Happy Halloween!

THIS is how you rock a photo booth, people.

First Day of School!

They are growing up too damn fast.

First grader and fifth grader. Last year ever that they will be at the same school together!

Safety guard!

This first grader LOVED her new teacher.

The land of pretend

Choice phrases currently overheard from the family room, where the girls are playing one of their many random games of pretend:

"Sophie! You're a dog. You don't talk. You drool. Yes, like that. Except not so much, that's disgusting! Gross. Use better judgment, please."
"I'm sorry, Miss Lady. I said kiss the pillow, not the doll. That's five points from Gryffindor."
"I'll take two pieces of sugar and five pieces of chicken, please. And make it snappy."
"Emma! You propped my finger all the way back and it could have broken OFF. I'm not plastic, I have REAL SKIN and you need to be CAREFUL!"
"Close your eyes, count to ten, and then stop breathing so I can give you mouth-to-mouth susta-tation."

And my personal favorite:

"What the heck? Be careful where you wave your legs. You almost kicked me in the vagina, and that's AGAINST THE RULES."

The Mathews Family on NYE: A Photo/Video Essay

New Year's Eve 2013 in the Mathews household was all about the board games. And cocktails. And games. And tears. And games. And ridiculous local television coverage that made me embarrassed for Chicago. And GAMES!

New Year's Eve begins with a rousing game of Beat the Parents! Will they beat us? Time will tell. And yes, those are Mommy and Daddy drinks in the picture. We gotta level the playing field somehow, folks.

 

The kids win! BUT...the parents are into their third cocktail each, which means....THE PARENTS WIN TOO!!!!

Next board game...Labyrinth. Who will win, WHO WILL WIN?

And the victor is...Emma! Final verdict for Labyrinth: two thumbs up. In fact, we like it so much, we play it again.

Labyrinth Take 2: Sophie wins! Very proud smile with tears still drying on her face because 30 seconds earlier, she was convinced she had lost and crumpled into a sobbing mass of despair. Ah...the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat, the emotional roller coaster of Olympians and six-year-olds everywhere.

Up next...Make 'N' Break.

Make 'N' Break: A Video Snippet.

We have a winner!!! Anyone notice I'm the only one that hasn't won a game yet? I blame the margaritas. Also...this is not normally how my husband looks. He doesn't usually come across this handsome. :)

All four of us made it til midnight, and all we got was this lousy awesome selfie. :)

Happy 2014 from the Mathews family! May your year be filled with wonder, laughter and love.

Slacker

I was so proud of myself because I got a Christmas blog up. SO PROUD. I worked on it until 2:30am, and when I finished I was like, "Yay Jen, you rock! You did it! Christmas 2013 will actually be semi-documented! You are so on top of things, GOOD FOR YOU!" I practically gave myself a gold star and put myself on the honor roll of life.

And then, on this New Year's Eve day, I decided to go down the old blog memory lane. I checked out how many posts I had written in 2012: 51. Wow...51. Not bad. And in 2013, I did a whopping 12. TWELVE.

I knew I'd been slacking, but good gravy, I had no idea how much.

So I guess that's one of my (thousands of) promises to myself for 2014...to write more and self-censure less. And honestly, why wait til 2014? No time like the present. So let's start rambling, shall we?

I'm excited for tonight. It's just the four of us. I remember pre-kids I'd feel this pressure about NYE, to do something awesome and fun and spectacular. And if I didn't get invited to a lot of parties, I felt like a loser. Now, it feels more like a relief because it's impossible to find a babysitter and it just means I have less people that I have to disappoint by telling them I can't make it. (Okay, honesty check: 90% of the time, that is true.10% of the time, I still feel like a loser.) The last few years, we've tried inviting people to hang out here with us, but no one was willing or available this year. So...tonight, we are four.

