Christmas: A Photo Essay

We got almost no clear photos of Christmas this year (fail). Here are the few that came out. Happy New Year!

Emma makes a new friend at Brookfield Zoo's Holiday Magic.

The carousel is ALWAYS a hit.

Hitching a ride.

Christmas morning at Grandma's house.

Santa was very good to the girls this year. Sophie kept exclaiming, "I'm so glad he didn't bring me coal!"

Santa is real and lives in Chicago Ridge Mall

We took the kids to see Santa yesterday. This was the first year they were both actually excited to see him, which was fun. However, the "elf" who was taking the picture was so annoying. Her idea of getting a sobbing, terrified child to calm down was to scream the child's name at the top of her lungs while making ridiculous faces that made her look like she was having a seizure. (Yeah...that's gonna make the children less scared. Good strategy.) There was a baby that went before us that was so incredibly chill. She had the most beautiful eyes...eyes that had seen a lot and had stories to tell, you know what I mean? The eyes of an old soul. And the moment the baby was placed on Santa's lap, she just kept staring up at him with the most serene look of complete recognition. She and Santa gazed at each other for at least 10 seconds, and it was the Cutest Thing EVER. I was like, "That's the shot! That's IT! Take the damn picture, elf!" But all the stupid woman cared about was getting the baby to look at the camera, so she just kept screaming and waving and contorting and totally missed the boat. Chris couldn't believe how worked up I got about the damn photographer, but she was a deeply annoying woman and obvious amateur with no artistic instincts whatsoever (not that I'm judgmental or anything) who didn't deserve the privilege of working with this amazing Santa.

Because amazing he was. This dude was the realest-looking Santa Claus that Chris or I had ever seen. His beard was real! No age makeup! Clearly, he was a pro. He was soft-spoken and gentle, but also authoritative and grave. The girls ate up his every word. He listened very carefully to their requests and looked each of them in the eye when they spoke. Then he told the girls that they had been mostly good this year, but that they needed to stop fighting and help out Mommy more. (Santa almost got a lap dance of gratitude from me on that one. I wonder if the damn elf would have photographed THAT.)

Emma is absolutely, 100% convinced that he was the real Santa. (I think it was the beard that got her.) Real or not, he was one hell of a step up from the mall Santa we had a few years ago that was about 25 years old and looked like a serial killer. So thank you, Mr. Claus, for a job well done. (And no one will think less of you if you ship that annoying elf off to Easter Island or something, Santa. She seriously needs to go.)

The logical mind

I overheard this exchange while the girls were in the kitchen making snacks:

Emma: "Now remember...you get what you get and you don't get upset."
Sophie: "Yes. And YOU get what YOU get and you don't get upset."
Emma: "Well, no. I mean...I'm the one making the snacks, so I get what I want. You just get what you get."

Copy My Copy

Soph: "Emma can make copies of us, you know."
Me: "Copies of us? You mean like...another Sophie?"
Sophie: "Yep. Or another Mommy or another Emma. She really can. I'm serious."
Me: "How does she do that? Did she tell you?"
Soph: "Yes. It's cause she's a vampire."
Me: "Hmmm. That's pretty cool. I had no idea she could do something like that. I can't believe she didn't tell me!"
Soph: "Well, I think she is gonna tell you on your birthday or for Christmas or something."
Me: "Gotcha. But why does being a vampire help her make copies of people?"
Soph: "Because she grows her teeth really long and then they glow into a color and then poof! You are copied. Kinda like the printer."
Me: "I'm not sure I really want a copy of me. Would you like another Sophie hanging around?"
Soph: "Kinda. Like...so I can copy her and stuff."
Me: "So you would copy your copy?"
Soph: [sigh] "Yes, Mommy. That's how it works."
Me: "Oh. I see."
Soph: "And plus she could play with me when Emma has a sleepover. And if I get eaten by a monster she can give you hugs so you won't be sad."
Me: "Oh, honey..."
Soph: "So you need to get a copy, so that if you die, I will still have a Mommy."
Me: ... ... ...
Soph: "Mommy? Did you hear me?"
Me: "Yeah honey, I heard you. Okay then. I'll have Emma make a copy of me, too."
Soph: "Thanks, Mommy."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas...IN OUR NEW HOME!

I've always loved the holiday season, and it's been so much fun preparing for the first Christmas in our new home. I realize I'm completely and utterly slightly biased, but seriously...is this the best damn tree you've ever seen in your life or WHAT?

Yes, I love our Christmas tree...but she's not exactly new. (Although this was the first year we had ceilings high enough to fit all 9 feet of her, which was pretty cool.) Outdoor decorations though? Now that's a whole new thing. We've never had our own place on which to display anything before, so I've been excited for months at the prospect of seeing our front porch all lit up.

My awesome husband took advantage of the freakishly warm weather and spent hours today setting up outside lights. (Since we're newbies, it took some time - and a few unexpected shopping trips - to figure out exactly what equipment and supplies were needed.) I would have given up after the first roadblock, but Chris persevered and was just finishing up when I left for a concert in the city. (See how I said "in the city"? I don't feel like a suburbanite, but I can play that role.)

Tonight, I came home to find this waiting for me.

I actually teared up when I saw it.

Best. Christmas. Present. EVER.

Thanks, baby.

Sophie Patrice

My baby is five today.

FIVE YEARS OLD.

No more baby. No more toddler. BIG. GIRL.

Love this face, this smile, this child.

Love where we've been, where we are, and where she's taking us.

Love watching her grow and go, go and grow, touching all she meets with light and love.

Happy birthday, my Sophie Patrice.

My BABY. (Always.)

We love you.

Birthday Party

Sophie's birthday party was today. We invited her entire class of 22 students. Four showed up. I was so worried she would be disappointed, but I don't think she even noticed. (Plus with her sister, cousin Cadin, and buddies Sam and Henry there as well, we still had a pretty good-sized group.)

Fun was had, magic was made, (many) cupcakes were consumed, and all was well.

And in six days, my "baby" officially turns five years old. DEAR. LORD.

Birthday girl!

That is the smile of a happy girl(s).

Our friend Ryan performed a great magic act for the kids and let them in on some of his magician secrets.

Sophie shows off her balloon animal.

The princess and her new baby doll in their matching nightgowns.

School Pics...Dig it.

If I have no face, can anybody see me?

