Chasing.

One of the most rewarding and scary things about parenting for me is how similar Charlotte and I are, and how different.  There are so many things that she says and does that remind me of me.  Lately, at four and a half, she has begun developing a temper, lashing out physically when she never has before.  She stomps her feet, throws things, and kicks out when she's mad, which more and more happens as she's tired or hungry, and completely unable to self-regulate.  This is something I know about myself, and seeing it in her makes me half-smile in recognition.  There's another side to her, a cheerful, open, friendly side with an especial interest in older kids that I just don't recognize.  She will go up to any kid that catches her eye, even a seven or eight year old, and try to strike up a conversation or join in their game.  Was that me as a kid, and I just forgot?  Has my shyness as an adult shut off those memories?  Or was I just never like that, more reserved?  The adult me just doesn't recognize that side of her, and sometimes it just leaves me at a loss.

Charlotte's preschool is a public one, part of the elementary school here in town.  I love that she's in the same building she'll be in for kindergarten, that she's meeting the "specials" teachers and the principal, and that she knows where the gym and library are already.  By the time I'm leaving her at school all day with a lunch packed and putting her on the bus, she'll already know the lay of the land, and the names of her classmates. 

There is a smaller scale playground, fenced in, that is off the three-classroom wing that makes up the preschool and kindergarten classes.  The preschoolers play out there before pick up, and sometimes the kindergarteners play too, an extra recess when they need to shake their sillies out, or when the weather is too good to be believed.

Today was one of those days, and I have to tell you, any time you see a kindergartener and think how cute and tiny and little they are, just unleash a pack of them on a bunch of preschoolers, and you'll be amazed at their transformation into raucous giants.  Here is another of the places where my own memories of four years old fail me.  I can't remember how I felt when I was four and a half and faced with a flock of six year olds, seemingly all blond, tall boys who yell.  But I know how I feel as a mom when I watch that swarm descend on the pre-schoolers' recess.  It makes me tense, stand on the balls of my feet.  My jaw clenches a little.  For the most part, unless they have a sibling in the preschool, the kindergarteners have no interest in the "little kids."  There is this group of boys, however, that has picked up on Charlotte's desperate interest in the big kids, and they have decided, for whatever murky six year old reason, to encourage her.

What they do, as a pack, is run up to Charlotte and scream, "Oh no! She's going to get us!" and then run off.  Then she tears off after them.  Back and forth across the playground, over the equipment, around the baby slide, well out of the way of the swings.  The teachers seem to be okay with it, but it makes me nervous.  Because, while Charlotte doesn't get it, I can read their faces.  They aren't playing *with* her.  They are using her desperation to be one of the big kids for their own devices.  It shouldn't bother me.  There's no reason for it to bother me.  There's no real mockery or mean dialogue going on, not that I can hear, just a lot of "Nah-nah-nah-nah-na-na, you can't catch me!" sing-song, and "Oh no! She's getting close!"  But when Charlotte is chasing them, she has no sense of self preservation, and no interest in listening to me at all.  I'm calling at her that it's time to go, and she doesn't care, and why should she?  Chasing is more fun than getting caught, less scary then getting caught.  If they were chasing her, I would put a stop to it instantly, and I know the teachers would too.  It's pretty sinister to have five kindergarten boys chasing a preschooler, even one who is four and a half and the size of a kindergartener herself. 

The other part of this is that she's saying things to me, while I'm trying to get Charlotte to stop chasing the boys and come home.  Some of the things she said today is "I have to defend the preschool kids," and "I have to defeat the big boys."  She's saying that she has to protect the other kids from them.  I know that she's just playing a game, but I'm worried she's going to get to rough.  She's a bruiser.  She's inherited my Swedish peasant physique.  It's kind of hilarious that she has declared herself the preschool's champion.  I just don't want her to take it too seriously.

I have enough experience with kids and playground dynamics to know that this is "all good."  No one is doing anything out of line, the teachers have an eye on things, and this is all normal healthy kid stuff.  It's just surprising to me that even how I know it's cool, and I can see that it's cool, I can't help but feel on edge.  I feel the same way when Charlotte approaches older kids on a public playground.  I want to intercede and steer her away.  I don't want her feelings to get hurt, or for her to get made fun of even if she doesn't realize it.  Because of her size I am usually pretty confident that she's not gonna get picked on physically, but watching her try the monkey bars (covered with kindergarten boys, who, to give them credit, never once stepped on her hands or anyone else's) it occurs to me that she quite possibly could try something far beyond her skill level and get hurt by accident.  Though, given Charlotte's personality (and my own as a child) that's just as likely under her own inspiration as from following anyone else.

It's the same parenting quandary all over again.  As a parent, your job is to protect your child - but from what, exactly?  And how far?  Today I settled for watching from afar as Charlotte tore up and down the playground, purple coat & pigtails flapping from exertion, and occasionally tried to get her attention so we could leave.  I have to promise myself that if the same thing happens tomorrow, I'll just take her coat, take a breath, and just let her chase.

Oblivious Mom moment.

