilt. Full mommy guilt, unlike anything I've felt before. Sure, I've felt like I'm doing the mom thing all wrong. That's not what this was. This was me feeling like she needed ME and I couldn't be there for her. This was me, for the first time, wishing I could stay home with her during the summer, wishing I could let her have a lazy summer before kindergarten, watching cartoons and playing outside and going swimming. Wishing I could let her have ME all to herself. That is all she wants. And I'll probably never be able to give that to her. I know it'll get easier. I know she just needs to get used to this new place and new friends. And I know this is what the rest of her life will be like. She'll be in new places plenty of times, and will need to use what she's been taught by US to manage those situations. 

Still - this is not an easy day.

First day of summer camp - 6/16/15

Mother's Day: Year 2

It doesn't seem like a year ago that I posted this about my first Mother's Day as a real mom. At the same time, it somehow seems like a lifetime ago, because my life has changed so dramatically since then, and nowhere moreso than in the Motherhood Department. I remember then being overwhelmed and frustrated, but joyful and thankful and most importantly: in control.

That has changed, of course. If you think parenting an 18-month-old is hard, imagine adding a 2.5 year old suddenly to the mix. It's sort of like that science experiment you did in middle school (or in my case, you saw someone do on TV) where you pour the vinegar into the volcano and it "explodes." It's that - with human beings. I think everyone's journey to motherhood is different, and everyone's experience as a mom is different, but I find that MY experience seems especially different in that there are very few - if any - people I know that became mothers in a similar way to me. And I know every mom's life is full of "shoulds" - I should feel this way, I should do this, I should think that, this should happen this way - but sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in shoulds, shoulds that I can't even say out loud, shoulds I think no one else (except Gina, of course) could possibly ever understand.

But here's what I've learned over the last year - it doesn't matter what the shoulds are, because life keeps moving forward. The girls keep growing - they keep entering and exiting developmental phases, and then sometimes entering them again. But this is how it is. This is what we have, and WE are what THEY have. I am what they have. I'm tired. I feel never-enough. I feel a million things at once and sometimes nothing at all. And the whole time, they are just here, growing and changing - emotionally, physically, mentally. They say things like, "Mommy, your nails are so beautiful," and "Come to me, mommy," and "Fuck."

Yep. I'm sure I'm doing a million things wrong, but somewhere in there, something is right.

'

Fever

Conversation with Gina yesterday in Target:

Katie (passing the baby section): I know it's only been 2 days since we've declared Isabella potty trained, but baby fever struck me the MOMENT I realized she's pretty much out of diapers. Like... it's suddenly as bad as it was when we didn't have any kids at all.

Gina: (laughing) Yeah, I get it. 

Pause.

Gina: (dead serious) But we do. Have kids. A lot. All the time.

Brown-eyed Girl

"I want blue eyes like Isabella."

I couldn't understand what she was saying at first. Maddie always wants what Isabella has, and usually gets it because she's difficult to reason with (because THREE YEARS OLD and AUNT OF THE YEAR). We were out to dinner, and I thought she was saying blue ice, a la Walter White, but it didn't make any sense because no one had any blue ice.  No one had any blue anything - we were at a Mexican hole-in-the-wall restaurant. The Corona label was blue, but nothing else.

She pointed to Isabella's face. "No, I want blue eyes like Isabella." She asked for it as though she wanted the same kind of plate Isabella had, or the same stuffed animal, as though it was something I could easily give her, and why wouldn't I, because she had asked so politely?

I hugged her. "Oh honey, you have brown eyes. You have beautiful, perfect brown eyes."

Her lip quivered and she looked into MY eyes. "No, I want BLUE eyes like Aunt Katie and Isabella." I pointed out that Aunt Gina has brown eyes too, but that wasn't good enough for her in that moment. She cried real tears at the inability to pick her eye color. Gina suggested we ask Dr. Jordan the next time we see her if she and Isabella can switch eyes, and I said I'd pretend to switch with her right now. She (magically) calmed down.

I'm not ready for this. I'm not anywhere near ready to hear this perfect little girl complain about her body in any way. And about her eyes of all things! Arguably one of her best features. Shaped like her mother's and the color of her father's, they are large and deep and expressive.  They are the strongest indicator of her mixed ethnicity. She's all big-and-round-headed just like her mom and her aunts were when they were babies, and she's got the chubby cheeks and the ridiculous grin we all had too, but her eyes - they are what set her apart, in the best way. They are the brown eyes people write about and sings songs about. When she's an adult (like 30 or so, because she's not allowed to date before then), her partners will fall in love with those eyes.  I fell in love with those eyes the minute I met her. And no matter how big she gets, no matter how far away from me she is, whenever I see her, I'll be able to look into those eyes and remember the little girl that changed my life and made me whole.

I'd try to reach up and grab a star for her if she asked, but I'd never change her eyes to blue even if I could, no matter how much she begged. They're just too perfect as is, and I know I won't be the last to tell her.

 

Merry Christmas from the depths of my anger

Christmas Eve 2012, our first with Isabella, found me at the CVS Minute Clinic getting tested for strep throat. I remember still having the thought that I'd make it to the 11:00 church service that night. Of course I did not make it, instead downing tea and whiskey trying not to make that the Christmas of the Needley Throat. In the exhaustion of the next day's events (and feeling the stress of the past month finally lifting from me), I cried to my mom about how grateful I was that she and my dad, despite never having a ton of cash, ALWAYS found ways to give us wonderful, memorable Christmases. My first Christmas as a mom was my most exhausting one, no doubt, but the joy I felt Christmas morning was so unlike anything I'd ever known, it left me a sobbing mess.