Sophie likes to play the "Which would you rather?" game. Here was her version today...

Soph: "Which would you rather do...go to the public, or climb a tree and get your face eaten off by a mean monster?"
Me: "Um, I think I'd rather go out in public."
Soph: "Ugh! Gross! Not me. I'd rather climb a tree!"
Me: "Well, I know how much you love trees, but the part about the monster sort of scared me off."
Soph: "Yes. That is very scary and it would hurt a lot and you would probably die. But it's much better than going to the public."
Me: "Sophie, what do you think 'going to the public' means?"
Soph: "Like going up in front of all the people and having to talk and sing and stuff. And they SEE you, Mommy. They SEE you."

I'm not sure this one is going into the family business.

Turning Thoughts Into Practice...

I love this. I am this. I live this.

Every. Day.

Please read this.

Halloween Photos: A Timeline

Our first trick-or-treaters (like, ever) begin to arrive.

Prep time!

The girls strike a pose.

Our little Minnie Mouse!

Midnight Mischief and Minnie put on their best scary faces. (I think one girl clearly has the edge here...)

Daddy and his evil spawn...

The girls in front of the coolest house ever.

Our two tired trick-or-treaters catch their breath in a neighbor's graveyard. (Oh, the irony.)

Signs you may be a teensy bit scatterbrained

1. You try to open the grocery store's automatic door with your car's keyless entry. (This is not the first time this has happened.)
2. While waiting for a red light to change, you idle behind a car for approximately five minutes before realizing that a) said car is turned off; b) said car has no driver inside; c) said car is, in fact, parked; and d) you overshot the exit lane entirely and are actually still within the confines of the parking lot.
3. You ask a department store clerk to please put the refund on your carrot card. Twice.
4. You begin breaking up ice in the freezer and discover the Girl Scout permission slip that has been "missing" for four days is sitting in your icemaker.

You can't have him. He is OURS.

I spent last night laying on our glorious new couch (LOVE IT!), reveling in my high level of comfort and unabashedly watching a smorgasbord of TV shows.

My husband ignored our couch's siren song and instead spent two hours at the dining room table making this for the girls:

This photo doesn't even begin to do this pumpkin justice. I think Chris missed his calling.

Thankfully for both my kids and myself, I really married up.

Slow down there, Willie

Sophie just leaned in and whispered, "What's a sleepover?"

After I explained, she informed me that her classmate Willie would like to have a sleepover with her. Apparently, he is coming over tomorrow and bringing his bed and some snacks. He will be here at fifty-two.

"Fifty two what?" I inquired.

"Fifty two time," Sophie clarified with a sigh.

Then she told me I could call his mom at 43-2 to confirm plans.

I theorized that maybe we should try a playdate before jumping straight into the world of sleepovers. Sophie asked if Willie could still bring snacks. After assuring her that Willie is more than welcome to bring any snack he likes, she agreed that a playdate was probably a more reasonable first step.

I really gotta meet this Willie. He sounds like an interesting dude.

Sophie on a Friday morning

Soph: "Taylore and I sat next to Willie the other day at school and it was so funny because we kept saying 'there's a girl next to you, there's a girl next to you, there's a girl next to you' until he screamed and ran away!"
Me: "You are silly. Why did he run away?"
Soph: "Willie doesn't like girls. He says we are yucky."
Me: "Well, that's not very nice."
Soph: "He's just confused. I told him we weren't yucky, we just have vaginas and he has peanut-ses and we can still play together."
Me: "Penises. Not peanut-ses."
Soph: "I know, that's what I said!"
Me: "Okay. Well, try to go easy on poor Willie. Sounds like you freaked him out."
Soph: "No. He likes it. On the inside. I can tell."
Me: "Hmmm. You are a very wise four-year-old, Sophie. Very wise indeed."
Soph: "Thank you."

---------------------------

Soph: "In Misconsin, is it night or day right now?"
Me: "It's morning in Wisconsin, just like here. Wisconsin isn't that far away from Illinois, so they have morning and night at the same times we do."
Soph: "But the kids go to different schools there, right?"
Me: "Well...yes. I mean, different school buildings. But they learn at their schools, just like you learn at yours."
[long pause]
Soph: "Do they get to climb trees at their school?"
Me: "I don't know, honey."
Soph: "Ugh! I bet they do. Misconsin is so lucky."

I Want To Go To School Where Sophie Goes To School

Emma: "Our substitute yesterday let us do whatever we wanted for 15 minutes!"
Sophie: "Wow. Could you do FLIPS?!"
Emma: "No! We still had to do school stuff, just whatever we wanted."
Sophie: "Did you do a cartwheel???"
Emma: "No, Sophie. I mean we got to read or play with our netbooks or whatever. You know, school stuff."
[pause]
Soph: "Did you get to climb trees?"

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

My children are officially way too smart - and sassy - for me. Here's a sample of our breakfast conversation this morning:

Emma: "Remember at my old school, how you kept trying to get me to not be friends with O?"

Me: "That's not true!"

Emma: "Yeah, it is true. You told me that if she was mean to me, I shouldn't be friends with her."

Me: "Well, yes...but I didn't necessarily want you to stop being friends altogether. Still, I don't understand why you would want to be friends with somebody who makes you feel badly on purpose. That, to me, is not a true friend."

Sophie: "Sometimes I'm mean to Mia Gibbons at school. But then she tells the teacher, and I say 'I'm sorry' and then it's okay. She is still my friend."

Me: "Well...just because you apologize doesn't mean it's okay. Saying 'I'm sorry' is nice, but you also shouldn't be mean to someone in the first place."

Sophie: "But how else will she know that she made me mad?"

Me: "You could just say, 'I don't like it when you do that Mia. Could you please stop?'"

Sophie: "But that doesn't get my anger out. How else am I supposed to get my anger out if I don't yell and scream?"

Me [to Emma]: "Hmmm...wonder where she got that idea from?"

Emma: "Oh yeah. Like you never yell at people. Look in the mirror, missy! I'm not taking the blame for this one."

Happy Frickin' Halloween

The four of us recently went costume shopping for the kids. We were all pretty excited about it. Chris and I even confessed to each other later that we'd been looking forward to the outing all day. Slightly pathetic, I know...but we are always striving to do more things together as a family, so just the fact that both parents were along for the ride made the excursion feel extra special. Plus, it's Halloween costumes! Pretty fun, right?

