I was going to use a line from the Tom Waits song for a title, but then I remembered what that song is actually about

Last summer the girls discovered the ice cream truck. It would pull up near the park where we were playing and they would beg to be allowed to get a treat, and sometimes I would let them (and get myself one too, of course). Now whenever we hear the music they begin howling for ice cream. The problem (I mean, the one besides wanting to limit our consumption of sweets) is that the ice cream man in our neighborhood seems to be, as a friend put it, a retired NASCAR driver uninterested in making a sale. We have chased him around the neighborhood on our bikes--tricky because there are lots of loops and streets that don’t go through in our neighborhood, so it can be hard to tell exactly where he is, or to get to him in a timely manner once we figure it out--and run down the street as he turns the corner. My girls are working on their technique, though, and have caught him twice in two weeks.

To begin with, Adriana made a list, which charmed me,

Catch Ice Cream Man Do List

1. Hear music

2. Kids run outside

3. Mama get walit

4. Mama run outside

5. Kids jump and wave

6. Buy ice cream

7. Eat it

“Walit”--I love it!

They followed that list last week and were successful in getting themselves a cold, artificially flavored, HFCS-laden treat (plus one for the little boy three houses down). It was thrilling and they have been very frustrated with my refusals to buy them more ever since. But tonight we had just gotten home from their gymnastics classes when Adriana swore she’d heard the ice cream truck music. I wasn’t convinced, but I needed a little bit of time to get dinner on the table which is always easier without tired, hungry, grouchy children underfoot, so I gave her some money and let them wait out in the driveway where I could keep an eye on them as I cooked.

Lyra began yelling at any neighbor who walked or drove by, “Have you seen the ice cream man?” The UPS man drove up to deliver a package across the street, and she asked him, too. “I keep hearing his music. I’m sure he’ll be along soon,” he told her. “What kind are you going to get?” Finally I heard the girls shrieking with glee as the music grew louder and the truck turned onto our street. I stood and watched the girls make their selection, with Lyra speaking for both of them and Adriana paying.

And then I watched the UPS truck pull up again, right behind the ice cream truck. The driver hopped out, thanked the kids for catching him, and bought himself a treat.

Adriana and Lyra brought their treats in and put them in the freezer without argument, and both ate good dinners before sitting down on the back step to enjoy their dessert. I couldn’t resist picking up my camera, as I wondered if they’ll remember any of this: the hot sidewalk under their bare feet while they wait for the truck, the excitement of seeing it turn onto our street, the way the ice cream tastes, or just sitting next to one another after dinner. I hope they do.

I kind of want to switch myself to our pediatric dentist

Adriana’s dentist appointment yesterday wasn’t a complete disaster. And that’s the best that can be said for it. The girl seems to have inherited my anxiety about teeth cleaning, and paired with her normal behavior in new or rare situations around people she doesn’t know well? My expectations for her cleaning appointments are never very high. Yesterday she hid under a waiting room chair as soon as they called her name. We opted out of some x-rays that probably would have been good to have, because none of us thought it would be worth the battle, and eventually she did consent to having her teeth cleaned. She laid on my lap the whole time, and refused to talk to anyone. The hygienist and dentist remained calm, took their time, spoke quietly and rationally to Adriana, and were, in general (and as usual), amazing. There were no threats or bribes, just reasoning, explaining, and being sympathetic to Adriana’s anxiety.

Her anxiety seems wholly rational to me. I mean, the polisher? That vibrates my teeth? Good lord, I feel that all the way down to the base of my spine. Only crazy people aren’t afraid of the dentist! Of course, I don’t say any of that in the presence of either child, and somehow Lyra hasn’t gotten any of my anxiety. This morning when a different hygienist called Lyra’s name, and then asked if she had pronounced it correctly (which she had), Lyra told her, “No, you say it ‘Queen of Lemonade.’ L-Y-R-A. Queen of Lemonaaaaaade!” Then she held the hygienist’s hand, climbed into the chair by herself, prattling on about Finding Nemo and going to the aquarium and nurse sharks and hammerhead sharks and great white sharks. The only time she resisted at all was when the light shone too brightly in her eyes, but they gave her a pair of sunglasses to wear and she was immediately back to being cooperative and chatty.

All this is to say: I’m thinking about taking Lyra with me to my next dentist appointment to help keep me calm.

Still funny after all these years

Me: I hate foosball.
Brian: Look, if it's causing a problem, just tell me, and I'll come in. If that's too hard, maybe we need a code word. Like, say, "armageddon."
Me: [laughs hilariously because 1998]*

Later...
Me: [doing dishes]
Brian: [playing foosball]
Children: [general obnoxiousness]
Me: ARMAGEDDON

Later still...
Adriana: [argues with her sister]
Lyra: [argues with her sister]
Both girls: ARMADILLO!
Brian: [Dies laughing]
Me: [Dies laughing]

*http://urbanlegends.about.com/library/blbyol4.htm

After sunset

When I visit friends in Berkeley, I usually stay until the girls’ bedtime, so that I can get them ready for bed there and then just toss them in their beds when we get home. So most of the time it’s dark by the time we’re leaving, but somehow we left tonight just after the sun went down and there was still some light in the sky. As we headed toward the freeway, Adriana pointed out the moon--a slender crescent shining against lavender. Then we were on I-80, headed toward home and I glanced across the bay. The water was rippled and silver, and Mt. Tamalpais was a purple silhouette on the other side with a thin mist around its base. I spend along, and soon Treasure Island was another shadow surrounded by fog, and then the city sparkled against the watercolor sky. The girls were drifting off to sleep in the back of the car after a long day at the zoo with friends and being spoiled by their surrogate grandparents, while I drove and listened to some of my favorite music and felt so, so lucky to be here.

My little introvert

I have a vivid memory from childhood. My mom and grandma took my siblings and me to see Make-A-Circus at the marina. The circus performers put on a show that told a story, and then kids in the audience got to go join a group during an intermission, learn a couple tricks, and be part of the next part of the show. It seemed like a fantastic idea, right up until the part where they divided us up by ages, so that we could learn age-appropriate skills. The oldest kids got to juggle or walk on stilts, while the youngest ones just did somersaults. I don’t know exactly how old I was, but I’m guessing I was about seven and my sister about four (and my brother still a toddler and not old enough to participate), and so we were put in different groups. I didn’t last long in my group. I didn’t know any of the other kids. I didn’t know the grownups who were running things. I was out of my element, and so I began to cry. I was old enough to be embarrassed by my own behavior, so I made up an excuse--a stomachache or a headache--and got sent back to sit with my mom again. My sister was bolder and did fine with her group. She got her face painted and did forward rolls across the ring with the other preschoolers during the second act.

I was a little envious of my sister and the other kids, but also so relieved. Some of it was stage fright, I’m sure, the anticipation of being in front of so many people (even in a group of kids), some of it was likely insecurity about whatever skill my group was being instructed on (I have no memory of what it was), but I think most of it was my fear of doing something new and being away from people I knew (even if they were nearby). I have memories of other times when I didn’t want to do something unless I knew my mom would be along with me, or that my sister or a friend would be doing the same thing, too. I can still call up the feeling of anxiety that I felt. Actually, I still feel that exact same anxiety when I’m doing something new without anyone familiar along, and I also feel it vicariously when I watch Adriana sometimes.

I’ve read a lot of things that say it can be particularly difficult to parent a child who is different sort of personality from oneself--introverted parents don’t understand the needs of extroverted children, and extroverted parents are baffled by their introverted kids, but I’m finding that the opposite is often true.Sometimes I am baffled by Lyra’s extroversion: as we head off to a new place she tells me that she’s excited to make new friends, and she answers questions from adults she doesn’t know without any trepidation. I identify more with Adriana’s introversion. I like to think that the way she is with stories and words comes from me, but I really see myself as a child when I see her with a group of kids she doesn’t know, or when I see her get overwhelmed by a group of people she does actually know.

But I ache watching Adriana cope with new situations. When people she doesn’t know ask her questions, she turns to me and hides her face. I usually answer for her (if Lyra doesn’t jump in and do it first) and don’t force her to speak if she’s not comfortable, because I understand. I remember feeling that way as a kid. If I can’t do something new with her, I try to make sure she’s with a friend. Like me, even having her little sister there makes her feel better about something. I watched her at a birthday party this weekend, noticing how she stuck close to her sister, how she panicked when she thought she wasn’t going to sit next to her sister, how she let her sister answer questions for her.

I have to admit not all my difficulty comes from empathy. Sometimes it’s just so frustrating to me that she doesn’t want to do something because I want her to do it and know that she can do it. I’m finding that identifying with this aspect of her personality doesn’t always help me to be a better parent to her. Certainly, I know that she needs to arrive places early and have time to warm up to a new situation, and I am able to give her the time she needs after we’ve been around a big group (or even after being around kids all day at school) to just read and cuddle, or to just set her up with craft supplies and let her draw and cut and glue in peace for a while. But while we’re in that big group it’s so hard sometimes. I get frustrated that she’s clinging to me, that she won’t just answer the question someone has asked her, or that she’s making trouble with her sister. I know that the trouble with her sister is one way of seeking out our attention: I have been pushing her to do something she’s not comfortable with, so she acts up so we’ll remove her from the situation--she wants to be taken to a time out. But it can be hard for me to identify the problem before she starts to act out, and I end up angry.

