Mama Love

Saw this lovely vision up close in the parking lot of the J. They were completely calm and less than 15 feet away from me.

Brainfreeze!

We went to the zoo this morning and among many other important discoveries, the wee ones rediscovered brainfreeze, a la snowcones. Aaaaaghh! Brainfreeze!

Sharing 101

Elias gave me this necklace for Mother's Day. He made it himself at school and gave it to me in a home-made envelope along with a note. It was presented with much fanfare, including a song called "I Love My Mommy." The whole shabang was awesome and I love my necklace.

Given my reaction, Lena of course immediately coveted the necklace. When she asked me if she could wear it, I wasn't sure.

"Mommy, can I wear your special necklace?"

Elias looked at me, expectantly. I felt like giving my necklace to Lena would be tantamount to throwing it on the floor and stomping on the cute little green plastic heart. I panicked internally. Lena stroked the necklace and kept on, "Can I mommy, can I? Please? Pleeeaaaasssseeee?" Eli waited.

"Well, Lena, this is my special necklace that Eli gave me for Mother's Day and it was a very special gift and I think I'm just going to wear it for a while and maybe in a few days when it's not so new for me any more, then you can wear it." I looked at Eli for approval.

"Mommy!" Eli answered. "I made that necklace for taking turns." He looked at me as if I were stomping on the cute little green plastic heart.

Lena chimed in, "Yeah Mommy. What are you thinking? That necklace is for sharing."

Yes, of course. What the hell was I thinking?

Seeing Spots

We've had a bit of weirdness around here. Lena got sick early Sunday morning. And her brief episodes of tummy trouble were followed by the appearance of spots. They're on her arm and face mostly but also on her legs and torso. Eli had a few spots too and so did I.

We went to the doctor Sunday to have it checked out and we were the talk of the doctor's office. Several doctors and nurses looked at us but no one had an answer. There were lots of comments about what the spots are not: They're not chiggers, not mosquito bites, not leeches, or ticks. They're not swine flu. They don't seem to be an allergic reaction as there's no pain, itching, or swelling. It's most likely viral. Most likely no big deal. And they're already fading, so hopefully that is the case...

Kindergarten Roundup

I had the privilege of taking Elias to the Kindergarten Roundup at Davis Elementary earlier this week. After filling out half an hour's worth of paperwork, fifth graders hosted us on a tour through the school.

I was overwhelmed by a flood of my own childhood memories. My art projects, my teachers, the smell of the cafeteria, the texture of what they put on our tray every Thursday and claimed was "hamburger."

Elias, also excited, verbally assaulted the unprepared fifth graders with questions about what he could do RIGHT NOW. The concept of being introduced to the computer room, the library, the science lab, the baby ducklings in Ms. Monroe's class, all without being able to fully experience it RIGHT NOW was, for Elias, a tad absurd. I have to admit I can see his point.

Can we do the computers NOW, Mommy? Are we having story time now? Can I do that science project now Mommy? Do I get to to take that baby duck home, Mommy?

Not quite yet, Eli. But soon.

And although he couldn't do any of those things just yet, he could make new and interesting noises with his mouth after witnessing a random "big kid" doing it in the cafeteria for a mere three seconds.

This marks the beginning of lots of new things for Elias and for me. For Lena too. It's new for all of us. Eli's going to meet women and men who will be his teachers. He will spend most of the day with them and he will know them better than I do. A random group of strange big boys will be influencing him daily and I will have little to no control over what they do or how he perceives them. Am I ready for all this? Not really, but it's happening. Well, it's almost happening. Not quite yet. But soon.

While We're On the Topic of Pets...

Introducing the latest member of our household. Another thing I have to clean and feed. Really?

Sarcasm aside, I like the little guy. Among all the beings in my house, this one is completely SILENT. Nice. And the kids love him. He's a beta fish and was the most popular gift at Lena's birthday party. (Thank you, Aunt Tasha!) For now, we're calling him Max, when we're not calling him Nemo.

Supposedly these fish can live 2 to 3 years. I'm hoping we can keep him alive for at least half of that...

Schultzie (April 1989 - November 2004)

Schultzie was my pup. She was born 20 years ago today to my Dad's dog, "Willie" (short for Willamena). I was on a first date with a guy named Andrew at his junior prom the night she was born, but was more excited about her impending birth.

I made at least three phone calls throughout the night to check on Willie and the litter. No cell phones back then so I imagine those calls were fairly intrusive. I was 17, and didn't think to consider that that might have been rude. (Who me?) Needless to say, I never went out with Andrew again. But Schultzie and I were together for more than 15 years.

I am shocked (and slightly shamed) to realize that there is not even one mention of her on this blog. But then again, I started this blog in January of 2006. I was deep in the throes of early parenthood. I had a 9 month old and a two-year old. So in that light, I suppose it makes perfect sense that Schultz was overlooked. Schultzie was my baby before I had babies. After the wee humans arrive, everything changes for our beloved pets, doesn't it?

