bittersweet

Last Sunday we went to the local market after church. We only needed a few things – just some meat for the week, some milk, and my newspapers for coupons. Some fruit. Just basic things; I could have gone another day.

The line was long, like it always is on Sundays; the market serves delicious chicken dinners on that day only and it’s not uncommon for the counter to be entirely lined up with the after-church crowd. Though our list was short, our wait in line to pay was long. As usual, Madeline sang to herself while waiting in the cart; she is oblivious to her surroundings unless anyone stops to talk to her – that’s when she’ll clam up, suddenly realizing she’s not alone in her living room.

Of course, someone did stop to chat. An elderly man got into line behind us and began talking with her; shockingly, Madeline chatted right back. It seems that she may have inherited my affection for conversations with old men. ”What’s that song you’re singing?” he asked.

“Well, it’s my song, you know? One I made up about princesses.”

“That so? Do you know ‘Happy Birthday’?” he asked, smiling at her. He scooted closer to hear her.

“Well, yeah.”

“Oh. I’ve always liked that song,” he told her. “It just might be my favorite. What’s your favorite?”

She thought a moment. “Princess songs. I love princess songs the best.”

“Well, sure,” he said, nodding. “I don’t know those, though, I don’t think. Do you like ‘Happy Birthday’? We could sing that one.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think so. It’s not really my favorite.”

“Maybe it’s his birthday,” I prompted her, worried suddenly that it was and that there was no one to sing to him. “Maybe you should sing!”

“Oh, no, it’s not my birthday today,” he told us. “Soon, though. This week,  I’ll be 87. And married for 65 years!” He shook his head. “Can you believe that? We got married on my birthday so that I’d never forget! I’ve had some good ideas and that was one of them!” He chuckled at his own trickery.

Madeline gawked openly at him. “Eighty-SEVEN?” she cried. “That’s A LOT.”

“I know it!” he laughed. “I know it!”

And then it was our turn to pay and he and Madeline waved bye-bye; we wished him happy birthday and happy anniversary and many more. I wanted to hug him, tell him I was happy for him – 87 and out and about, buying groceries, smiling - if only to stop the feeling of unfair that was crawling up my throat where it always rests in moments like these, causing a lump that makes it hard to swallow. Sometimes it tastes bitter, and others only bittersweet. Sunday, seeing Madeline giggling with him, it was only bittersweet.

Pushing the cart out to the car, I gave Madeline several kisses on the forehead and thought Grandpa would have love, love, loved you. He would be so damn delighted to talk to you, sing with you, swing with you. He would have laughed and laughed at the things you say.

I buckled her into her carseat and straightened back up in the winter air, meeting Jimmy’s eyes as he finished putting the groceries into the trunk. He knows me well, and he knew where my thoughts had traveled. He smiled and said, “My grandparents would have loved her, too.”

We know that they do, from near and far and wherever they are. Still, seeing what could have been in the here and now: bittersweet.

the good & the bad

Sara posted today about three things that she is good/bad at, and I thought it was fun so I’m going to try it out here. So here are my three good, three bad.

The Bad (aka the easy list!)

1. I am AWFUL at math. AWFUL. I get sweaty and panicky just remembering high school/college math courses, and nothing can make me feel more idiotic than being confronted by a sales rack and attempting to figure out where 30% off will get me. I struggled my way through Elementary Statistics and that is IT. Never again. (Until Madeline has to learn fractions and multiplication and I will somehow have to hide my own terror while attempting to help.)

2. I am awful at communicating frustration or upset. Most times I would rather chew my own hand off than tell someone that I’m unhappy/displeased/angry/frustrated. If it’s uncomfortable, it’s likely that I’ll avoid it. This is not a good trait to have in any area of your life, let me tell you, and I’m working on it.

3. I am bad in unfamiliar social situations. Some people are born to work a room and improvise, but not this girl. I have attended several networking and public speaking seminars and each time I have been intensely uncomfortable the whole time. Give me my friends that I know and love, please don’t stick me in a room of strangers and expect me to make friends, because the whole time I will be fretting over my hair/outfit/the idiotic thing I just said. I no longer have the capacity to create relationships out of thin air; I think I get more and more socially ackward as I age.

The Good

1. I am good with words. I like to write, and I like to think that I’m pretty decent at it. Creating original copy is actually part of my job description, so I feel pretty lucky that I get to do something (at least some of the time) that I enjoy. I’d like to write a bit more, and things that are more “my own” someday – and I’m working toward that this year. 2012 is the year of action!