We are going to make our own pizzas and cocktails (virgins for the little roommates) and play board games and watch movies and let the kids stay up til midnight if they can...and try to stay up til midnight with them, if we can. (And by "we" I mean Chris. I am up past midnight every single evening of my life, but my dear husband stays up past 10:00pm approximately three times a year. Barely.) It may not be as cool as party hopping across the city, but ringing in the new year surrounded by the three people I adore most in this world ain't a bad way to pass the time. Besides, I've really never been cool anyway, even in my carefree single days. I've always preferred a quiet evening in to a frenetic evening out.

Chris is still sleeping right now, trying to rest away the last remnants of a cold that's had its claws in him for most of December. The girls are eating toast and discussing the merits of peracord bracelets and duct tape purses. (Is it duct tape or duck tape? Because I always thought duct, but they actually print duck on the tape we bought Emma, which has me so confused. As a spelling purist, these are the things that keep me up at night.)

We watched Miracle on 34th Street last night, and Emma remained unconvinced that the dude was the real Santa Claus, even after the movie ended. She said that getting someone a house and a Dad was something that "anyone" could do, and if he wanted to prove he was Santa Claus then he should have made the reindeer fly in court when the lawyer challenged him to, or done something truly magical like bring someone back from the dead. We discussed that just because Santa is magic, that doesn't mean he can do anything. That I have no doubt there have been children all across time who go to bed on Christmas Eve begging Santa to bring back someone they love and miss, but some things are out of Santa's power. Emma said, "I don't think it's out of his power. I just think he knows that it's something he shouldn't do, because if he made that one big change, then other changes would follow, changes that shouldn't happen, and it opens a door that can't be closed." I told her she just might be right about that. (Yes, my nine-year-old still believes in Santa. Fiercely. She believes in everything fiercely. Our own little Emma the Fierce.)

The girls have already moved on from talk of accessories. I just wandered into the family room and found them doing this:

I'm going to go join them in whatever new escapade they have now undoubtedly undertaken. More rambling in 2014! Happy New Year, everyone.

Christmas...and getting old...and Christmas!

We had a wonderful Christmas this year.

(And yes...I turned 40 as well. Thankfully, with the distraction of Christmas on the same day, my birthdays have never been a very big deal to me. So, yes...I am now 40 years old, it didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would, and that's really all I have to say about that.)

We hit the road for Indiana on the 23rd, despite a last-minute alert from my sister that my mom and dad were both pretty sick. My poor mother felt so horrible, she missed celebrating Christmas Eve with her family for the first time in...well...40 years. (Do the math.) We still had a great time, but it wasn't the same without her. By Christmas Day, the healthy were still healthy and the sick were less sick, which was a much-appreciated blessing that didn't last long. (Foreshadowing!) Santa went way overboard with the kids (somebody really has to have a talk with this guy), and then we headed over to my Dad's to...yes...open more gifts. Between my family and Chris's family and Santa and friends, the girls have more new things than they know what to do with. (Literally. We are still trying to figure out where in the hell to put it all.) But as always, the most wonderful part was just being together...not just our nuclear four, but with my parents, sisters, brother-in-law, nieces and nephew. Having us all in one room at the same time is becoming an increasingly rare occurrence, which makes it all the more treasured and special.

And then Christmas night hit, and all (flu-induced) hell broke loose.

I believe by the end of the week, the toll of people struck sick in my family included 16? And it was mostly the stomach flu, a particularly brutal kind. It was like being stuck in a tornado of puke. It hit both parents, my sister, my nephew, my gran, aunts, uncles, cousins. Sophie was the only one of us four to escape completely unscathed. I guess one benefit to spending your days around fellow germ-infested kindergarteners is that your immune system gets really strong really fast. (I mean, seriously...5 and 6 year olds are like walking petri dishes.)

We can never seem to get through the holiday season without some kind of illness, and this year was no exception. But despite or because of Pukefest 2013...and turning 40...this particular Christmas felt extra memorable.