She was the best dog ever. I know people say that but really. She was clever and affectionate. She had personality. She wasn't a yapper. She had this way of growl-talking at all the right moments: It forced us to anthropomorphize her. It was uncanny. After hours on the couch, her whiskers would be all gnarled up into a Bob Marley mess that we called shmush-face. And she usually woke up grumpy (like a lot of the good humans do.) She licked my toes and I let her. For all twelve pounds of her, somehow she could sound like a herd of cattle running on the second floor.

She lived well over fifteen years and by the time I finally put her down, she had been my pup for nearly half of my lifetime. She met me when I was a kid. She met all my boyfriends and both husbands. She lived with me in every apartment and house I have ever lived in since I ventured out on my own. She knew me pregnant, was with me when I miscarried, and met my firstborn. That's a lotta dog years.

Props to Schultzie.

My Kids are 4 and 5

Two days ago, I entered the four month period during which my kids are technically speaking, only one year apart. This happens every year, as of four years ago, between April 25th (Lena's birthday) and August 12th (Elias's). This year, Lena is 4 and Eli is 5. I must confess to you that it has been intensely gratifying to report their ages to someone, anyone, during these four sweet months.

It was the best, of course, when the kids were younger. When Lena was born, Eli was only 20 months old. In my opinion, simply venturing out into public during Lena's first months was cause for applause, and apparently countless mothers and fathers here in Austin shared that sentiment. All I had to do was go to the grocery store where I would be lauded by some stranger, usually a parent themselves, as some kind of supermom. I'd be waddling through the HEB in search of diapers or baby wipes or hemorrhoid cream when I would invariably hear "Oh my! Look at that tiny baby!" Then they'd greet Eli, "What a big boy YOU are." And to me, they always asked, "How close ARE they?"

My answer wasn't always received with reverence. Some people looked at me as if I were insane, and rightly so. Some people looked at me as if I must have been ignorant. (They have pills that solve that particular problem, you know.) People without children didn't particularly get it, but the parents among those who asked would almost always give me the most wonderful validation.

Women would wrinkle up their eyebrows, smile, and nod all at the same time, knowingly. They'd pat me on the shoulder or tell me about their children. Dads would shake their heads and laugh. "Yep! Gettin' any sleep? Don't worry you'll get there." Women and men. Some older, some younger, some richer, some poorer, some more educated, some less. All of them very kind and all of them a little tired around the eyes.

One woman, without ever stopping her shopping cart just looked at me and said, "Hard work..." It IS hard work. I had two kids very close together. Two in a row. For a couple of years anyway, two under two. Two in diapers at the same time. As silly as it is, the exaggerated response that has come after I've said, "My kids are 1 and 2," or "2 and 3," and so on has been proof enough for me that what I've been doing is hard. I am not alone. Everyone thinks so. I am not crazy. Well. Not much.

As the kids have gotten older, the fruit on this particular tree hasn't been quite as sweet. My kids are 4 and 5 now. They're big. They're damn cute but the picture I paint at HEB isn't quite what it was 4 years ago.

Then: I was a woman with an adorable red headed toddler on one hip and a cherub-like infant in a sling on the other, stoically pushing a shopping cart with one hand.
Now: I am the same woman, only more disheveled, with two vaguely pre-school-aged-looking kids arguing at the top of their lungs over who's gonna push the cart, and wrestling over a bag of goldfish that has not yet been paid for. (Not exactly something to fawn over.)

Still. If this is the first year I don't get to report the age difference to a stranger, and it very well might be, I will mourn the loss of that era. I'll do my best to enjoy the invisible years though. I have several coming up, I have been informed. And after the invisible years, the age difference will be noticeable again.

I have two kids very close together. Two in a row. Two under thirty. Two in junior high, then in high school at the same time. Two sets of braces, two proms, two college educations, two weddings...

In the Name of Confidence

In the name of my own self-confidence, I give you the worst picture that has ever been taken of me. Ever.

Here's what I REALLY look like. There is no fun-house mirror involved and that's not my reflection in a spoon. That is me sweating profusely. That is my very large forehead. That is my bulbous nose.

I'd like to add that this is not what I look like usually. This is what I look like when I'm really really hot and sweaty in the middle of summer and Eli grabs the camera and takes my picture when I'm not ready. Totally not ready.

I'm posting this picture on a dare.

There, I did it. And I feel pretty damn good about it. It's actually quite liberating...

Adult

Just minutes ago, I heard an odd rustling from the living room. The following conversation took place between two rooms, Elias in the living room and the rest of us in the study down the hall.

Tamara: "Eli, whatcha doing?"
Elias: "We need-a make-a fire."

He was inside the HEB Box O' Fire Logs. Not a good idea, obviously. I answered him.

Tamara: "No, buddy. We can't make a fire right now. You always need an adult for that."

There was a brief silence and then...

Elias: "Daaaddddyyyyyyyyyyy!"
Jonathan: "Yes, Eli?"
Elias: "Are you a dolt?"
Jonathan: "Yes um well yes but..."