I'm not exactly sure when things went wrong, but in hindsight, I suspect the trip was doomed from the start. The girls were tired and hungry, and I should have been more on guard the moment I sensed restlessness and felt the need to promise dinner at the kids' favorite restaurant if they behaved. But I decided to soldier on and hope for the best.

We entered the store with a clear plan: Emma wanted to be a vampire and Sophie wanted to be Minnie Mouse. That plan went hurtling out the window the minute both girls saw the entire wall of costume choices before them. After about 20 minutes of back and forth, several polite "Are you ready yet?" inquiries from the store clerk, and a lot of whining and tears from both girls, we were no closer to making a decision. Sophie managed to choose every costume in the store that was not available in her size while inexplicably turning her back on Minnie Mouse, and Emma dismissed several cool vampire ensembles in favor of a zombie prom queen getup that her Daddy quickly banned for being inappropriate. (I have no idea why Chris had such a negative reaction to that costume, but once he laid down the gauntlet, I had to back him up. Lord knows he's supported several unilateral decisions on my part that he didn't understand, so I definitely owed him.)

Finally, we successfully coerced the girls into each selecting an outfit to try on. And then, we entered the dressing room...or, as I like to think of it, the seventh circle of hell.

First of all, the space was really small and hot. We were wedged in pretty tight, and soon we were all grumpy buckets of sweat. The girls started shoving at each other to "make room" and an argument broke out over how to best get the costumes out of their packaging. At one point, Em took Sophie's outfit in an attempt to open it, and Soph broke out her signature move: A shout of "Em-MA" accompanied by an indignant foot stomp. (Classic Sophie, and always a harbinger of bad things to come.) Sophie's witch outfit barely made it over her head before being ripped off, thrown to the floor, and declared "the ugliest costume I've ever seen." But the situation didn't reach Level 5 status until Emma started complaining that her costume was scratchy. By the time we got it all the way on her body, she was shrieking and wailing like someone had just driven a toothpick under her fingernail. She actually edged toward full-out hysteria, clawing at her face and screaming for at least ten seconds in high C territory because the costume was "itching like ants, oh my god, oh my god, get it off get it off GET IT OFF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I would love to say that I observed this behavior with a zen detachment, but the truth is that I lost my shit and started yelling phrases like, "Calm DOWN!" and "Have you lost your mind?" and "You have got to be kidding me!" as I ripped Emma's costume off as quickly as possible.

As we emerged from the dressing area, I took one look at Chris and declared, "I. Am. Done." I can only imagine what my poor husband was thinking at that point, but to his credit (or not...I waffled on the point myself), he kept trying to tempt the girls with random accessories in a misguided attempt at salvaging the outing. However, none of us was having it. I told Emma she could wear a tank top under her torture device costume to help with the itching and gave Sophie the ultimatum of Minnie Mouse or nothing. She opted for the mouse and we quickly paid for both costumes.

Both girls were firmly attached to me--Sophie on my hip and Emma at my waist--as we exited the store. (After my girls act out, they also get very clingy. Of course, the timing is highly suspect. Demanding affection at the precise moment that I would prefer to be as far away from them as possible? Children are masters at emotional manipulation.) Everyone had finally started to calm down when Sophie had the audacity to ask if we were still going out for dinner and was promptly told HELL NO. (Well, the "hell" was implied. Strongly.) So we rode home to the relaxing soundtrack of Sophie weeping and gasping between sobs, "But...I...Want...Panda...EXPRESS!!!!" approximately 7,242 times.

After a tense dinner and early bedtime, I asked Chris why these types of routine excursions often go so wrong for us. He shared some very sound and rational theories that did absolutely nothing to deter me from my utter conviction that we are horrible parents raising demon children.

Of course, those same little demons gave us multiple hugs and kisses before bed and apologized for their actions more than once. The little one even said, "Thank you for taking us costume shopping, even though Emma ruined it." (Um...clearly her perspective of the evening was not exactly the same as mine, but I still appreciated the gratitude.) Those imps know exactly what they are doing. Just when we are ready to wring their necks, they go and do something to remind us how much we adore them.

So...that's how we do Halloween prep in the Mathews household. I don't really have a tidy wrap-up to this post. No epiphanies or anything. Depending on the moment you catch me, I'm either totally in love with my children or ready to ship them off to boarding school. (Often both at the same time.) At this point, I don't really see that changing much. My main goal is simply to document the lunacy so that someday, when my grandchildren go ballistic over...well...everything, and my dear grown daughters come to me for sympathy, this blog can help explain why I always greet their desperate cries for help with maniacal laughter.

Anger is a girl's best friend...at least in our house

I've heard tales of children who are quiet, respectful, peaceful little beings. They get angry, of course; they misbehave. They are not robots. But for the most part, they express their unhappiness in a reasonable way - a stomp or two, a little pout, some eye-rolling. Perhaps some tears, a few minutes of whining. They get their point across, and then they move on. I've read of such children, been told of such children...have even witnessed such children in the families of relatives and friends. Yet I still don't truly believe, in my heart, that such children actually exist. It is simply too far outside my own experience for me to truly accept.

You see, my children are not like this. My children growl.

I am not using that as a euphemism. They literally growl like an animal, deep in the back of their throats, when they are really angry. And not just once in awhile. They do this on a regular basis. They shriek, scream and wail. They ball up their fists and physically shake from the effort it takes to contain all their anger. They fume. They seethe. They RAGE...rage in a way that would have warmed Dylan Thomas's heart. (Yes, I know, Thomas was encouraging rage against Death, not whether or not one's jeans itch. But still.) They have big feelings and big opinions, and they express them. Loudly. They laugh hard, play hard, love hard, and rage hard. They don't act like this all the time, of course. If that were the case, I would be writing this from a lovely treatment center somewhere in the mountains instead of my home computer. But their inclination towards the dramatic is a part of their personalities, and subsequently, all the intense emotions bubbling just under the surface erupt rather frequently.

