I spent the earlier part of the week visiting my grandmother, who is approaching 90 and has been dealing with serious health issues over the last nine months. All things considered, she’s doing well, at least right now, and I’m glad I took the trip to see her before I start the new job.
All posts by Pink Me Not Mom
My Father’s Watch
When my father died almost eight years ago, my mother gave one of his watches to my husband. It’s a beautiful timepiece, and my husband usually wears it on special occasions. My husband has never been a habitual watch-wearer, so this one has spent most days in its box.
Until the other day, that is. I rediscovered it after my own watch’s battery died. My watch is like an appendage. I’m very discombobulated without it. So, as I was looking for another watch that worked, I came across the box containing my dad’s precious watch. I studied the box for awhile. I then thought, maybe I can actually wear it.
I opened the box, and there it was, beckoning me. I put it on. The band is a little too big, but the rectangular face doesn’t overpower my wrist. It actually looks surprisingly nice. So I left it on, and except to shower and sleep, I haven’t removed it since.
Wearing it makes me feel closer to my dad. You see, I haven’t been to the cemetery in a really long time. It’s funny. I still think about him everyday, but I just don’t visit his grave very much anymore. He certainly doesn’t care whether I go or not – he’s dead – but graves are there to be visited, aren’t they? I sometimes feel like I’m breaking a cardinal rule about dead people that requires the living to make pilgrimages to the cemetery on a regular basis.
But now that I’m wearing the watch, I think I’m honoring my father infinitely more than a 5-minute visit to a headstone in the ground. Thanks, dad. I love you and miss you. And by the way, your taste in watches was truly impeccable.
In the Blink of an Eye
I return to work in about three weeks, and I’m nervous. Not about the job itself, but about closing the chapter on these last eight months with the girls.
Chances are, I’m not going to have another opportunity to be with them, in this way, ever again. They’ll be just fine. I’m not so sure about me. I’m already starting to look back on my time at home with them, thinking that I didn’t do everything I could have done with them. That I took the time off for granted, and that I spent too many days wiling the hours away instead of making every minute count.
I’m scared that once I return to work, we’ll fall back into the same never-have-a-minute-to-spare routine, where our too few hours together as a family are taken up by errands, worries and little time simply enjoying each other.
Chloe won’t necessarily admit it, but I think she liked having me around. We’ve had our share of disagreements, and she has frequently lost her temper with me, and that will, without a doubt, continue. But we’ve spent so many good moments together. Reading and writing. Playing games (although not nearly as much as she would have liked). Watching “Survivor.” Going to the movies.
Sure, we’ll continue to do those things. But I’m fairly certain that I won’t be as relaxed doing them as I’ve been these last few months. I’m by no means saying that I’ve always been relaxed – relaxing, for me, is something that I have to work at. But I’ve definitely improved since leaving my job last May.
And little Sophie. I’m going to miss being an accomplice to her antics everyday. And participating in her two-year old conversations. 
And dancing and jumping on the bed with her.
Luckily, the job is close to home. So I will see more of my family than I did when I was working in New York. I’m fortunate in that way (and in so many other ways), I know, to have been able to take this time off. It wasn’t easy to do it, but we managed.
Having me around more also benefited my husband. I still don’t iron, and I’m a crappy housecleaner, but we saw more of each other than we had in years, and that’s been really nice.
Life consists of many different episodes. Some last longer than others, and some pass you by in the blink of an eye. Eight months at home with Chloe and Sophie will someday seem like a little bleep on the radar of my life. But what a bleep it’s been…
Two Sides to Every Story
Her Side of the Story
I do worrywart really well. I returned home earlier this evening from a lovely day with my mom in New York City, where we celebrated my birthday with a nostalgic lunch at Junior’s and a Broadway show, The Farnsworth Invention.
As I turned into the driveway, I noticed all the lights on in the house, lights on in the garage, but no car. I went inside – my husband had set the alarm – and everything was in disarray. The TV was on, the newly bought Christmas tree was lying on the floor. I tried calling my husband’s cell phone, but it rang inside the house. He didn’t take it with him.
I got very nervous, very fast. I was shaking and had trouble thinking straight. Hell, I was even looking on the floor for signs of blood! I was terrified that something had happened to one of the girls. After a minute or two of absorbing the scene, I gathered my wits about me and found the phone number for the emergency room of the local hospital.
