In a continuing campaign to make it harder for the rest of the parents to meet our children's expectations, Alex had pony rides AND a petting zoo at her birthday party. It was a big hit (although the kids seemed to enjoy the fantastic park and playground as much as the pony and baby animals).
I got to pet a baby goat.
Please enjoy the first entry in what I am sure will be a series, to unfold over the coming six months. Warning: contains graphic, scientific and personal content.
So Jason informs me that he and Lucy were having a conversation about whether or not she will like Lemon (this is the name she has given Future Baby since I told her it was "about as big as a lemon").
Jason: "What if you don't like it? Can we put it back?"
Lucy: "NOOO, we can't put it back after it comes out."
Jason: "Why not?"
Lucy: "Because it won't go back in mom's butt."
Jason: "Oh."
Incredulous at the IMMATURITY of this conversation, I ask, "Did you tell her it's not coming out of my butt?!" Jason says, "No!" I say, "No?!" Jason says, "You tell her!"
So I do. Later that night, as I am tucking her into bed...
Me: "Lucy, you know the baby is not coming out of mom's butt, right?"
Lu: "That's where Alex told me it comes from."
Me: "Nope. Do you want to know where it will come from?"
Lu: "Uh huh."
Me: "My vagina."
Lu: "Oh."
As in "Mama needs a cheeseburger" or "Damn, Mama's tired." It's because I am going to be a mama. Again.
Yes, it's true. At the end of August, there will be a new person living at our house. We are all excited, mostly Lucy. We told her Saturday before last and she kept wanting to see my belly, which she insisted was getting bigger (see cheeseburgers, above). Later that day, I was in the shower and she stuck her head in the bathroom to ask in a very grave voice, "Mom, how's the baby?" I replied, "Fine..." "Good," she said and shut the door.
When you next see her and she shares our news, please act surprised. She will likely say, "I have something VERY exciting to tell you! There's a baby in my mom's belly and it's just starting to grow in!" Just starting to grow in...like new grass or a bad haircut.
Today Jason and I attended the new parent orientation at Highland Park Elementary School, where Lucy will be a kindergartner next year. Yes, a kindergartner.
I walked in the door of the 50-year-old elementary school and the distinct smells of cafeteria lunch and industrial cleaner transported me to Wooldridge Elementary, circa 1978. Ah, school. The cheery effort displayed on every wall. The little jackets on little hooks. The noise. I don't remember much from kindergarten except the eternal nap time, but by first grade, I was in love with school. The world was at once so small (studying the intricate details of the wood grain pattern of my desk) and so big (learning about the Iranian hostage crisis).
As unreal and scary as it is to imagine her in that big/small new world, the very school-ness of the place was comforting to me. She will love it as much as I did.
...when life is confusing, distressing, character-testing and generally kind of crappy, you have to focus on what really matters: chocolate cake. And also a nice dinner. And pink tulips. And good friends.
Tonight Lu was making a very complicated Valentine card for our friend Katie, and I asked her if she needed help with the glitter glue. She replied, "Nope, I've got it under control" and waved me away.
?
I just want you to know that when she later needed help spelling EVERY WORD of the note included in said valentine, I did not say, "Well, well, well, who's got it 'under control' now, smarty pants?" But I really wanted to.
When I first met Melanie, she was a teenager. She talked to me about boys. In the 14 years since then, she has become a woman, my sister, a wife and now...a mother. And she is still talking to me about boys — one in particular:
He is the prettiest baby I have ever seen. I will tell him this his whole life and it will embarrass him when he gets older, but I won't care because I am his aunt and I am embarrassing. I also plan to tell his girlfriends and the other guys at soccer.
As explained by Lu to Baga, who told Nini, who told me:
"Tinkerbell, Santa Claus and God all live far away.
Tinkerbell isn't that far — she just lives at Disneyland.
Santa Claus is really far, because he lives at the North Pole.
And God, he lives (gesturing wide with her arms) WAY, WAY far away in heaven. BUT (pointing to her heart) he is always in here."
Her theory sounds like it's only missing the part about how they all three walk into a bar. I have no idea where she comes up with this stuff. All I know is I have talked to her far more about Santa Claus than I have either Tinkerbell or God. She does seem to have them vaguely in the right order, if power is measured by distance. Or something.
Last night, Jason and Lucy made these fruit stoplight sculptures, and I offered to make Lucy fruit salad with the rest of the fruit. As I tried to explain about the really delicious honey, lime and ginger dressing I'd put on it and she said, "Ew, no thanks."
Jason said, "I know, Lu, ask Mom to make some of her very special FRUIT MIX?!"
"Fruit mix?! Yum! Mom, will you make your special fruit mix?" Lucy replied.
"Ah yes, fruit mix," I said, "With honey, lime and ginger."
"Now ask your mom if she works in advertising."
Today, we had a conference with Lucy's new teacher, Ms. Aycock. Ms. Robinson moved up to the kindergarten classroom, and although we were sad about that, we think Ms. Aycock is sweet. What is not so sweet: the classroom's social dynamic. There are 12 girls and 2 boys in the class, and the result of all that girl power is something pretty ugly. We have discovered over the course of the last month or so that we've basically got a preschool version of Heathers going on.
Lucy has talked about being excluded and ignored, having certain girls say mean things to her. Ms. Aycock confirmed all this, making it clear that Lucy is the victim, not the aggressor (which both relieved and saddened me). Ms. Aycock and school staffers are actively trying to correct this unfortunate queen bee dynamic. Jason didn't seem as disturbed as I was by this situation — clearly he's never been on the receiving end of girly cruelty. My own experience with it in middle school was pretty traumatic, but I came through it a kinder person.
As hard as I try to imagine what the four-year-old version looks like, I can only picture some tiny version of uniform-clad Upper East Side girls, and it isn't pretty:
