Houdini

The night before last my daughter woke me up at 3am moaning for me. It was kind of a muffled maaaawmy...maaaaawmy...I finally hauled my 600 pound ass out of bed (that's how heavy my ass feels at 3am. Like I might need a forklift). I walk into her room and see her head and half her body is under my son's bed. She's stuck under there. She's basically unconscious so you can see how it would be difficult to shimmy backwards in that state. How did you she get in there? Good question. Their beds are catty-corner. His bed is in the corner of the room and her mattress is against the back wall, flush with his, but on the floor. They make an L or a lower case R. So there's a space where she might be able to crawl under his bed. But why she scoots herself in there while she's sleeping is a mystery. Anyway, I pulled her out and put her back in her bed and since she was asleep this whole time there was no protest. And I hauled myself back to bed.

Last night, same thing. Only when I went into their room, she was missing. And just as panic was setting in I took a breath and realized I could still hear her mommy moaning. I waved my hand under my son's bed and came in contact with a xylophone, a roll of butcher paper, grandma's neck pillow, a stack of puzzles and a tool box but no toddler. But I could hear her in there.

Now, just so we all understand, this is a twin bed (with a lot of large items stored underneath). It's not a queen or a king. I finally get on my belly and really reach my whole arm under the bed where I feel her leg. She has inched herself all the way over to the wall, navigating between the aforementioned obstacles. I can't really comprehend how it's all possible. I decide at 3am that she must have magical powers beyond my tired imagination. I pull her out, put her back in her bed and barricade what we now refer to as the crawl space.

Kids sort of love soccer

I signed my son up for soccer. Did she not learn her lesson after the swimming? Don't remind me about the swim lessons. I signed up for more of those too. What can I say? I like torture. But I did. I signed him up. For a number of reasons. You see I'm pals with some moms of other kids in his class and they were signing their kids up (this would be their SECOND session) and I thought, well, if there are other kids in the class that he knows, maybe it won't be horrible. Maybe it will just be awful which is a big step up for us. Also, I've seen him pass a ball around with his uncle, CIF Champion 1987, and he's pretty coordinated. For a four year old. He's no Pele or Ronaldo but he's also not Brazilian, born with cleats for feet. Anyway, I figured we would try it. 

So I bought him soccer socks and shin guards and shorts but I skipped on the shoes which seemed to me like a bigger investment. The program is called Kidz Love Soccer and as a former copywriter I have to question the Z. Really? You want to make it plural with a Z? Suit yourself.

The week leading up to it I'm telling him that he's going to learn to play soccer like uncle Aaron and his friends from school are going to play too and won't that be great. And he's going along with it, probably for my benefit. The morning arrives and he wants out. Has no interest in soccer practice. He already knows how to play soccer. His uncle Aaron taught him and now he's even better than me. As if. 

Anyway, after much discussion I convince him to go except he won't wear any of the gear. Fine. Not a problem. And when we get there he starts to cry and begs me to stand with him so I stand behind him where the kids are all lined up. And his buddies are all trying to encourage him and invite him to stand next to them which he eventually does, as long as I'm behind him. Which I am. Holding my daughter. 

And so it goes for the half hour practice. At first he doesn't know what to do but by the end he is listening to the coaches and doing the drills and doesn't even notice that my daughter and I are not exactly behind him anymore. In fact we're passing a ball ourselves because my daughter is a KICKASS soccer player and has a huge future in the sport. 

After practice ended we went to Starbucks to reward ourselves with a latte/chocolate milk and a morning bun. And he asked if he could get soccer shoes. My mom then went and got him a soccer ball for graduation and everyday since that first practice he's asked to play soccer at the park across the street. And I bought him cleats. He wanted the ones with pink stripes but settled for the yellow stripes. Kidz love soccer cleats, to be sure. The jury is still out whether kidz love soccer.

Fine by her

I may have mentioned that my daughter had a very condensed terrible twos. It was really only a few months where she was an absolute shrew which, when you compare it to the two years we suffered with my son, well it's hardly even a stage. More like a blip. I don't doubt it will roar its ugly head again at any unforeseen point in the near or distant future (likely when we're in a crowded supermarket or airport terminal) but for now I'm really loving the break. It's so nice because everything appears to be OK with her. Do you want to have breakfast? OK. Do you want to go pee pee on the potty? OK. Sushi for dinner? OK. Can you let mommy sleep another hour? OK. It's insane. Does she even know what she's saying? I think so. I mean she has literally potty trained herself. Not entirely but she's quite happy to go pull her little potty off the shelf, plunk down and take a whiz. Then she gets herself some toilet paper, does a quick wipe and goes to wash her hands. It's alarming. And she's perfectly happy to go in her diaper too which is good because I was caught unprepared for this latest shift and I'm just not ready yet myself for her to be potty trained. Diapers are so easy...but I digress. The girl is really a champ. Even when I ask her to give a toy to her brother who is meanwhile in a sobbing heap on the floor because she has the princess make-up bag (which is hers).

Now I don't know if it's because she's the second child or she's a girl or it's just in her nature. Frankly I don't care. I never look a gift horse in the mouth. I will chalk it up to excellent parenting and reward myself with a Nutella pita sandwich.

Happy anniversary to me

I just happened to look at my blog archive today thinking I've been writing in this thing for nearly two years. I thought I'd started in July. Turns out I started exactly on June 29 of 2007. So there you go. That's today. Happy Anniversary to Me! I'm surprised I made it this long. I usually get bored of activities after a few weeks. Maybe months. But two years is EPIC. And more than ever it is true that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Which is why I will celebrate with my usual: Nutella in a pita.
xoxo

Two productions

On Friday was my son's graduation from preschool and I was promised by all of the teachers that I'd better bring at least one box of tissues because it was sure to be a sob-fest. And in fact it was very sweet and quite a production. I was very proud of my son, even when he told me mid-song to stop looking at him. It was fun to see him sing all of the songs he'd been practicing at home for the last four months and even a few in Mandarin and Spanish (yes, we live in California) that's I'd never heard. And I felt very assured by the end of the production that we were making the right decision to send him to the Young Fives program at the JCC. Something about him hardly smiling, eyes darting around the room and his general seriousness made me think another year of play and self assurance would be great for him. But I can't say I cried. I welled up a little when I saw his teacher start crying as she was handing out the diplomas (did I mention they were all wearing pint size caps and gowns?). But the sob-fest unexpectedly happened the day after when I went with my husband, brother and sister-in-law to see another production.

I am a writer without words on this one. We went to see Wicked in San Francisco and from the moment they all started singing I just started sobbing. The set, the costumes, the lighting and those VOICES. George Jesus, those were some amazing voices. And the lyrics and the story. So clever. So much talent. So many artists shining up there. And I imagined them at various ages telling there parents they wanted to be performers, dancers, actors, singers. And I imagined those parents wishing their kids would just lead happy lives and not the ones that come with a TON of rejection and struggle. But these kids did it. They made it. They're starring in this unbelievably magical show together, waving their "I'm going to be who I am no matter what" flag. By the end of the performance I was on my feet clapping hysterically and sobbing with joy. Am I pregnant or what? The answer to that one is a definitive no. Nonetheless, I could hardly contain myself at this performance. Girl, you need to get out more. And then I imagined bringing my kids to see it when they're a little bit older and waiting outside the backstage door to meet the actors and hoping they would leave the theater, like me, inspired to fly.