I was panicking, my hands were shaking, and I dialed the number. I explained the situation and asked if my family was there. Good news was that they weren’t. Bad news was that I had no idea where they were. Then I started thinking that everything just had to be ok. It just had to be ok.
To pass the time, I started folding laundry. It was the worst job of folding that I’ve ever done (and I truly suck at folding laundry). I watched every car that drove by. Finally, our minivan turned into the driveway.
His Side of the Story
It had been a somewhat hectic afternoon for Papa. They brought up all the Christmas ornaments from the basement. He then went with the girls to buy a tree. Found one he liked, but the place only took cash, so he had to find an ATM. Which he did, of course. Brought the tree home. Got it into the house. Tried to put it on the tree base.
But the tree base was broken. He tried to fix it (looked for tools in the garage, which explains why the lights in the garage were on when I returned), but the tree toppled over.
He interrupted the girls’ TV time to drag them to find a new tree base. They went to Bed, Bath & Beyond. No luck. Sold out. Tried Target. No luck. They’re sold out. Even took the time to indulge Chloe and quickly visited Game Stop, so that she could check out the Game Boy games.
A very long 45 minutes after I arrived home, he pulled into the driveway with the girls. I burst into tears of relief, but I was also pretty angry. He left the lights and TV on, because “it was just a quick errand.” This coming from the French boy, who has always berated me for wasting electricity by leaving lights on in the house. He thought my reaction was completely disproportionate, I think. To him, it was no big deal. He hadn’t been gone for long.
What a way to end the birthday weekend! Thankfully, my brood is healthy and happy. Off to Florida tomorrow. We’ll see what trouble they get into while I’m gone…Ugh!
That Was Then, This Is Now
Pardon me for feeling a bit nostalgic today. It’s my 39th birthday. With only one more year to go before the big 40, I’ve been thinking about my youth a little more than usual. Spending a lot of time with Chloe and Sophie over the last few months has also caused increased reminiscing on my part, to be sure.
It’s the Alarm Clock, Stupid!
I love Fridays. Mostly because the dawn of a Friday means I’ve just about survived another week of parenting. An added bonus is that it means the husband gets to enjoy the girls for the next two days while I try to avoid (not always successfully) doing anything with the girls that I don’t think is fun.
Daddy’s Little Girl
Sophie did not have a very good day today. It was mostly because I was around more than usual for a Thursday, which is her day with our beloved babysitter, whom she also sometimes calls “Grammy.”
Because of the crappy weather, I ran some errands and returned home a few minutes after Sophie had fallen asleep for her daily nap. Impeccable timing on my part. She wasn’t yet in a deep enough sleep not to hear me walk in. So she woke up in a very bad mood and cried and cried – the snot streaming down her face and onto her shirt. She finally calmed down, I went off to do some work, and she temporarily returned to her normal, happy self while playing with our babysitter, and then with Chloe and her friend.
The good times weren’t to last, however. Papa came home early, but he needed to go upstairs to work for another hour or so. Sophie caught a glimpse of my husband before he climbed to the attic, but she’s only two and doesn’t know the difference between 4 pm and 6 pm. For her, it was time for Papa stop typing and start playing. But Papa wasn’t ready to play. Shortly after he had closed the door to the office, she used her little legs to follow him all the way up the stairs. And she was stymied. The door was locked.
She lost it, and cried and cried some more – the snot streaming down her face all over again. She hollered one of her frequent laments: “Papa! Papa! Papa!” But there was nothing I could do, really. When I tried to hug her, she pushed me away. When I tried to comfort her, she went into the sunroom and closed the door behind her. When I really pissed her off by trying to show her some love, she ran into the coat closet and hid.
I chuckled at that move and Chloe did too. When Sophie finally emerged from the closet, she was still completely hysterical. And there was still nothing I could do. So I started to laugh a little harder. At which point, Chloe berated me. “Mommy, that’s not funny. Sophie hiding in the closet was funny. But she’s very sad.” And despite myself, I laughed some more.
Chloe then took over. And she did her best to console her little sister. It was very poignant. But no luck. Not until the three of us went upstairs to my bedroom, and I offered to host a session of jumping on the bed. At that, Sophie started to rein in the sniffles. And when she started to jump, the sniffles stopped. And the first hint of a smile appeared on her cute little face.
A little while later, Papa made his long-awaited entrance. Jubliant screams ensued. Not to mention silly faces like the one in the photo above. Happiness!
