Why does this feel so long ago?

Like (grand)mother, like (grand)daughter

Young mothers usually reaches a point where they recognize their own mother in themselves.  I think that's common.  This weekend, however, I turned into my grandma.  It took my new friend, Tammy, to help me realize it.  Tammy goes to St. Gertrude's.  She knows grandma.  Now she knows me.  We were attending a retreat at church (Example 1.)  There were about 40 women there all weekend.  We ate a lot, we drank a lot, we had a lot of plastic bottles and cans.  It seemed silly not to recycle so I found some bags and separated the cans and bottles (Example 2.)  While I was separating the trash Tammy asked me why I brought a crock pot full of soup.  I told her because my potatoes were starting to sprout and if I didn't use the mushrooms they need to be thrown out (Example 3.)  Tammy said "You're like a little Shirley Maune."  I'll take that.

A uniquely maternal feeling

Poppy had her preschool assessment today.  Each of the girls has done one in advance of starting school.  Poppy was the first one who wouldn't go without her mama.  At first I was frustrated by her neediness but then I was flattered (is that wrong?)  Either way I got to see the administration of the Dial 3.  Miss Eyvonne is so sweet and motivating you feel like the mother of a prodigy even as your three year old answers "TWO!" when asked her first name.   Overall she did really well.  There was one activity where Miss Eyvonne had a variety of circles, squares and triangles in different colors and sizes.  She asked Poppy to pay attention telling her that she would need to do exactly the same thing when it was her turn.  Miss Eyvonne made three piles, one for all of the circles, another for all of the squares and the last for all the triangles.  I thought ugh.  But then, like she had been sorting and stacking her whole life, Poppy did the whole thing correctly.  (In my mind she might as well have cured cancer...I actually got teary-eyed.)  My pride quickly disolved to a feeling I can only describe as maternal...never, before having children, had I felt this way.  I suspect it's a feeling I will forever know.  When asked to cut with scissors she tried and tried and then she put her head down in shame and said  "I can't do it."  My heart broke.  I was sad for her, I felt like I had failed her, I was mad at Miss Eyvonne for not moving on before her shame set in, I was afraid she might never learn to cut, and on and on and on.  I know why they don't usually like parents to be present for the Dial 3.

Childhood magic

The sun has shone!  Finally.  After a seemingly eternal, gray winter the sun was out today and we broke 70.  To celebrate we packed a McDonald's dinner and headed to the park with our cousins.  There wasn't much eating happening but, thanks to Daddy Pettet (who can do the best underdog in the whole world) there was a lot of swinging. Every swing was full with a hiney and every face was full with a smile.  Not your everyday pose for the camera smile but a huge, this-is-as-good-as-life-gets-for-a-kid smile.  Swinging is truly one of the most magical childhood past times.   I still swing sometimes, but it's not the same.  I hope my girls have years of the aforementioned swinging left in their lives.  They deserve that kind of magic.  Daddy and I deserve those kinds of smiles.

My new tardiness theory

I just watched the neighbor kid running to school (late.) I think the rates of tardiness are inversely correlated to proximity to the destination.  I can make it to a St. Louis meeting on time, but somehow can't get to church by 9:00 AM.

Life imitates art

We have a lot of princesses in our house.  Girls, movies, dolls, dresses, panties...you name it, we have it with princesses.  I think we've seen all of the Disney princess movies and the favorite depends are the day and the real life princess.  Yesterday, Poppy was watching Cinderella at Mary's.  She told Mary that stepsisters are mean.  Then she told Mary that Meredith was her stepsister.  Hmmm...

Tell-it-like-it-is Gal

I always hear these great stories from other parents about the divine or inspiring things their children have said. I am not hearing those things from my girls.  They might say them, but I am not tuned in enough to hear them.  The quotes that stand out for me tend to be LOL worthy.  I took Poppy to the bathroom at Bob Evans yesterday after she nearly panicked and declared that her poop is almost coming out.  I don't usually rush because that Poppy is a fibber, but this time I sped up because a huge mess seemed eminent.  Long story short:  we get there, she mounts, no poops, just potties because as she tells it her "hiney is empty."  Makes sense, especially if you are two.

Tell me what I want to hear

I am out of town this week and while I have tried to call home daily to talk to my girls, I didn't make it today.  I didn't even get to my hotel room until 8:00.  My girls go to bed at 7:00.  I just hung up the phone with Bradly and made a point to ask "They didn't miss me did they?"  Courteously (and probably honestly), Brad answered no.  It got me thinking about a powerful maternal skill that was obviously born of necessity in the absence of our children.  I think they call it ignorance.  Not ignorance as in dumb, but ignorance as in don't ask, don't tell.  Interestingly today I heard two other similar stories from mothers.  Early this morning, a state legislator was providing insight to being in politics while raising children.  While her kids are grown and largely out of the house she suggested that sometimes you don't want to know what they are doing.  You work hard to raise good productive adults (note we do not raise children, we raise adults) and then you have to step away.  She advised that you do not want to know everything.  Later, I was talking to a professional woman who once lamented that she would miss some of her daughters' early milestones when she returned to work after giving birth.  Her childcare provider lovingly reassured her that "no firsts happen here."  I am not sure fathers have this same need, but as a mother I am grateful sometimes for what I do not know.