At a recent dinner party, I was seated next to a group of parents I did not know. One of the mothers shared that she has twin eight-year-old girls. The woman next to me remarked how high-strung and emotional her own daughter is, and then expressed her sympathies at having that doubled. The mother-of-twins remarked emphatically that she simply does not put up with that behavior in her house. At all. (It took all my self-control to keep from wailing, "But how? But HOOOOWWWWWW?" and throwing myself at this woman's feet.) She explained that she "does not buy into that." She does not believe "that is just how girls are", or that some kids' personalities are just naturally big and emotional. She "stamped that out" early by putting both girls in karate. (Not sure why, exactly. Maybe to channel their anger? Or because she's a huge fan of The Karate Kid? She didn't really clarify her reasons.) Now "they know" not to ever bring that kind of behavior into her house. (She looked right at me when she said all of this, and I swear to god the unspoken word at the end of every sentence was "dumbass." Although, admittedly, I might be projecting just the teensiest bit.)

After breathing through my mouth for about thirty seconds until the urge to punch the self-satisfied mom square in her know-it-all nose had passed (seriously, I have NO IDEA where my kids get their anger issues), I quickly changed the subject. But that conversation has stuck with me, because it really hit me where I'm most vulnerable. Our house is not a free-for-all. I believe in discipline. My children have boundaries, they have rules and expectations regarding their behavior, and they are given consequences if they break those rules. Yet in my heart of hearts, on my bad bad bad dark-mommy days, I fear that somehow, despite all contrary intentions, I've created little monsters. Because no matter how much I try to guide their behavior, ultimately I see so much of myself in these two little beings, and IT SCARES THE CRAP OUT OF ME.

I feel the need to qualify here that my kids are awesome. Yes, they are sometimes awesome pains-in-the-ass, but they are awesome nonetheless. I'm not saying that because I think I should; it's true. They are funny, dynamic girls who keep me constantly entertained with their expressive personalities. But those personalities are BIG, and they can be confounding and alarming and utterly exhausting.

I don't know what the answer is to any of this really. (Check the blog title, folks. Yes, I tend to ramble.) I mean, if I'm being completely honest with myself, stripped of all self-pity, I think my husband and I are both pretty decent parents. And while I'm always looking for new discipline strategies, I also believe that, ultimately, my girls are who they are. That doesn't give them a free pass to be total brats, but at the same time, I want them to be true to themselves. It's a delicate tightrope walk, trying to balance encouraging them to embrace who they are while also teaching them that it is actually possible to be disappointed about something without screaming high enough to pierce a dog's eardrum. I fall off the tightrope every single damn day, but eventually, I'm gonna get the balance just right...probably just in time to talk my girls off the ledge as they navigate these same tricky waters with their own children. (Karma? YOU BETTER NOT LET ME DOWN.)

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go look up local karate schools. I'm really hoping they offer Mommy And Me classes.

Constance Rae Mathews

My heart is so heavy as I type this. My beautiful "bonus" mother-in-law - Chris's stepmother Connie - passed away last night.  

This is my very favorite picture of her.

It was taken on our wedding day, and it captures perfectly Connie's incredible zest for life. She had the most infectious laugh, and it was impossible to keep from smiling whenever she let it rip. She welcomed me with open arms from the moment we met over 16 years ago, and she treated me like nothing less than a daughter from that point forward. I was always so grateful for her easy acceptance and love. But more importantly, I genuinely liked her. She was just so damn much fun to be around. She exuded light, and was happy to share that joie de vivre with strangers and loved ones alike. Her open warmth was contagious. She had a gift for making those near her feel better, simply by virtue of being in her proximity. She was a proud wife, sister, mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother whose love for family was pure and fierce and loyal and true. She was my father-in-law's treasured partner, my daughters' beloved Gigi, my husband's second mom...and my dear, dear friend.

Godspeed, Con. We love you. Always.

Open House!

It was Emma's open house at her school this evening, and unfortunately, I had to fly solo for the event. Chris is out-of-town dealing with a family emergency and wasn't able to attend. I know he wishes he could have been here with us tonight, so this post is mostly for him. (Miss you, baby.)

Emma was so excited to show Sophie and me absolutely everything about her new school. She insisted we not only visit her classroom but also the book fair, lunch room, library, art room, music room and both gyms. I met every single one of her teachers, which was something I was never able to do at her previous school. (I even met the wonderful teacher who helped without judgment at the drop-off door the other day and was able to thank him properly for his kindness.) Everyone kept giving me the same feedback, but her gym teacher said it best: "Emma is adjusting really well. She already seems to have a lot of friends. You would think she's been going here for years!"

Music to my ears.

There she is - our third grader!

With her teacher Mrs. Regocki

Showing off her first desk! (They studied at tables at her old school, so this new sitting option is a big deal to Em.)

The girls getting goofy on the playground.

Surprise!

Living with young children is a lesson in anticipating and fielding the unexpected. Some days the surprises are parceled out sparingly, and other days they fly fast and furious. Often, these unforeseen events are amazingly entertaining. Sometimes, they just suck. There's no way to prep ahead of time or know on which side the next surprise will fall. The key, I have found, is to enjoy the wonderful moments when they come and run for cover whenever an explosion hits.

Surprise # 4,672,924
In front of Sophie's school this morning, we spotted an elderly gentleman valiantly jogging down the street. He looked like a hero to me, plugging away despite obviously being extremely hot and tired. Sophie, however, had a different take. "Look at that silly man running, Mommy!" she exclaimed. "Hey you, Silly Man! Why are you running? Where you going? Why are you being silly?" The gentleman looked startled at Sophie's verbal onslaught but remained silent as he slowly hobbled past. (Seriously, I doubt he had the breath to say a word even if he'd wanted to. The dude looked about one minute away from collapsing.) Of course, Sophie would not be denied. She took off running after him, shouting like a maniac about how she wasn't a maniac. "Silly man! You don't have to run! I won't hurt you, I promise! Did you hear me, Silly Man? Come back! I SAID I WILL NOT EAT YOU!!!"

Surprise-O-Meter Assessment: Slightly alarming, but totally entertaining.

Surprise # 4,672,925
For the first time in months, Emma agreed to let me french braid her hair for school. Initially I was excited, but I quickly remembered why I had stopped braiding in the first place. About 30 seconds in, Em started complaining that I was pulling her hair. By the end, she was screaming "YOU'RE KILLING ME!!!!" and practically frothing at the mouth. Once finished, Sophie and I oohed and aahed at how pretty her hair looked. I even took a picture so Em could see the view from the back. (See Exhibit A.) I was kinda proud of myself for producing (somewhat) straight braids under such adverse conditions.