2. I am a decent cook – that’s another thing that I enjoy. I love finding new recipes (hello, giant Pinterest board!) and trying them out, and I especially love it when they work and are something I’d want to make again. I love the happy litttle organizational routine of meal planning, even though I don’t do it every week – on the weeks when I do get it done, I feel very put-together.

3. I am good at keeping routines in place. Appointments, schedules – I am good with making sure that my family is where they need to be and get done what they need to get done. It’s not necessarily always on time (gosh, timeliness would be a good one for the “bad” list, I am not great with arriving on time) but I like to think that I’m mostly able to keep everyone ticking along as they should. I take a lot of pleasure in the night-before-school routine that Madeline and I have: packing lunch, backpack, bath, laying out clothes… it just feels great to get a head start on the day. (I imagine that this will wear off once she’s on a 5-days-per-week schedule.)

There! That wasn’t so bad. As Sara noted, it was much harder to come up with the “good” stuff.

(It was very difficult not to use entirely sarcastic answers for the good list, such as “I am excellent at eating ice cream” and “I totally excel at the Disney Princess game on the Wii.” Although that last one might be valid, have you tried to repair Cinderella’s clock tower? Sheesh.)

four going on fourteen.

Can I just take a moment to express disbelief that my daughter will be four years old in less than a month? I mean honestly. I can’t get over it; four. I remember her newborn days so well, and they seem like they weren’t that long ago, and yet this morning she argued with me about what she’d wear to school (the sweater we’d chosen together the night before was deemed unacceptable because the sleeves were “too crumply,” which I can only assume means that they do not fit her arms like Spandex) and told her dad that he was “ruining her life” because he wouldn’t allow her to wear more than one necklace to school.

“You should be more like my ANIMALS!” she told him, gesturing to the menagerie crowded onto her bed. “They don’t even talk to me and they don’t tell me NO MORE NECKLACES!”

Wait, did I say four? Maybe I meant fourteen. Either way, here it comes in all its sassy, independent brilliance.

:::

Speaking of sassy… MAN do we have it in spades at our house lately. It is hysterical except that it’s not, because you really don’t want to hear your child howling things like “YOU RUINED MY LIFE!” in public, you know? So we’ve been working pretty hard on curbing it.  This has meant a lot of tantrums and time-outs lately, and a lot of talks about kind words. So far, we’ve noticed a marked increase in the use of “please” and “thank you” – words that had fallen by the wayside, unfortunately – and an immediate realization when she has said something that qualifies as sassy.

This morning as we left for school, Jimmy handed Madeline her backpack. When she saw it, hanging in mid-air between them, she sighed and said “Just give it to Mom.”

“Madeline!”

A quick look, then another sigh. “I will carry it, then. Was that sassy?”

“Yes,” I said, biting my tongue against the I am not your servant that was bubbling up in my throat.  

:::

However, for every one of these four-going-on-fourteen moments of sassiness, there are several full of sweetness and silliness. The other morning as I was getting ready she brought her Oh Say Can You Say Di-no-saur? book into the bathroom and sat at my feet (literally on my feet), reading quietly. Then she piped “Look! You are the maiasaura because of her nest and her babies, and I’m apatasaurus, and Daddy is the brontosaurus with the long neck. We’re a family!”

She’s been reading so much, more than ever, and she has a few books memorized – most notably Too Purpley, which pretty much perfectly describes our morning routine of getting dressed. She knows most of her numbers and letters and shocks me daily with the things she suddenly knows – right before my eyes, she really is counting and recognizing some of her sight words. She is writing several letters like a champ, and has the M-A-D part of her name down pat. (We’re still working on E.)

We’re still working on a lot of things, but you know what? I think I’m going to love four. If history holds true, then I will love this coming year even more than the ones before… sassiness and all.

of jammies and jeans

Last night while Madeline was in the bathtub I got out her clothes for school this morning. I carried the shirt and pants into the bathroom where Madam was bathing and held the outfit up for her approval.

“PANTS?” she sighed. “I don’t like to wear pants.”

“I know, but it’s cold.”

“Emma doesn’t like it when we wear pants. And not jeans. If you wear jeans you can’t come to the party. Dresses are so much better. And boys wear jeans!!”

I sigh. I know. I have heard all of this before. “And what are you supposed to say when someone says something like that?”

“That we include everyone. And I wear what I like. And so does she. An’ everybody else too.”

“Right.”

“But I’m wearing my jammies tomorrow anyway, I’m not wearing any of those clothes.”