But sometimes it helps that I can remember feeling the way she seems to. At least I can look back at how I handled a situation and realize what went wrong. I can remember how hard things could be for me as a kid. And I can be so impressed by her when she does something that I know I would have struggled with. One day recently when I was working in her classroom, I watched her get up in front of everyone and talk about what she had done in her art class. She spoke confidently--a strong voice, complete sentences, real facts about what she had learned and created--and I knew that I would have been terrified to speak in front of everyone at that age, even when I knew all the other children. I thought I saw a familiar look in her eyes, a nervousness that I understood. Yet she was standing there, doing so well, and I was so proud.

And I’m also starting to push her a bit more now. I’ve let her turn down invitations to go home with friends after school in the past, but the last two weeks in a row, I’ve encouraged her to go for it. She’s been reluctant but has acquiesced. “Maybe you and Lyra should come with me?” she asks. “What if you pick me up after school and take me to their house instead of me just going home with them?” she proposes. And I say no and promise I’ll be on time to pick her up, and then proceed to worry that I’ll get a call saying that she’s crying at school and refusing to go anywhere without me. The first week we did it, I found her up to her elbows in a mud puddle in her friend’s backyard, a mud puddle they had created and were proceeding to excavate with shovels and toy trucks. The second week, I knocked on the door, and Adriana had her friend came downstairs reluctantly when they were summoned, all decked out in costumes. Both times she begged for five more minutes, because she was having so much fun, and I gave them to her, because it was nice to sit with another adult and chat for a bit while the kids played, and because it was so wonderful to see her happy in spite of her earlier anxieties.

Cuter than robots

I discovered while watching Wallace and Gromit videos with my girls that it was just what you might call “MST3K: Kinder Edition.” I always mean to take notes on their running commentary when we watch movies, and the other night when we sat down to watch Josh Ritter’s concert on NPR, I realized that I really needed to. So this is a self-indulgent blog post (I suppose that’s redundant), that got a little long, even though I tried to edit it down (so you don't know all the times they fussed that the other one was being too noisy or pushing or argued about whose turn it was for my lap). And also an example of why I don't take my children to anything but daytime concerts outdoors.

As the band takes the stage

Adriana: Wait. Are all those guys Josh Ritter?

Me: No, that’s his band. He can’t play all the instruments at once.

Lyra: I’m in his band.

Adriana: Mom, Lyra’s telling lies.

After a close-up of Josh Ritter

Adriana: His face looks all scratchy.

Lyra: I hope he doesn’t kiss anyone.

Adriana: I hope the first song is Snow Is Gone.

After a shot of Zach Hickman

Lyra: Can I have a mustache like that when I grow up?

Adriana: When will he sing Snow Is Gone?

During Wolves

Adriana: Hey, is this about the Wolves in the Walls? Does he read Neil Gaiman?

Me: I bet he does, but that’s not what this is about.

Adriana: [begins howling like a wolf]

Lyra: Stop that! I can’t hear the music! Mama, Adriana is a-noise-ing me.

Adriana: Mom, Lyra can’t say “annoying” right.

Me: Girls. Seriously.

Adriana and Lyra: [howl like wolves]

Josh Ritter: Wolves underneath the stairs/Wolves inside the hinges/Circling round my door/At night inside the bedsprings/Clicking cross the floor

Adriana: I TOLD YOU THIS WAS ABOUT WOLVES IN THE WALLS.

Josh Ritter: [encourages audience to howl]

Adriana and Lyra: [howl like wolves]

Lyra: Don’t worry, Mama. I’m a coyote, not a wolf. Don’t be scared.

During New Lover

Lyra: New blubber? Is he singing about blubber? Hey, he’s got a song about seals and whales! How come he’s not saying anything about seals and whales?

Adriana: No, he’s saying “New lover.”

Lyra: I love you, I lover you, I lovest you, Mama.

As something goes wrong with our connection and the music and video both stop for a minute

Lyra: Keep singing, Josh Ritter! Now!

During Appleblossom Rag

Lyra: He said apple blossom! That is a flower that grows on an apple tree! Can I have an apple?

Adriana: This isn’t Snow Is Gone. When will he sing that?

Lyra: The blossoms don’t come until the snow is all gone.

Adriana: You’ve never even seen snow.

During Hopeful

Lyra: This song has a lot of words.

During Harrisburg

Adriana: The train song!

Lyra: Mister Mustache is singing!

From then on, anytime the camera focused on just Zach Hickman

Both girls: Mr. Mustache! Mr. Mustache Man!

During Joy To You Baby:

Lyra: I think he’s singing about his baby. Hey, Josh Ritter! Hey, Josh Ritter. Don’t kiss your baby until you shave. You’ll hurt your baby!