As I was getting Charlotte ready for school yesterday, I was going around in circle trying to decide whether to put her in her raincoat (waterproof but not warm) or her hoodie (warm but not waterproof).  Around and around I went on this, finally deciding to send her in her sweatshirt, because she wasn't going to be outside for that long at recess, and I'm sure she wouldn't soak through in 15 minutes.

I pulled into the parking circle at school and as I pulled Charlotte out of the car, I realized that I could have just put her in her winter coat - both warm AND waterproof.  DUH, Mom. 

I put her in her winter coat today, and, of course, it was sunny & gorgeous at school today.  Whatever, I will take credit for the beautiful blue sky today just by Murphy's Law.

Going on behind the scenes: Part 1

I haven't posted in a while, mostly because it's been hard for me to post brief, anecdotal things while a bunch of other stuff has been going on in my life & brain.  I have a hard time just posting brief bloggy things here; probably too much Twitter & Facebook.  But I miss blogging, and I miss tracking what's going on with the parental side of things, and I always get annoyed when reading back I realize I missed huge chunks of what was going on.  So I'm working on getting back in the habit.  And to fill in some of the blanks, here's some of what's been going on in my head and stoppering up the blog posting process.


Every few months or so, I go through the baby-wanting cycle.  It was particularly bad this year after Charlotte's third birthday.  She's so grown-up now, such a big kid.  She's not a toddler anymore, she's definitely (and defiantly, as I accidentally typed it at first) a child, a kid. 

Matt and I hashed it out, all the eight million reasons why it doesn't make sense to have another kid right now.  And the eight million reasons are really just one, and in my mind the tackiest and worst reason to do/not do anything: money.  (Which is a whole other entry in itself, that I do not feel like getting into at the moment - I'm depressed enough as it is.)

And I was accpeting it, moving on, and doing so well, when December came, and former co-workers & high school friends started having babies, and my facebook feed is full of babies.  Tiny newborns, haggard moms, first Christmas outfits, the whole nine yards.  Big sisters holding onto babies, proud grandmas, bewildered dogs.  And I love looking at it, but it makes me so envious & sad.  A blogger who I've been following for three years posted that they will be actively trying for a new baby in the next year.  Her oldest son is the same age as Charlotte, her second son is my nephew's age.  At Christmas I snapped my poor mother's head off as she hinted, yet again, that it would be great if someone else would have another baby.  I apologized pretty much instantaneously, but family stressors being what they are (lots of sick family members, uncertain grandparent health) she was slow to get over it.  I ended up apologizing again but saying firmly, "You have to let it go, it's a very sensitive subject."

I feel like time is running out.  I mean, on paper it looks fine - I am 31 years old, no known fertility problems, but I am overweight (okay, FAT) and I do have elevated blood pressure.  Both my doctor and my ob/gyn said to me when Charlotte was born that I was definitely fine to have more kids, but they both said that it would be better to do it sooner rather than later.  Charlotte is three - I never wanted my kids to be that far apart in age.  Matt & his sister are just about 7 years apart, and while they love each other intensely, it's not quite the same as me & my sister or my sister & my brother or me & my brother.  I think the larger age gap can make it harder for siblings to be close, especially when one moves out, and it can cause the parents to lean too hard on the older sibling.  Just everything in me is screaming, "If you are going to do it, it needs to be NOW."  Everything externally is screaming, "That is not a good plan AT ALL."  Hence the tears and agony and fretting and beating on this poor, poor, poor deceased equine.

Spontaneous.

Had a great impromptu play session with the neighbor boys.  They are twins, 10 months younger than Charlotte, or thereabouts.  She has been really interested in them lately, and they think she has good toys (she does) so they get along great.  I also really like their mom, who is easy to talk to and very mellow.  I think if you have toddler twin boys living in a small apartment, you are kind of forced into mellowness, at least when it comes to things like Charlotte feeding them snacks from their snack traps (WTF?) or the grabbiness & mess that comes from 3 toddlers, 3 containers of bubble solution, 1 tray, and 25+ bubble wands.  Charlotte had a blast, and did a relatively good job sharing.  There was some grabbing, but no pushing or hitting, which was a big relief to me.  Granted, Charlotte has never hit another kid, but then, she doesn't really play with other kids, either, so who knows what could happen with repeated exposure?

Anyway, it was really nice to spend an hour chilling with the mom & kids, and her mom came by later ("Meemaw!!") and then Matt came home, and it was just a nice neighborhood moment.  The other mom (I do know her name, I'm just being discreet) confessed that she was really glad that we were outside and had an activity - she was having one of those days where she couldn't tell whether she was making a big deal out of nothing, or if the kids were being particularly badly behaved.  God, I know that feeling well.  It's the end of the day and you feel exhausted and worn out, and all sense of perspective is gone.  I'm so glad we could all have a break for an hour or so while our kids were well-behaved, cute, and friendly.

Meanwhile, in other mom-of-twins news (horribly segue, I know), Jane is going to be writing a memoir!  I'm excited because I've been reading her blog for a LONG time (probably around the time Charlotte was born), and I like her writing style and her stories.  Plus, her kids are cute and she lives in Massachusetts.  (I'm what you call a "homer."  I am vastly interested in anything from my home area, and that especially includes writers.)  Way to go, Jane!