Um, news to me? I go into the kitchen and pull last week’s memo from my growing to-be-filed-or-tossed list. Nope, it’s still just Teddy-Bear Day, like I’d typed into my Outlook; they were to bring their “favorite bear” and slippers to wear.

“Maddie, no jammies tomorrow, maybe later this month for Catholic Schools Week.”

“What’s that?”

Why did I say that out loud? “It’s a week where you celebrate your school spirit… like how you like going to your school.”

“Oh. But Mrs. T. says that I can wear my jammies,” she insisted.

We went back and forth for several minutes. “Look, Maddie, I’m not sure, but I will pack some jammies in your backpack and if we get there and it’s jammie day I will take you in the bathroom and help you change, okay?”

“Okay,” she conceded, satisfied.

:::

Guess who was right when we got to her classroom today?

Madeline, of course.

Her classmates were running around in their jammies and slippers, and Madeline, clutching her bear, turned to me with a patient smile, the kind you reserve for naughty children or people who are clearly not getting the obvious. “MOM! See!!”

Her teacher laughed and told me that the kids had been so excited about slippers that she made the concession to jammies; there had been no time for a memo. “But it’s not required, or anything, just for fun,” she said.

I told her about Madeline’s insistence and apologized for not believing her; clearly she’d delivered the message just as her teacher had asked. Then I escorted Madeline to the bathroom where she quickly donned her bedtime gear. “It’s okay, Mom,” she consoled as she pulled her shirt over her head. “Everyone makes mistakes, you know? And you brought my jammies anyway, so that was a good job. We just haffa listen to each other, you know?”

(I always love these impromptu performance reviews, especially when I hear my own words repeated back to me – that line about listening is a classic of mine.)

The kids were so adorable playing in their jammies and slippers, and were clearly proud to show off their bears. Madeline’s choice was a “Peace” Beanie Baby that I’ve had for years; out of her whole motley crew he claimed her affection for the day. “He’s very colorful and beautiful,” I heard her explaining to a friend. “He was my mom’s but she gave him to me for good.”

:::

It’s sort of a good thing that it was jammie day in her classroom, because when I got her dressed today her clothes didn’t fit.

I’m not kidding, it was an overnight thing. I’d always thought that parents exaggerated about their children growing out of things “overnight,” assuming that they just weren’t paying attention. But there she was in front of me this very morning, all wrists and ankles in an outfit she’d just worn without issue last week – maybe Wednesday or Friday? It hasn’t been long, she loves the kitty shirt.  

“Madeline, you grew! Look, your pants are getting too short! I can see almost all of your sock!”

“So? I like these lacy ones.”

“I know, they’re cute, but you’re not supposed to see all of your sock with your pants on. You can’t wear those, you have to wear your jeans, those are way too short.”

This created a lot of huffing, because of all the clothes that one can wear to school, jeans are at the bottom because boys wear them too. ICK!

Anyway, jeans present a whole other set of difficulties in our household – you see, she really needs a belt with her pants depsite the adjustable waist (oh how I love the adjustable waist, thank you Children’s Place!) but I can’t do that to her just yet. She would have a really hard time with it in the bathroom, and I’m supposed to be fostering independence in that area, not burdening her with more snaps and buckles. Anyway, jeans require a long shirt/tunic to avoid wardrobe malfunctions, and once we found one we were good to go; however, she only has a few. Looks like we’ll be going shopping this weekend; I really cannot believe that I need to buy 5T clothes. That’s the last toddler size, isn’t it?

“How did this happen?” I wondered out loud, helping her into the jeans. ”I feel like I just put away your 6 month outfits.”

“Mom,” she sighed, “you know how this works. I eat my food and I sleep like a big girl and then – I grow! I grow bigger and bigger and bigger.”

“I know. We’ll have to get you some longer pants this weekend, okay?”  

“I can just wear my dresses,” she offered helpfully. “I don’t really need to have any pants at all. Or ever!”

Oh, my girliest of girls.

Christmas, captured

As promised, a few shots from Madeline’s Christmas pictures with Renee at HOPtography Photography. This little shoot was so much fun – Renee captured a ton of great shots that really captured Madeline’s personality. It wasn’t hard, given that she was extremely enthusiastic about posing herself. It is so much fun when she’s excited about these things!

Everything about these pictures makes me so happy. Her pictures from her first Christmas, when she was just 10 months old, are still hanging on the wall of photos; seeing this big grown-up girl next to that chubby, smily baby chokes me up a little. She is growing so fast… but her smile is still the same. I love that smile.