Adriana: I like this better than “Joy To The World.” I’ll sing this at Christmas. I bet Jewish people like it too, so it will be good for Hanukkah and Christmas. And maybe my birthday.

As To The Dogs Or Whoever begins

Adriana: It’s the underwear song!

Lyra; Do you think it’s about rocket underwear? I have rocket underwear. They are the best underwear in the world.

At the end of the show

Adriana: Wait, they’re leaving? That’s it?

Lyra: Where are they going?

Me: Just offstage. They’ll probably be back for an encore.

Lyra: What’s that?
Me: It’s where they come back and sing extra songs because everyone was cheering so much.

Lyra: Can I pick the song?
Adriana: It better be Snow Is Gone.

Lyra: THEY’RE COMING BACK. ALL THE JOSH RITTERS ARE COMING BACK. EVEN MUSTACHE JOSH RITTER.

Adriana: This is still not “Snow Is Gone.”

After the concert ended (“Is really finished this time? Maybe they’ll come back again!”), the girls talked about how someday they would go to a real Josh Ritter concert, not just watch on the computer. I decided to keep the show I’m going to in Oakland a secret for now.

Travel journal: Australia!

We arrived in Australia! this morning. (I noticed this past week that none of us say Australia. It always ends with the exclamation point.)

I didn't have high expectations for the journey here, but even my normal attitude about traveling with kids (just expect it to suck) didn't prepare me for this flight. Lyra puked in the car on the way to the airport. I assumed it was carsickness until she puked again not long after we started the second leg of our flight. And I realized she had a fever, too. We were the middle two people in a four person row, with a non-English speaking granny who had an almost-two-year-old riding on her lap on one side, and a very understanding father of three young boys on the other side. He cheered Lyra on for telling us in time to give her one of the airsickness bags, taught her how to call the flight attendants to bring us more, and told her what a good sport she was being. Meanwhile, Brian and Adriana slept for most of the flight about 30 rows back (also in center seats).

Lyra was doing pretty well by the end of the flight. She nibbled on the fruit on her breakfast tray and drank some juice, and managed to keep both down. She was in pretty good spirits as we approached customs, at which point Adriana, who had gotten a bit queasy during some turbulence toward the end of our flight, projectile vomited all over the floor of customs. Luckily I still had her change of fresh clothes in my carry-on, so I took her into the restroom and got her changed, and we made it through customs without anyone throwing a temper tantrum, which I believe is a first for us.

We got to the flat we're renting in Petersham easily, met the incredibly nice woman who owns it, and after getting cleaned up and having a snack, we set out to explore the neighborhood, getting lunch and gelato in Leichardt, and giving the girls a chance to play at a playground.

The kids are fascinated by the birds and plants they don't recognize, but drop bears are a bit of a problem. Brian warned the kids about them well in advance, telling them that sun hats would keep the bears from landing on them to nibble their ears. Basically, our kids don't like to wear their hats, and so we lied to them. But it's kind of backfiring. Adriana was almost afraid to leave the flat because of her fear of them (although by the end of the afternoon she was just trying to spot them). Lyra has declined to wear her hat and at any mention of them (or of Australia!) insists loudly and angrily, "We are not in Australia!"

Lyra's still a bit fussy and not feeling great (perhaps the last sentence already made that clear), so we're sticking at "home" for dinner. The woman who runs the apartment stocked the kitchen for us, so I was able to throw together a lentil soup, and there is already stuff here for breakfast tomorrow morning, so hopefully everyone will wake up healthy (or at least healthy enough to concede that maybe we are actually on The Continent That Shall Not Be Named) and we'll be able to get an early start.

Underwear and sexism and toddlers, oh my!

Lyra's been mostly potty trained for about a month now, so yesterday I took her to pick out some new underwear. There were two racks in the store: one had underwear in mostly primary colors and prints of rockets, cars, and dinosaurs. The other rack was pastels--pink, purple, and turquoise mostly--and prints of flowers and hearts. I showed them all to Lyra who gleefully picked out rockets and dinosaurs.

Then we got to the register. The young woman looked at what we had and asked me, "Oh, didn't you see? We have a rack of girls underwear too."

"But in the training pants, the cut's the same, right? The only difference is the colors and the prints?" I figured I had better made sure, since Adriana had never been interested in colors and prints on the "boys" racks, or even the ones on the "girls" racks that weren't pink.

"They're the same," the woman said. And then she turned to Lyra, "Did you see the pretty underwear? You're a pretty girl. Don't you want some with flowers? You don't want boy underwear."

"Those are not boy underwear. Those are my big girl underwear. For me. Boys can't have my underwear," Lyra said. Loudly.

I kept my mouth shut, but you know what? I was proud.