Exhibit A

Em took one look in the mirror and started crying hysterically. "I look BALD!" she screamed before crumpling into a shrieking heap on the floor just like The Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. She continued wailing the entire way to school, and I (mostly) clenched my jaw shut against the angry words that were bubbling in my throat. I pulled into the drop off lane, and the teacher on duty opened the door to help Emma out of the car. Clearly, he could tell with one look that something was awry. To his credit, he didn't glare accusingly at me while assuming I must have clubbed my daughter over the head or pulled the legs off all her dolls or committed some other such horror to illicit such an hysterical reaction. In fact, he didn't even ask what was wrong. He just nodded at me and said, "Have a good day, Mom. I'll take it from here." Then he whisked her into the school building while I managed to keep myself from weeping in gratitude.

Surprise-O-Meter Assessment: HORRID. Have fun, Covington Elementary! For the next six hours, she's all yours. God bless.

Exchange of the day

Yesterday, while playing in the sprinkler...

Sophie: "Ooooh, try the water on your vagina Emma! It feels so good!"
Emma: "Sophie, that is inappropriate. You aren't supposed to do that."
Sophie: "Really? Does it say that on the sprinkler box?"

What a difference a day of pre-K can make

Today was Sophie's first day of pre-kindergarten.

I'm still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that both my babies are now in school full-time. I have juggled being a stay-at-home mom and working from home since Emma was three months old. I've always felt so grateful for the flexible work situation that has allowed me to be here - literally here - for my kids all these years. I know just how lucky I am, and I've tried to never take any of it for granted. But the arrangement does come with challenges, and it has often been difficult to manage it all. So after eight years of working whenever I could steal a few moments away (i.e. weekends, late nights, early mornings, naptimes, quiet times, here-girls-watch-a-video-while-mommy-works-just-five-more-minutes times), I am beyond excited at the prospect of having a more consistent structure to my work hours and finding a greater balance between work and family.

It is definitely bittersweet to watch my youngest enter the full-time world of education, but Sophie's almost five years old now. It is time for both of us to make this leap. She's totally ready...and lord knows her mama is.

However, Sophie didn't necessarily share my rosy outlook about the new arrangement when we headed off to school this morning.

 

This wasn't a huge transition really - same building, teachers and kids she had seen at summer camp three days a week for the last three months - so I wasn't too concerned. I knew Sophie would come around. She was just letting me know that she sensed a change, however small, and she wasn't too happy about it. I was sorry Soph wasn't more excited, but I didn't let her bad mood dampen my own enthusiasm one little bit. I managed to restrain myself from shouting "I'm FREEEEEEEE!" and drop-kicking the door open before running full tilt to the car, but I did have a little extra spring in my step as I said goodbye.

Thankfully, Sophie's mood had improved considerably when we picked her up at the end of the day.

In Sophie's words, school was "awesome" and she can't wait to go back tomorrow. We'll see if that holds true after morning dawns and it sinks in that she isn't staying home with me on Tuesday like she usually does. As always, one day at a time. But so far, so very very very very good.

Graduation! (Yes, four-year-olds need rites of passage too.)

Sophie officially graduated today from the preschool she attended in the city for two years, Hoyne Street Playgroup.

We feel incredibly blessed to have discovered this small, shining jewel back when Emma was just a toddler. In fact, I am still astounded at the dumb luck that led us to Playgroup in the first place. I was so overwhelmed by all the preschool options floating around Chicago (ah, choices...one of the best and worst things about living in a big city) that I desperately latched onto the first suggestion I received from a friend and immediately signed Emma up. Fast forward five years and here we are, saying a final goodbye to what has been an absolutely perfect first home-away-from-home for both of our daughters. We will miss all the teachers, parents and children we have met through Hoyne Street very, very much.

And now, onward and upward. Tomorrow...first day of pre-kindergarten! (Cross fingers for us and stay tuned...)

The kids didn't let a little rain slow them down. There was much playing in puddles and stomping in mud. Here's Sophie getting goofy with her friends Ada and Lily.

Full circle, indeed! As a Hoyne St. alumnus, Emma was the one who presented Sophie with her graduation bag. It was awesome to have Em share this special day with her little sister.

Sophie with her beloved Miss Louise. Oh, what this wonderful woman has meant to our family over the years! I am actually getting choked up right now just typing about it. Every parent in the world should be lucky enough to have a first teacher like Louise for their kids. I know, without a doubt, that no one in our family will ever forget her.

Sophie's teacher Ben made tooth boxes for each child as a graduation gift. Emma has one from her graduation three years ago, and it remains a treasured possession.

 Enlarge the diploma and read it all if you can. You'll get a good sense of the philosophy behind what makes Hoyne Street so special.

Group shot! Amazingly, we were able to wrangle all three teachers and every graduate into one photo...plus a couple of strays. (One of the kids was feeling a little lonely without his daddy and little sister with him, so they snuck into the back of the pic.)

Emma the Brave

Emma had her first day of third grade yesterday. (Btw, check out the new accessories in the pic below. Yep, Em finally took the plunge and got her ears pierced on Monday. Every time I see those little earrings twinkling away, I'm struck by how damn mature they make her look. It's semi-terrifying.)

As most of you know, we moved out to the 'burbs this summer after 14 years of city living. So yesterday not only marked the start of a new grade for Emma, but also a brand new school at which she didn't know a soul. I was so lucky growing up because I never once had to change schools. I lived in the same town - hell, the same house - my entire childhood, and the kids I met in kindergarten were the same ones I graduated alongside senior year. I always thought being the "new kid" would be so scary, and I wasn't really sure how Emma would handle the transition. This is the first time we've moved since she's been born, so there was really no precedent. She was super nervous, I was super nervous, and there were a few tears from both of us as I dropped her off. But when the last bell of the morning rang and her class began shuffling inside, she marched right into that school building and didn't once look back. I was so damn proud of her. At pick up, she greeted me with a huge smile and declared that her day was "awesome" and she already had two new friends. I gave her a huge hug and kept chanting in my head, "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you."

Her first homework assignment of the year was to fill a paper bag with three items that really describe who she is. She decided one should be a picture of her doing a cartwheel. (Sadly, just a few minutes after the below photo was taken, Em's foot got into a fight with the entertainment center during a cartwheel-gone-wrong and the entertainment center won. Now she's rocking a nasty slice the whole length of her foot, which I think she's rather proud of.) The other two things she selected were a pen to represent her love of writing, and a smiley face because she likes to tell jokes. She's not particularly adept at telling jokes, but it's true that the girl definitely digs telling them. 