And now...pictures! (My major Christmas gift was a new camera. I'm guessing you can spot below which were taken with my awesome present and which were taken with whatever nearby cell phone we could grab. Can't wait to play more with my new toy!)

All duded up for Christmas Eve! 

First thing Christmas morning, checking out the haul from Santa.

Santa brought the girls Nerf bow and arrow sets and holders for their Rainbow Looms, but I think each girl loved their individual gifts best - a unicorn glow pet for Sophie and a blanket with her beloved dolphins for Emma.

I made these! (And yes, I totally AM patting myself on the back right now, thank you.) It was my gift to our family, and I can't wait to find the perfect place to hang them.

This was my gift from the girls...with quite a bit of help from Daddy, I suspect. Every time I look at it, I tear up.

Me and Grifin - recent high school graduate and nephew extraordinaire!

I love kids' faces when they open a gift that really excites them. Plus, I just love these faces because they belong to my awesome nephew and niece.

And speaking of faces...my sister will kill me for putting this photo up. Which, of course, is exactly why I had to put this photo up.

Christmases and birthdays are great, but I'll never get a gift better than these two.

Us on a Tuesday

The girls and I are hanging out today.

They let me sleep in until 10:00am, which is practically unprecedented. More accurately, Sophie let Emma and me sleep in. She got up about 7:00, crept into my room, grabbed my ipad, and headed to the family room for a three hour marathon of "My Little Pony." Normally I wouldn't let her watch videos on my ipad for that long, but considering I would probably let both girls bungee jump off the roof in exchange for extra sleep (as long as they promised to be quiet), extended screen time seems pretty benign, don't you think?

After I arise (and Emma soon after me...she is a definite non-morning person just like her mother), we eat breakfast and start whittling away at Sophie's birthday gifts that have yet to be opened. Sophie makes duct tape pencils and Lalaloopsy pop bead necklaces while Emma listens to music on her ipod. Em gets distracted more often than not by Sophie's activities and clearly longs to be part of the fun. She is at war with herself, trapped in that weird land of childlike tweendom, torn between "little kid" and "big kid" endeavors. She wears the struggle like a coat, for all to see, although she herself is unaware. Finally, she abandons the ipod and hunkers down on the floor alongside her sister, joining Sophie in dressing Minnie Mouse in gorgeous snap-on ensembles. The struggle usually ends this way, with Emma jumping into her sister's world, as delighted as Sophie to play with dolls and other "babyish" things. I am very aware that soon--tomorrow, next month, next year?--the struggle will end very differently and/or change altogether. But for today, fun has won. My girls are truly enjoying each other, and I listen to their exquisite giggles as I work at the computer.

I ask the girls to get dressed. Emma brushes her hair and wails "Oh my god, it hurts SO MUCH, I can't take it, I CAN'T TAKE IT!" for 10 minutes while Sophie and I pointedly ignore her. The girls help me dye my hair, which is to say that they laugh and tell me I look like a weird alien as I wait for the dye to set. We eat lunch. They play the "He Is Dead" game, which seems to consist of pointing at imaginary bodies on the ground and chanting, "He is dead! He is dead! He has a bullet in his head!" They morph into different games with odd titles like "It's Dead As A Chicken Bone!" (sense a theme?), "The Hug Game," and "Spit Or Don't Spit? You Decide." (Yes, they title all their pretend games.) The games seem to include a lot of running and pushing and wrestling around, punctuated by frequent declarations of "T," which means time-out. Emma is always the leader, although Sophie is often the mastermind. Every game ends the same way--one girl accidentally gets too rough with the other, harsh words are exchanged, tears are shed, and then play resumes before I even have time to intervene.