Worlds

I like listening to the girls talk to one another when I’m in the car with them. Sometimes they ask each other questions about the parts of the day they’ve been apart, sounding like small adults; sometimes they discuss what they see out the window; sometimes it’s they play little role playing games--mostly house or scenes from their favorite books; and sometimes (so, so often lately) they squabble over seemingly ridiculous things (and so I don't always like listening to them talk).

Yesterday in the car, Lyra began telling a story about “another world that is underneath our world.” Adriana has always seemed like a storyteller to me, and it’s fun to see that same trait developing in her sister. “The other world is full of magical animals and fairies.”

Adriana jumped in immediately to correct Lyra. “There is only one world and it is this world. There is not another world under it. Under us is just crust and mantle and core.”

I joke that Adriana is such an engineer sometimes--the way she thinks about things, the way she takes problems apart, the way she looks at the world very scientifically. I think it’s actually just the way kids her age are: they’re learning so much and gathering information and figuring out how the world works. She’s still imaginative and prone to flights of fancy--she is only six after all (and I think the imagination is part of what helps her figure things out)--but I can see that Lyra is still very much in a more fairy tale world compared to her sister.

It’s so tempting to jump in then, to instruct Adriana to let her sister be, to let her go ahead and tell her stories. But Lyra didn’t seem to mind, and continued on the story, so I let it go. It wasn’t long before Adriana was interrupting again to point out a scientific inaccuracy, this time to lecture on volcanoes. And I got to marvel at how much she’s learning at school, about how she really seems to understand things and can explain about plates and magma and pressure and eruption to her sister. And then I marveled again as Lyra listened carefully, seeming to take it all in, and then said, without missing a beat, “The world under this one has volcanoes and the volcanoes are full of fire dogs having parties. And the world above this one has an owl as big as an elephant for a king.”

Rose and The Witch

A story by Adriana
(original spelling preserved)

Once upon a time there was a little fariy named Rose. She herd a rore and she didn't no if it was just a dream or if it was real so qietly she creped out of bed got her rocket and took it out side and climbed in. Then she started it and she didn't no how to control it so she crashed in to a monster and it fell asleep. Then a witch put a spell on Rose. The spell made rose fall asleep. The next day she turned in to a snow fariy. The next day she turned back in to Rose the fariy and came home from her exvender. The end.

Boring bliss

I've had a productive few days this week--nothing major has been accomplished, but I've managed to knock a lot of little things off my to-do list. I joked last night that since I'd done so much, I was basically done for the week.  And that's why nothing practical happened this afternoon. I played tag with Adriana and her friends after school and climbed on the ropes on the playground with them. At home we watched an episode of Mr. Rogers, then did the same kind of art he had done on the show--drawing what we heard as we listened to classical music. I took them out for dinner, since I hadn't wanted to stop playing and drawing with them to cook, and we drove home singing songs. We skipped bath in favor of dancing and a few extra bedtime stories.

So when I said nothing practical happened? I think actually meant that I believe I spent the afternoon the most practical way I could: just enjoying these awesome girls and feeling lucky that I have so much time with them.

/schmaltz

Words

Today I dropped our car off for some body work. Lyra was with me and wanted to know why we were leaving the car behind. I told her they were going to get rid of the dents.

"And the car will have no more dents?" She thought about this for a few moments, then said with honest concern, "But where will the coyotes live?"

We went round and round on this one (because WTF, kid? Coyotes?) before I realized that she was hearing me say "dens." I promised her that we weren't going to make any coyotes homeless by getting our car fixed.

***

Adriana is currently lying in bed trying to fall asleep (at least in theory), but her reading has taken off lately, and while she hasn't yet discovered the time honored tradition of reading under the covers with a flashlight, her brain can't seem to shut off the words running through it. So I keep getting called in to answer "urgent" questions on matters of spelling:

• "What is the I before E rule again?"
• "Did you know some words can rhyme even when they're not spelled the same?"
• "Crossing doesn't start with X, but signs always say 'X-ing.' Why is that?"

I suppose at some point I should  stop going in to answer the questions. But I can't stop my curiosity about what she's going to ask next.

She just called me in to tell me that she would remember the difference between "here" and "hear" by remembering that "you hear with your ear. Get it, Mom? Because the last three letters in that kind of hear actually spell ear?"

At least she's cute.

I had to try hard not to laugh when she said the bit about living on the same planet

Last night Adriana was singing a song from school that lists the months of the year. She did it first in English, then in Spanish. Then I heard her singing "Shanuarysh, Febshuarysh, Shmarsh, and Shaprilsh." At that point I looked up from my book and asked her why she was singing it so silly. "Mama! It's not polite to call other languages silly!" And then she informed me that those were the words for the months in Hebrew. I guess that's what Hebrew sounds like to her, but I pointed out that what she was doing was akin to throwing an O on the end of every English word and pretending it was Spanish--so also not very polite. 