THIRD. GRADE. Wow. It feels unreal. If anyone out there knows how to stop time, drop me a line please...sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I'm just gonna keep watching this little girl of mine blossom and try to stay the hell out of her way.

Movie trailers, bats, and all other kinds of awesome

We just returned from our annual Ohio vacation with the Dippel family, and as always, we had a blast. We played lots of board games, ate lots of food, and battled lots of bats. Yes, BATS.

In the early morning hours of one fine gaming evening, we endured three separate visits from the flapping little beasts. The kids miraculously slept through the entire thing. The adults each played a role in bat control...some more effectively than others. My Chris stormed right into the fray and caught the little buggers. Claire planted herself on the stairs and protected the children by flapping a pillow maniacally whenever a bat neared. Chris D. started screaming M. Night Shyamalan quotes and flying a toy helicopter into the bat cave living room. I ran for my life and took cover, hiding in the bathroom (bat attack #1), the laundry room (bat attack #2), and under the table (bat attack #3) before finally barricading myself in the bedroom when a bat that looked an awful lot like a helicopter flew a little too close for comfort. After Claire and my Chris chased the last bat downstairs and then actually followed it into the bowels of hell unfinished basement to verify the point of entry, "Mission: Bat Containment" was accomplished with a blanket and lots of duck tape.

I tell ya...we all felt like superheroes after that crazy encounter. (Shut up. Hiding is too a superpower.) So, we decided to make a movie trailer about it.

Luckily, we had movie-trailer-making whiz Charlotte Dippel on hand. An ipad camera prodigy at the tender age of 9 years old, she made two awesome and gloriously creepy trailers featuring the kids: The House of Seacrisy and The Haunted House of Indiana. Charlotte and Chris D. shared directing duties on the trailer that includes all of us, Super, Ohio. Take a gander below. (Watch them on full screen if you can - they are so much better that way.) Enjoy, and be sure to look for all three flicks not so soon in a theater near you!

Life According to Emma

Despite my best efforts to raise a future oncologist, it's becoming more and more apparent that my oldest child is a born performer. They gave out awards at Emma's camp today. Other kids were declared Most Likely To Be A Judge or Go To The Olympics or Travel The World. Em was crowned Most Likely To Be On America's Got Talent.

Her camp counselor gushed about what a great dancer Emma was and asked if I'd ever seen her "moves." I assured her that yes, I most certainly had. That didn't stop Emma from breaking into dance right there in the parking lot. I didn't catch everything she did, but it somehow involved monkeys, chickens, and a lot of hip-shaking. She would periodically spit out "What you got?" while wiggling around, and she ended the routine by shouting "Touch THAT!" and dropping dramatically to all fours on the ground. The counselors erupted in applause while Emma basked in their praise. 

On the ride home, I asked Em about her day.

Em: "Well, I accidentally did the splits. For real. I know they were the real splits because my privates touched the ground."

Me: "Ouch. Be careful, baby. You have to work up to doing the splits or you can seriously hurt yourself."

Em: "I know, it did hurt! But that's okay. Like Ashley says, 'No pain, no gay.'"

Me: "Um...I think the saying is...oh, never mind. So, what did you watch for your movie today?"

Em: "Journey 2."

Me: "I don't know that movie. Do you mean Journey to the Center of the Earth?"

Em: "Nooooooooooo, I mean Journey 2. I think they are related, but they're not the same movie." [Note: I'm 98% sure it's the same movie.]

Me: [sarcastic] "Related? What, like sisters or something?"

Em: [completely serious] "No, more like cousins."

Me: "Okay. So, what was the movie about?"

Em: "It had Daddy moves in it."

Me: "What's a 'Daddy Move'?"

Em: "Come on Mom, everybody knows what a Daddy Move is."

Me: "Well, I don't, so can you explain it to me please?"

Em: "A Daddy Move is when a guy jumps up and down and makes his boobs bounce around, and then he flicks cherries with his boobs like a drum." [Note: Has anyone seen this movie and can explain to me what the HELL she is talking about???]

Me: "Wow. Well. Um...on that note, I'm kinda scared to ask you any more questions, so let's just listen to the radio, okay?" 

Em: "Okay."

Sarcasm Takes Practice

Emma went camping with her friend over the weekend. She was gone for three days, and we missed her terribly. She called every night before going to sleep. This was our conversation on Friday night.

Phone rings.

Me: "Hello?"

Em: "Let me tell you about my 'adventurous' day."

Pause.

Me: "Well, hello to you too. Yes, please, tell me everything. What did you do?"

Em: "Mom. That was sarcasm. Didn't you hear it?"

Me: "Oh. Um...not really. I mean, it's hard to know if you are being sarcastic unless I know what you are being sarcastic about. I need a little more context, you know what I mean?"

Em: "Oh. Okay."

Click.

Pause.

Phone rings.

Me:  "Hello? Em? Did you just hang up on me?"

Em: "Let me tell you about my 'adventurous' day. First, Charlie [the dog] threw up all over me. In the car. On the highway. My shirt was ruined and I had to sit in it the rest of the car ride! Then, I had to go to the bathroom REALLY REALLY bad and we couldn't stop, so I had to pee in a cup. A cup! Can you believe that? Boy, do I love camping!"

Pause.

Me: "Oh honey. I'm sorry you've had such a rough day, but I must say...I think that's the best sarcasm you've ever done. You really nailed it. Great job."

Em: "Thanks, Mommy! I worked really hard on it."

Gettin' It Right, One Father At A Time

There is something about fathers and daughters.

I have gotten a lot wrong in my life, and a lot right. But whether it be luck or providence or instinct (or, more likely, an amalgam of all of this and more), something divine and lovely led me to the best decision I have ever made: choosing the most kick-ass man in the world to procreate with. Whenever I despair about trying to raise two confident, independent, centered, and unapologetically strong women, I comfort myself with the knowledge that they already have a major leg up. They have a Daddy who loves, respects, accepts, and champions them. A Daddy who would do anything for them. A Daddy who works tirelessly to provide for them. A Daddy who celebrates who they are and nurtures who they will be. A Daddy who is constant in his love and attention. A Daddy who relishes living in a house full of women. A Daddy who will always, always, always be there for them. So, I figure Father's Day is a wonderful excuse to honor the best damn father I know, Mr. Christopher Robert Mathews. We love you, baby.