Whoa.

I can't believe it's been over a month since I've posted. Probably because so damn much happened in the last 4 weeks. We went down to Jersey for the family party, went to Syracuse for my brother's wedding, I got sick, Charlotte got sick, we took the cat to the vet, tried to find a fall experience, and so on. It's not just this blog that is suffering. I never decorated for Halloween or finished the scrapbook I wanted to give my brother and his fiancee before they were husband and wife. We still haven't hung up art in our new apartment, and I haven't sorted through my clothes to put away summer stuff and give stuff to the Salvation Army. I've been thinking up blog entries and jotting down ideas in my notebook and in my "sketchbook" blog, but not really posting anywhere. I'm barely keeping up reading all my favorite blogs.

Whining aside, it's been a really thrilling month. I love seeing Charlotte hang out with her 8 year old cousin, K. He's a blast anyway, and I've loved him fiercely since he was a tiny, tiny tot. Seeing him with Charlotte has melted me in a way that I can't really explain - they are cousins, they are related, they are the next generation, and for the time being, they really like each other.

I'm starting to really realize what I can and can't do, and what has escaped me forever. I know that sounds really dramatic, but it's kind of a weird feeling to be picking up little clothes and realizing that Charlotte is never going to wear them again. It's not like my winter pants - I'll see those again next year. She's just not going to wear that tiny pink Red Sox tee shirt next season. Those lady bug Robeez? Not going to be on her feet again.

One thing that I'm kind of sad about is that I never finished a sweater that I really wanted to make for her. I'm a knitter - one who never has time to knit anymore - and I had a lot of things I really wanted to make for her. I've been planning the things to knit for my baby since I first started knitting again in college after a decade-long hiatus. I have patterns and yarn that I bought specifically with MY baby in mind, years before Charlotte was born. I've wanted a baby for so long, and I knew I shouldn't have a baby just yet, but I wanted to prepare. To have a kind of baby hope chest. That seems kind of dorky and desperate, now that I've put it in words, but it's true. I have a lot of plans for my life, personally and professionally, and some of those are on hold, but I always knew I wanted to have a baby, too. When I was a teenager, and couldn't ever imagine being married to someone for the rest of my life, I still imagined myself as a mother. A starving artist in New Orleans feeding her kid from a farmers market and cafe, no less.

Anyway, there is one sweater that I bought the yarn for and printed out the pattern as soon as I saw it. Baby Norgi. The pattern date is spring 2003 - which means it was out before I was married - before I was even engaged! - but I knew I wanted to knit it, and I wanted to knit it for MY baby. I finally started it, 4 years later, when I was pregnant with Charlotte. When I started it, I didn't know whether I was having a girl or a boy, and that was fine with me, since I had gotten the yarn in a gender neutral green and off white colorway. I found out, pretty quickly, that knitting when I was pregnant had the same effect as reading in a car. All those tiny stitches lined up in a row aggravated my morning sickness. Then I found out I was having a girl.

Even though I had bought the yarn in green, I had still always kind of imagined that I'd have a boy first. I'm not sure why, I think it was sort of because I had always wanted a big brother, so I wanted my kids to have a big brother. Maybe it was because Matt had a boys name picked out since, like, 2002. Whatever the reason, I always imagined knitting the sweater for a boy, even though I was determined to knit it in green. Between the mental picture of a round, blond little boy fading away, and the urge to vomit whenever I knit, I just never got around to finishing that sweater. I did knit Charlotte a special little layette, all for her, with yarn that I picked up from a fair just a few days after I found out that I was having a girl. She wore the sweater almost constantly for the first 5 months, and the hat even longer. But I never did finish Baby Norgi.

I kept convincing myself that since I was knitting a larger size, Charlotte could wear it this winter if I finished it by Christmas. And it's so lovely, and I love the yarn, and the pattern is fun. I've worked on it a lot, and I know the size, I know how it would go over her head and fit around her chubby little torso. But when I was changing Charlotte's diaper last night, and putting her skeleton sweatsuit on yesterday for the Halloween Potluck Lunch, I realized that it WASN'T going to fit. Charlotte was never going to wear the sweater I'd been dreaming about for 5 years.

It's kind of a weird feeling. I've been imagining MY kid in THAT sweater for so long. I've been imagining CHARLOTTE in that sweater for 13 months. And I've been making a lot of judgments about myself as a mother and a creative person based on the fact that I have only ever knit my kid one sweater. It's a strange thing to realize that I have been holding onto these thoughts. I feel like I've let myself down. But at the same time, I know that I'm my harshest critic, and to keep relying on these arbitrary, self-determined measures is not good for me. So I'm prepared to let it go. Charlotte is not going to wear Baby Norgi. If I finish it at all, it's not going to go to her. She might not get any sweater at all this year that was made by me. And that doesn't mean I suck as a mom, or a knitter. No one else would say that to me, so I really don't need to say it to myself. Charlotte isn't going to miss another sweater. What she would miss is those stories I've read, the songs we've sung, and the million silly little games we've played. She won't feel the lack, and I shouldn't either.