She considered that for a moment and then said, "But the Jewish calendar has different months completely! Even though we live on the same planet! Are they south of the equator? Is that why?" I told her no, and then she began to wonder if there were even words in Hebrew for the "English" months of the year since the Jewish calendar was so different. I assured her that there will still be words for the Western calendar even in cultures that use lunar calendars for religious observances. At which point she began wondering about what to spend her red envelope money on next month, and we moved on. 

There is so much awesome in how this kid's mind connects different things she learns about. 

This is way better than when Adriana used to scream at him

When Adriana heard that Lyra got to see Santa Claus without her, she was not amused. I made vague promises about "soon" and "later in the week," and then realized that with Adriana's swim lesson canceled that afternoon, we didn't really have any plans, so we headed off to see Santa again.

It turns out he does his afternoon shift at a different mall. And that he changed his clothes (and also his beard) since we'd seen him. But again there wasn't a line, and he spent lots of time chatting with them. Lyra was a little reluctant, as I knew she would be in the afternoon, and even Adriana clung to my hand at first, but he started singing "All I Want For Christmas" to Adriana and asking Lyra how high she could jump, and soon he led them over to his bench and read them a story.

He got them onto his lap and we got a couple of smiles out of them.

And then as the woman taking the photos was showing me what she'd gotten, we heard giggles, and turned to look. The girls had discovered that Santa's beard was tickly and were cracking up. The woman picked up the camera and started snapping photos again. 

Finally, he asked what they'd like for Christmas. Adriana requested a baby doll and "lots and lots of legos." Lyra asked for a flying hockey stick. I guess she figures that will have to do until she's big enough for a rocket.

PS: I like the Blogger now lets you click on the photos to see them bigger.

If only he could see one of her tantrums instead

I wasn't planning to take Lyra to visit Santa while Adriana was in school today, but I had to return something at the mall, and he waved to her when we walked by, and she wanted to go say hi. She was, conveniently, wearing a candy cane dress, and I started to think it might be a good photo op. There was no line, so she walked right up to him and did a little dance, then a somersault.

"What a talented young lady you are! Do you want to tell me what you'd like for Christmas?" he asked her, and she walked closer to him. He held out his hands to her, and she let him scoop her onto his lap.

"I want an owl," she told him.

"An owl?"

She nodded. "A toy one. And a rocket ship."

"A toy owl and a toy rocket ship."

"No, a real rocket ship. I am an astronaut but I don't have a rocket ship, so I need one."

He somehow talked her into considering waiting for a real rocket ship until she was a little bit bigger, and then she smiled for the camera. As I was paying for the photo (which I had to get as I've never had a kid actually sitting on Santa's lap and giving a genuine smile before) a few minutes later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Santa coming over talk to me.

"She's a charmer," he told me in a low voice. "Good luck with that one."

I Voted!

It's the night before the election, and I just finished filling out my ballot. From the first time I voted, I loved going to vote. Actually, I even loved going with my parents to vote when I was a kid. But once I was living in town in Santa Cruz instead of on campus, I loved walking over to the church to cast my ballot with my neighbors (even though I knew relatively few of them). And when we lived in the Parkfairfax neighborhood in Alexandria, Virginia, I loved seeing everyone walk over to the synagogue to vote, and then a bunch of us being on different, later buses to the Metro together after casting our votes. So when we moved back to California, I was reluctant at first to sign up for "permanent vote by mail." Then I figured out that I was allowed to fill out the ballot at home and drop it off on election day. So tomorrow morning, I'll walk my envelope across the street, get my "I Voted" sticker (they didn't include one with the ballot this time), and feel as though I am participating in my community by more than just voting, but in joining my neighbors as well.

***

How cool is it that I got to vote against the death penalty? Sometimes I think our system in California with all these propositions is a little ridiculous. But tonight I got to vote yes on Proposition 34 to repeal the death penalty in this state. That's been an important issue to me ever since I was a teenager and the movie Dead Man Walking got me interested in it and cause me to make it my issue for my civics research paper. (Also, I remember all that, including the weather when I came out of the theater, so vividly. That seems kind of weird.) The death penalty feels wrong to me--intellectually, emotionally, and morally--and here I get a chance to say so. The ballot measure is close, and it's losing by a few points still in the polls, but I am still hopeful.

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And just because I can't post something without mentioning my kids, here is a picture of Adriana from four years ago.