Today is also a great time to acknowledge ALL the amazing fathers out there that are doing their best, and doing it well. I came across a blog post the other day from one such father that touched me so deeply. I don't know this person at all. He is just someone I stumbled across online whose words and thoughts reminded me of my own husband and the wishes we have for our daughters. Click here to read his open letter to his daughter. Seriously. Go ahead. You'll be glad you did.

Happy Father's Day to all the daddies far and wide...especially to my own Daddy, Larry P.

Beauty. Love. Safety.

Rough night in the Mathews household.

Emma was a grumpy, mouthy mess most of the afternoon. Finally, after multiple reprimands and consequences, I asked out of sheer frustration, "What is wrong with you?"

She climbed onto my lap, put her arms around me, buried her face in my chest, and started unloading a jumble of thoughts that were clearly weighing heavily on her. She doesn't like the way she looks. Her hair has holes in it and doesn't "stick together" and hang straight like she wants. Her face is a mixture of mine and Chris's, but she doesn't look like either one of us, just a weird blend of both of us that doesn't add up and makes her feel "like I'm not yours, like, for real." She likes her legs and her feet and her arms, but what does it matter if her face and hair are not perfect? Kids at school tell her she looks weird. Her teeth are crooked, her eyes are too big, her nose is "fat," her ears stick out. She hates all the clothes she wears because they don't cover up her face, and she wants me to help her change it, change her, so she looks like somebody new, somebody beautiful.

I was completely, utterly stunned. I tried hard to take in what she was saying and not just rush in with compliments and contradictions. I endeavored to keep my expression neutral, but my mind was churning with despairing thoughts: Dear god, this starts at eight years old??? I am wholly unprepared to tackle these issues so soon. What do I do? What do I say? What do I not say? How to proceed?

I told her I thought she was beautiful. She said I was just saying that because I am her mom. I told her that what she was feeling was common, that many people struggle with accepting who they are and how they look, including myself. She said she didn't believe me. I told her that nobody is perfect, and that our imperfections are actually what make us most beautiful, both inside and out. She said she didn't understand.

So I just shut up and held her. After awhile, she mumbled into my neck, "I don't want to leave here."

I thought she meant that she didn't want to leave our apartment, because we are moving in three days. But she clarified that she meant "here" literally, as in where she was at that exact moment.

"When I am in your arms, I feel safe. Your skin is warm and I can feel your heart beating and I know that you love me no matter what. I wish I could always be with you, and then I would never be scared."

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Emma, what you just said was beautiful. That is beauty. Love is beauty. All the rest of it - the hair, the face, the clothes - those are just distractions. Please don't let yourself get distracted."

She took this in, looked into my eyes, and said, "Okay. I think I understand, Mommy. That I understand."

I held her for a bit more before Sophie got tired of sharing me and wiggled her way in between us. I watched Emma resume cleaning her room, still struck dumb by the most mature and profound conversation I have ever had with my daughter. Then I prayed that the next time she feels unworthy - whether it be five minutes, hours, days, months, or years from now (oh please god, let it be years...can it please be years?) - she will remember the safety of my arms as she navigates the twisty road of self-doubt and self-loathing. Because honestly, as much as the knowledge terrifies me, I know that a safe place to fall is the only true and tangible thing I have to offer her. The rest she must do on her own. And I think she knows it too...which is a pretty shitty lesson to learn at eight years old.

Emma Bloomers Turns Eight

Emma's eighth birthday was Saturday.

It's always a hectic time of year for us because her big day is surrounded by several other important events: Chris's birthday, several close friends' birthdays, her Paw-Paw's birthday, and Father's Day all in a one week span. It's been an especially hectic time this year because we just closed on a new house (FIRST. HOUSE. EVER!) and are preparing to move this Saturday. So amid the chaos of boxes, to-do lists, and elevated stress levels that currently make up our lives, we squeezed in a birthday celebration for Miss Emma Bloom.

We went out to lunch and then to the pool for the afternoon. Although it was a pretty laidback celebration, the day still required some planning and an extra vehicle (thank you, Aunt Jayme!). Luckily, it all went off without a hitch...with one troubling exception. Emma invited three friends along, and two of the girls were utterly delightful. The third? Um...well, since I don't really derive any joy from denigrating second graders, I'll just say that one of Em's friends was apparently having a bad day and decided to bring some screaming and public tantrum-throwing to the party. Chris and I handled this alarming and oft-repeated behavior with as much compassion as we could muster, while exchanging looks that essentially translated to, "Hmmm...maybe our eight-year-old isn't as bad as we thought?" Ultimately, I had to have a rather uncomfortable conversation with the girl's mother and father, who were as lovely as any parents could be under such awkward circumstances. The whole thing was unfortunate, but Emma still had fun, which is all that really matters.

Because life seems to be moving at warp speed at the moment, I haven't had a chance to really process that my first baby is now eight years old. Truthfully, only one thing comes to mind as I think on it now: I feel really, really old. Of course, I also feel really, really lucky to be the parent of such an amazing, fierce, and dynamic little girl. But that has nothing to do with Emma's age, and everything to do with her heart.

Love you, Emma Bloom.

 Pay no attention to the boxes that have completely overtaken our apartment. 

I'm trying not to dwell on the fact that our home currently feels like an obstacle course.

Emma with her friend Juliette. 

Nothing like a birthday sundae and several waiters singing to you in a crowded restaurant to put a smile on a girl's face.

How Many Movies Am I Holding Up?

Sophie and I went to Target today so she could pick out a birthday gift for Emma. We found ourselves in the DVD section, where Sophie promptly pointed to a movie on the shelf.

Soph: "We could get her this Despicable Me. She hasn't seen this one."

Me: "Yes, she has. You both have. That's the one you have at home already."

Soph (pointing to an identical copy): "What about this one? Let's get THIS Despicable Me!"

Me: "That's the same movie."

Sophie frowned, but kept silent. Then she spotted yet another copy of the movie.

Soph: "Okay, let's buy this one! This one we haven't seen!"

Me: "Honey, yes you have. They are all the same movie. There is only one Despicable Me."