We move on from pretend games to doing Barbie hair and listening to Ariana Grande. The girls discuss the merits of high ponytails vs. braids, and Emma tells Sophie she is really good at taking care of her dolls. Sophie beams with pleasure at the rare compliment from her big sister. They argue over which of their favorites on "The Voice" (Jaquie or Caroline) should win. Emma suddently screams, "It's so hard to brush her hair when HER HEAD KEEPS MOVING!" while seemingly oblivious to the fact that Barbie's head keeps moving because she keeps moving. Emma hands me a list of 19 songs she wants me to download for her ipod.

We head out for errands. Marshall's for winter coats - Fail. Corner Bakery for monster cookies - Success. (OF COURSE.) Costco for Thanksgiving supplies. Library for movies to see us through the long weekend. Burlington Coat Factory for winter coats - Success, but only after 90 minutes of wading through six rows of coats sized 2T to 20, in absolutely no order. (Come on Burlington...you're better than that. Have some pride, dude.) Sophie is the holdout. After wading through tons of coats for numerous options that are tried and rejected, one coat is declared the winner. We walk to the checkout area at the other side of the store, stand in line for the next available clerk, and approach the register. As the clerk begins to ring us up, Sophie pulls her classic Actually move, as in, "Actually, I don't like this one after all." And she does this twice. TWICE. We go back, look again, go through the same routine, only for her to change her mind at the register a second time. I come very close to screaming right in her face, "I WILL NOT LET YOUR EVIL DEFEAT ME." (I settle for screaming it in my head instead.) Finally, as they say, the third time is the charm. However, of course, the coat she finally settles on is twice the price of Emma's coat and every other coat we have tried. When I complain about this, she shrugs and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't know how much it would cost. I don't know how much being happy costs, Mommy."

Now we are nestled back at home, and they are again listening to Ariana while I finish this post and start to scramble for dinner. I forgot some of the ingredients I need when we were out shopping earlier, so Chris will run to the store for me after work. I will make tilapia, Emma's favorite...complete with a salami sandwich for Sophie, who will not touch fish even under threat of grievous bodily harm. We will gather together after dinner and watch last night's "The Voice," with one girl snuggled on each side of me. (Poor Daddy. The girls adore him, but I get all the snuggles. Doesn't seem fair, does it?) We will do showers and brush teeth and read books and sing lullabies, and after the girls are all tucked into bed, we will Skype our beloved friends in New York for a long overdue check in. I'll make a list before bed of all the packing/organizing/cleaning/etc. that needs to be done tomorrow before we hit the road for St. Louis. And I will fall to sleep thinking of 1) how much I love my family, 2) how blessed I am that they love me back, and 3) how very, very much I have to do in the morning. In that order...I hope.

Days like today, with all the chaos and simplicity, make me so unbelievably grateful. I seem to have accidentally built myself the perfect imperfect life...or at least, the perfect one for me.

School Photos

Fourth grade and kindergarten. Wow.

Well, Don't Get A Big Head About It

The girls started swim lessons today. They both did really well and had a lot of fun. We were sitting pretty far away, so it was hard to get any good shots. I managed a couple of so-so ones.

Sophie (in two-piece) takes the leap.

Emma walks the plank, readying to jump.

I did snag one great action shot of Emma jumping off the diving board...but unfortunately, my husband decided to step right in front of the ipad at the exact moment I hit click.

You can see Emma just to the right of my husband's enormous beautiful head.

These Are Our Demands

Emma and Sophie were upstairs yesterday "cleaning their rooms" (ie, playing/reading/fighting/giggling/procrastinating) when Chris found this note at the foot of the stairs:

(Background: Emma talked Grandma Kitty into buying her a huge stuffed seal from Ikea. She may be the teensiest bit impatient about its arrival.)

Sophie then came downstairs, delivered this note, and solemnly exited the room without a word:

(Background: the kids miss their grandparents, aunt and cousins. A lot.)

They were clearly very serious, so Chris and I were careful to make sure they were both out of sight before cracking up laughing. One thing about kids - one of the BEST things about kids - is that you truly never know what's coming next.

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."

School Pics...Dig it.

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.)

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?"

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.

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?"