And some people just worry about when kids are "old enough to ask for it"

Lyra mostly isn't nursing in public anymore. She's just big and wriggly, and since she doesn't need it constantly, it's easy to have it be just something we do at home. I remember reaching this same spot with Adriana. Sometimes, though it's just easier to say yes--when I'm having a conversation, or trying to read my book while I watch Adriana's gymnastics class. Today I was talking with some other parents at Adriana's school, and Lyra made her way onto my lap and asked nicely, so I let her. One of the other moms observed with surprise, "Oh, she's still nursing!" In the split second it took me to gauge the tone of the comment and how I should respond (always politely, but sometimes as more of a joke, and other times as more of an off-hand-isn't-everybody? reaction), Lyra pulled away and said to the woman, "My mama makes nice, sweet milky, just for me!"

Kindergarten Eve

When I stopped writing monthly blog posts about Adriana around the time she was two--not a conscious decision by any means, just something that happened--it would occur to me to write something quickly to sum her up. I remember around the time she was two-and-a-half thinking I could simply write, “Adriana likes butterflies, dogs, mermaids, and trucks. She knows her ABCs and how to count to 10.” Now it would be “Adriana likes butterflies, bears, princesses, and bicycles. She is beginning to read and can count to 100.” But I also want something more extensive than that. I’m hate knowing that I will forget so many little details about what she is like now. Tomorrow she starts kindergarten and even if it’s not her birthday, it seems like a good time to stop and think about how she is right now.

At five-and-a-half Adriana is a strange mix of babyishness and teenager. There are certain parts of this age I wish I could capture forever. She is so wonderfully, beautifully, perfectly engaged with the world. She is watching everything, paying attention, but that’s been true for a while now. Now she is really getting it. She’s thinking about things. She’s questioning. Of course, there are certain things about this age I’ll be glad to see go. A five-year-old’s tantrums are truly terrifying.

One night, angry that I told her it was time to head to bed, she ran into her room and slammed the door shut. I heard her lock it behind her, so I went to my room and sat down with my book. It wasn’t two full minutes later that she came out of her room, crying real tears, sobbing, because she wanted me and I wasn’t in her room with her. I resisted the urge to laugh, just pointed out that she had locked me out, and walked her back to her room, cuddled in her bed with her until I felt her breathing change and knew she was asleep. I went back to my book, thinking that those ten minutes were probably a good analogy for parenting.

I really am enjoying watching her grow, though. She is interacting with the world in new ways, or at least interacting with the world in a way where I get to observe more of her thought processes. I remember when we went to London, not too long before she turned three, reading Madeline to our friends’ daughter and being surprised by how many questions she asked about the story. Adriana had never asked anything like that; she listened to books, enjoyed them, but never questioned them. Now I see her deciding more often not to simply observe but to really try to figure things out.

Although she is still difficult to understand--she talks quickly, and still doesn’t have G or K sounds in her repertoire--Adriana talks non-stop when we are at home, and even more so in the car. On the way to speech therapy one day last month she chattered at me constantly from the back seat:

Wanna see how high I can count? How many days has it been since I was born? What makes earthquakes happen? How come not all the countries in Europe use the euro for their money? If Canada is right by the United States, how come they have the same picture on their money that they have in England? Why won't you let us eat marshmallows for dinner? Do you think asparagus looks kind of like bamboo? Can I dip my whole body in paint and make a paint angel instead of a snow angel?

And then on the way to nursery school the next morning it started again:

What is cement made of? It must have water in it because it is wet so they can pour it, but what else is in there? What makes it stop being wet and get hard? Maybe we could put mud in ice cube trays and then when we took them out we could build something with them and it would be super strong. What if you put a flower in the freezer? Would it still give you allergies? Why are you allergic to some kinds of flowers? How do plants know what color their flowers are supposed to be?

I do my best with her questions. I’m not a geologist or a physicist or a genetics expert (although I remember a surprising amount from Mr. Pruitt’s biology class in the 10th grade), but I can usually pull off a decent enough answer to satisfy her, or if I’m truly stumped, we look it up together.

She’s beginning to read now. She has sight words and can sound things out. She hates being wrong, so a lot of the time she’s reluctant to sound things out, wants me to tell her how things are spelled so she can memorize the correct way. It’s a little frightening to see that aspect of myself in her. I want her to understand things, not just memorize them. I want her to work things out for herself, not just expect someone to tell her. But memorization like that works! I tell myself. It’s how some people learn. Right? I also see a certain amount of Brian’s engineering mind in her: she loves tools and machines and knowing how things work. She has a creative streak that is growing--she draws more interesting things now (always with a stripe of blue across the top for sky, which I love), and will get herself and Lyra both in costumes to put on a performance for me. My favorite was a “ballet” set to Josh Ritter’s “Snow Is Gone.” Adriana was a snowflake and Lyra was a bird, and they twirled around and around in the living room.