“I’m a Little Distracted”
Chloe’s Grammy (my mother) called a little earlier. Chloe and I each picked up a handset at the same time. Grammy asked Chloe how she was doing. “Fine,” was my daughter’s succinct reply. Grammy then inquired whether Chloe knew that she’s babysitting on Saturday.
This babysitting gig is very exciting for my husband and me, by the way. We haven’t had a date night in months. We sacrifice EVERYTHING for our children. We are MARTYRS for our kids. That’s not really true, but after spending countless days and nights, mostly nonstop, with my little ones, a night out is something to treasure. Anyway, the two of us will actually be celebrating my birthday by going out to see a movie that’s not a children’s cartoon, and to a restaurant for dinner that’s not the local pizzeria. Yippee.
Back to my little story. In response to my mom’s initial query about Chloe’s knowledge of her imminent visit, Chloe first said, “Yes,” and then said, “Actually, I didn’t know you were coming.” After a brief pause in the conversation, Chloe suddenly chimed in and explained her wishy-washy answer. “I’m a little distracted because I’m watching my TV shows right now. Goodbye.” At least she’s honest.
Scorecard:
A fulfilling telephone conversation with Grammy: a dime a dozen.
Watching an episode of “The Suite Life of Zack & Cody” for the twentieth time: priceless.
Barnyard Animals
Sophie loves her new wooden fold & go barn. It was a Hanukkah gift from her grandmother, and she drags it all over the house. The toy comes with seven realistic-looking farm animals: pig, turkey, dog, horse, cow, sheep, lamb and goat.
She seems to favor the dog and the horse, and I’m not sure why. She takes them everywhere with her. To Chloe’s bus stop in the morning, for rides in the car, to the couch for her nap. She also likes the turkey, but I think it’s more because she likes saying “turkey” out loud than because she has any real affinity for the poor bird.
Sophie is all business when she plays with the barn. She is careful to lay the animals on their sides for bed. And Sophie has instituted rules when the animals are sleeping: (1) the doors to the barn must remain closed, (2) we must not touch the animals, and (3) we must be quiet. Earlier today, we serenaded the inanimate objects with two of her favorite songs, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and “Now I Know My ABCs.” I think they all had a nice nap.
She is proud to show everyone who enters the house her new toy. And she is, not surprisingly, loathe to share it. With anyone, including her immediate family members. She is very concerned about their well-being and their happiness. Most amazingly of all, it’s been three days and she hasn’t yet lost one of the figurines. It’s true love, I think.
The Evolution of Sophie’s Speech
The ability to talk and to make oneself understood using speech is fascinating to me. It’s incredible that little tykes, barely two years old, with a whole lifetime ahead of them, begin to express themselves verbally at such a young age.
Chloe was a late bloomer. She started to talk after she turned two. We attributed this to a couple of things, but mostly because we speak both French and English at home. Now that she’s almost 7, we can’t get her to shut up. Sophie, however, is another story. Sophie’s first words predated her second birthday by a few months. In the beginning, Sophie, like most children, started to speak one incomprehensible word at a time. There weren’t many words, but she used them whenever the opportunity arose. Rather quickly, she began to increase her vocabulary.
For several months, we were convinced she was speaking some form of a Slavic language. Witness the accompanying heartwarming video of Chloe reading to Sophie. After a few seconds, you’ll hear Sophie’s mysterious dialect, as well as a few attempts to repeat words. This video was shot in August, about a month before her 2nd birthday.
Her speech has progressed impressively since then. She is now speaking in full sentences and increasingly repeating new words. The Slavic-sounding babbling has evolved into an almost perfectly understandable English.
And in a sure sign that we have another talker on our hands, I will share the following anecdote with you. We were having dinner at my Mom’s last night when Sophie, suddenly frustrated by something (I don’t remember what it was), came up to me and exclaimed, “Darn it!” She was very proud of her verbal acumen, and grinned at her own cleverness. But when we all started to laugh at her choice of words, she marched away in huff, clearly annoyed that we were not taking her seriously. That, of course, made us laugh some more. But it wasn’t over. Hearing the continuing guffaws, she dramatically turned around (not unlike Scarlett O’Hara) to face her giggling tormenters and cried, “That’s not funny!” Barely two, and yet she managed to get the last word in. Ironically enough, the rest of us, with an accumulated 150 years of talking experience, were speechless.