Sophie: "No, there isn't. There is three of them. See?"

Me: "Well...yes, there are three copies of the movie here, but they are all the same. See? Look at them side-by-side. The pictures on the front are all the same. It's the same movie."

Sophie: "But it's NOT the same movie. They are three DIFFERENT movies. I staring at them!"

Me: "I know it's confusing, but inside the box, it's the same movie. It's just Despicable Me in all three of them."

Soph: "I KNOW that. But they are different despicables, and I want to get the one that Emma hasn't seen."

Me: "Sophie. No. They are not different. That's what I'm trying to tell you. They are all the same movie."

Soph: "Mommy...ugh! Just...LISTEN to me. I KNOW they are all Despicable Me. I want the Despicable Me squeakuel. Like the chipmunks. WHICH ONE IS THE SQUEAKUEL?"

Me: "Honey, there is no squeakuel...er, sequel, for Despicable Me. It's not the same as the chipmunks. There is only one movie."

Sophie: "NO THERE ISN'T, THERE IS THREE! ONE, TWO, THREE!"

Me: "Sophie, stop screaming and listen to me. I know there are three boxes, but..."

Soph: "I AM COUNTING THEM. ONE! TWO! THREE!!!"

Me: "SOPHIE! Yes, there are three movies in my hand, but they are ALL THE SAME MOVIE!"

Suddenly, a heavenly angel Target employee who had overheard our entire exchange grabbed all three movies right out of my hand and said, "Whoops! These aren't supposed to be out here. They're broken! We can't sell any of these today. Sorry!"

Sophie and I both looked at him for a few seconds with our mouths hanging open. Then my previously apoplectic four-year-old merely shrugged her shoulders and said, "Oh. Okay."

Before I even had a chance to thank him, he turned abruptly and skedaddled down the aisle and through an "Employees Only" door with all three bothersome copies of Despicable Me stuck snugly under his arm. After he was completely out of sight, I turned to Sophie.

Me: "Well? What do you want to get Emma?"

Sophie: "Um...let's get the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie...the SQUEAKUEL one."

Me: "Done."

Sophie: "Do you think that movie will be broken too?"

Me: "No, baby. I think that movie will be perfect."

Anyone Know of a Drama Exterminator?

Sophie just went on this giant, rage-filled tangent about how Chris hid her Nintendo DS from her and now she can't find it and he had NO RIGHT to do that because it is her DS and she doesn't understand why he would do something like that and then just LAUGH about it because it is NOT nice to laugh and do mean things to other people and why would Daddy DO that to her? When she finally stopped to take a breath, I pointed out that her DS was sitting in full view, for all to see, on the dining room table. She paused, cocked her head, and said, "Hmmm. Maybe I just dreamed that Daddy hid my DS? Or....maybe he hasn't done it yet? Ohhhhhh. I bet that's it. He is going to do it tonight at family dinner. Mommy, you need to tell him NO, that hiding things is NOT NICE."

I woke up this morning to the sounds of Disney's "Victorious" shaking our apartment's walls. I peeked in the living room and found Emma completely dressed and eating breakfast in front of her TV show. She said she'd been up since "5:25am, in the morning." I asked her to please turn down the TV before she woke her sister. We played cat-and-mouse with the volume; she'd turn it down a couple of notches, I'd ask for more, she'd turn it down one more notch, I'd demand still lower. Finally, I told her to turn the volume below 20 or else the TV goes off. "20?!?" she shrieked. "That's, like, whispering. Ugh. I can't wait until I'm a grown up and can drink soda and make the rules. I hate being a kid. How am I supposed to bear it?"

A Rocken Mother's Day for a Rocken Mom

Because my birthday is on Christmas (which, yes, has always kinda sucked), and Christmas is really all about the kids (and rightfully so, in my opinion), Mother's Day is my best "me" day of the year now. My family goes out of their way to make it really special, and this year was no exception. Check it out!

A bouquet of flowers from each girl to start my day...pink-tipped roses from Emma and "rainbow flowers" from Sophie. (Clearly, Sophie has inherited my knowledge of plants b/c I would have dubbed them the exact same thing.) They were both quick to point out that they picked out their own ribbons too.

As you all know, I am obsessed with photo books. Well, my husband has apparently jumped on the bandwagon. Welcome to the funhouse, Chris! Emma made and decorated the green paper house for me, and Chris put together an awesome Mother's Day photo book that I will seriously treasure forever.

Emma made me many wonderful drawings and cards, including a meticulously rendered sketch of Gir from "Invador Zim." (And really, what mother doesn't want a drawing of a weird-looking robot for Mother's Day?) But the above poem that she wrote for me was my absolute favorite gift. She was so proud and insisted on reading it out loud. I LOVE how this girl's mind works. (p.s. I've never had carrot juice in my life.)

I loved the outside of Emma's poem-card too (above). I am particularly fond of the exclamation point family.

Sophie was in a bit of a mood on our family walk...I think she was regretting her decision to adamantly refuse to draw or make me anything all week long after she saw the huge haul her sister gave me and all the extra hugs and kisses of thanks Emma received as a result. :) (Don't worry - she got plenty of hugs and kisses of her own! But everything's a competition with sisters, you know.) She was pouty, and she needed major coaxing to sit and smile for the camera. Right after the above picture was taken, the girls ran off to fight over who could pick the most dandelions and Chris and I screamed at them to get out of the way of bikers flying down the jogging path and Sophie's shoe kept falling off while she ran and she eventually ended up bursting into tears because she didn't want fish sticks for lunch, even though no one had mentioned fish sticks for lunch. So all in all, a typical Sunday...which is to say: AWESOME. I love my sweet, combative, nonsensical, divinely imperfect family just the way we are, and I'm grateful every day that they love me too.

Happy Mother's Day to all the "rocken" moms out there!!!!!

Photo bombs

Chris and I actually went to a fancy smancy gala a couple of weeks ago. It was really nice to have a dressy, adult evening together, and we are grateful to our friend Robb for hanging out with the wee ones for the night.

I finally got around to downloading the photos of that evening from my camera, and I discovered some surprises. I learned two things: 1) It really sucks to see yourself captured on film during a moment in which you actually thought you looked good and realize that, in fact, you looked the exact opposite of good; and 2) Below is what happens when you leave your kids and your camera with Mr. Robb Rabito.