I watched her through the window at gymnastics one week this spring--the way she moved, how she interacted with the teachers and the other kids, the enormous smile on her face--and told the friend I was texting with (what?) “I love watching Adriana. She’s beautiful and amazing.” I tried to explain it, how it’s different watching her now. I’m more aware of her personality. Her Self. “She’s separate from me now.” My friend asked me if that made me sad, and without even thinking about it I answered no. It’s how it’s supposed to be. Ten, twenty years from now, I’ll probably laugh at myself for thinking she was so big now and thinking we were so separate. But right now it’s this amazing thing: she was my little tiny baby, and now she is this gangly girl who rides a bike and plays with her friends and questions the world around her. But she also folds herself into my lap, pulling at my arm hair the way she used to when she was nursing, and falls asleep while I read her stories.

Tomorrow she starts kindergarten. Amazing.

I thought about teaching her the “if wishes were horses” rhyme, but worried that she’d start wishing for an actual horse.

At some point I told Adriana about wishing on stars and taught her the rhyme

Star light, star bright

First star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might

Have the wish I wish tonight.

She knows about making wishes when she blows on a dandelion, and making wishes when she throws a penny in a fountain. I used to wonder what she would wish for, and I loved it when she got to the age when she would rush to check the mail to see if the mermaids she’d wished for had arrived. Then she picked up the idea that she was supposed to keep her wishes secret, and I was back to wondering.

Earlier this summer I bought her a new scooter, one with two wheels. She’d been coveting them ever since she saw her friend Abigail’s this spring, and I was wanting to hand down her three-wheeled one to Lyra. As soon as it was ready, she spent the afternoon riding up and down our block on it. It was fun to see her so excited about it. That night as I tucked her into bed, she looked out her window for a star to wish on and told me that she was going to have to think of a new wish since her wish for a scooter had come true.

We spent the day at the beach yesterday, and my normal routine is to keep the kids there until after dinner, then change them into pajamas and let them fall asleep on the way home, so I can just throw them into their beds. Last night Adriana was determined to stay up on the way home, and spent the hour in the car gazing out the window at the sky. Mostly she was quiet, but just as we reached the summit on Highway 17 she told me, "Sometimes I like to imagine that stars aren't really balls of burning gas. Because how could a ball of burning gas understand a person's wish and make it come true? It just doesn't make sense. So I like to imagine that stars are actually tiny fairies in very sparkly dresses, and they hear the wishes that people make and use their magic to grant them."

I love that at five, fairies make logical sense to her. When I told Brian about it, he was amused that I had inadvertantly reinforced her belief in magic and wishes by buying that scooter. And I love that she tells me these things. She does seem to have a better sense of what’s real and what’s pretend than many kids her age, so I don’t know how much of it she actually believe, and how much she just likes the idea of the magic. A part of me hopes she really does believe. And I hope that as she outgrows it she still loves the poetry of the idea.

Baby's first nightmare

I normally joke about my kids’ nightmares. Adriana went through a phase about three years ago when she would wake up hollering at us not to take away her eggplant. What kid has nightmares about someone trying to take her eggplant? When Lyra talks in her sleep, her bad dreams seem so fitting for a toddler and a younger sister: “It’s my turn!” she shouts before settling back to sleep, or “No, that’s mine!”

They have each gone through a brief period of night terrors--they awake screaming wordlessly, and nothing I do can wake them or comfort them. Fortunately, the individual terrors and the phase have both passed quickly. In Adriana it seemed to be caused by chocolate desserts before bed. In Lyra we never found any potential triggers.

But then they grow up a bit more and they have bad dreams that don’t seem funny to me at all. It breaks my heart to have them so scared. Last summer Adriana became terribly afraid of house fires. Any loud noise might be a fire alarm, and she woke early one morning and insisted on being taken to peek at Brian asleep in bed, because she didn’t believe me when I told her it was a dream that a fire had “gotten” him.

Lyra had her first break-mom’s-heart nightmare last night. I woke to her screaming from her room, “Don’t touch me! Stop hurting me! Mama, they’re hurting me! Make it stop, Mama!” I ran to her and picked her up, and she continued screaming while I tried to talk to her. I told her it was just a dream, and asked her what was happening. All she could do was beg me to help her and cry. I stopped trying to talk to her, and laid down beside her. She wound her hands through her hair, found my breast, and nursed back to sleep. It didn’t take long before she rolled away from me, sound asleep. I stayed there beside her, trying to calm myself down after the adrenaline rush that her screaming had brought on.

In the morning we spent half an hour cuddling in her bed after we woke up, until she declared that her name was Nom-Nom McEat-a-lot and she needed her breakfast. She devoured a scrambled egg, a bowl of oatmeal, and half a basket of strawberries, washed down with a few ounces of cow’s milk and two oranges worth of juice. I didn’t ask her about her bad dream, and she didn’t mention it. I seem to be the only one with any trauma. I hope she forgot about it. I also hope it doesn’t happen again tonight--I'm not sure I can take it.