This year, with two kids living with us, I knew Christmas would be a little more stressful, but I knew Christmas morning would come and I'd have double the high. In 2013, we officially joined All Saints Church in Pasadena, and we actually started making church part of our weekly routine in September, so for the first time since I left Ohio 13.5 yrs ago, I had a church in my new hometown to not only go to on Christmas Eve, but one where I felt HOME. Some of my favorite Christmas memories include church on Christmas Eve, and I was excited to take the girls this year.

I know all of you other moms have impeccably organized calendars, white boards full of reminders about who is to be where and when, and you rarely if ever mess up a time somewhere. I'm not that mom, despite my best efforts. So I thought the family service on Christmas Eve was at 5:30. That was the plan, to take the girls to the 5:30 service. 

All Saints is a huge church, so you have to arrive early on holidays to even get a seat. They do eventually close the doors if they reach capacity, which the do for almost every holiday service. So we got there around 4:45, armed with coloring books and snacks for the kids.

Christmas angels

Gina held our seats while I ran around with Maddie, because the best way to get her to behave is to force her into exhaustion. She eventually gets too tired to put up a fight. There weren't a lot of other kids there - turns out, the family service had been at 3pm. I didn't want to put them in the church-provided childcare that day, and neither did Gina. They go to childcare every Sunday - I wanted them with us on Christmas Eve. Most of the parishioners commented how beautiful they looked, how sweet they were, yada yada yada. They held it together really well during the service - they were super fidgety and asked a few questions out loud, and Maddie sang Happy Birthday to Jesus at a few inopportune times. I excused myself and Maddie after the sermon at some point when I felt she was too restless. We ran around a bit and came back. Overall, they were great for being 2 and 3.

As we were leaving, we got more compliments on how cute they were. We went across the street to Pasadena City Hall to check out the Christmas tree. As the kids were running around and I was trying to snap some pictures, I heard a voice behind me, loud enough for me to hear, but quiet enough that I wasn't sure it was directed at me.

"You know that place you just were, All Saints? They offer childcare." 

I turned around to see a woman who was approximately 175 years old. Her son or grandson was with her and he had a look on his face like "Just go ahead and shoot me now." 

"I know," I said to her. "We wanted them in church with us."

"Well, they were very noisy." 

I'll be screwed during the zombie apocalypse because my real fight instinct takes way too long to kick in. The phrase "What I SHOULDA said was..." is all-too common in my phrase ammo. 

"Yeah, well, they're kids."

"Well, it was very distracting." 

"Well, they are parishioners too." The grandson/home health aide nodded, clearly on my side, begging me to have mercy on him. At this point she was walking away, and this is when my fight instinct finally kicked in. I yelled after her, "IT'S CHRISTMAS EVE!" She mumbled something else and it was then that I lost it. I yelled at my family to get in the f*cking car, we were going home. 

I got in the car and slammed the door and started sobbing. Gina took over with the kids and got them into their car seats while I sat helpless in the front seat with my head in my hands. "Aunt Katie, are you so sad?  What happened to Aunt Katie?" was what I heard from Maddie.  "What happened to mommy?" from Isabella.  "Some old bag was mean to mommy at church," Gina said, which made me laugh for a moment, but it did nothing to curtail the 90 minutes of utter despair I felt on the ride home and once we got home.  Christmas, my absolute favorite time of the year to be a mom, re-experiencing the magic with my children, and I was a ball of rage. All of the small stresses of the past six weeks flooded over me, and I was hit with a familiar feeling I try to ignore, that NO ONE knows what it's like to be where I am, where we are, mothers by law but not biology, trying to be just as much to those girls as their biological mothers would be if they could be, and always feeling like I'm falling short, that their tiny minds are already racking up resentment toward me because I yell at them too much, I lose my patience, I cry, I get frustrated and annoyed, I expect more from them then they are able to give, and on and on and on and on.  I was sunk, for ninety full minutes, during dinner and bath time and bed time.  

Footy jammies! Come ON!

Wine helped. Going through the motions helped - we gave them their Christmas jammies, we read "Twas the Night Before Christmas," Gina rocked Isabella as I cuddled with Maddie until I felt her fidgety little body relax and drift off.  I emerged from the depths slowly, like a hibernating animal sniffing for the first signs of spring.  I began to regret my anger, to regret allowing some million year old lady ruin my Christmas, ruin my kids' Christmas.  But the great thing about kids this young is they forget stuff like this quickly, and as we slept, Santa brought a bunch of presents, and when they woke up, Christmas happened just like it was supposed to for them, a morning full of cinnamon buns and presents and magic and "Looky! Look what I got!" As long as their Christmas is good, mine is good.  And it was lovely. 

What is still the most annoying to me is THEY WERE ACTUALLY REALLY WELL BEHAVED IN CHURCH!

No really, I'm over it.  Promise.

"Whoever you are, where ever you find yourself on the journey of faith, you are welcome here." -All Saints Church

"And he said: "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." -Matthew 18:3