Category Archives: Frazzled Working Mom’s Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Monopoly

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It all started a couple years ago with a French version of kids’ Monopoly that Chloe’s aunt sent for Christmas. My big girl mastered it in no time. While we don’t play it as much as we used to, she and I played the other day. I lost in record time.

We were at my mom’s again today to spend some more time with my visiting family, when Chloe found an adult Monopoly (it was actually a knock-off) in my mom’s closet that had never been opened. It was a New York City version of the game that we knew to be at least 7 years old, since one of the more expensive properties for sale was the World Trade Center.

She started to play with one of her older cousins. The cousin’s token was a legendary New York style pretzel, and Chloe’s was the Empire State Building. She quickly took to the complexities of the game, and was soon making deals to trade and buy my cousin’s cards in order to increase the number of her monopolies. When the two took a break about an hour later, I think my cousin had a bit more cash on hand than Chloe did, and it looked as if the game was at a standstill.

Enter cousin #2 to relieve cousin #1. He confidently claimed that he was hyper-competitive when it came to Monopoly, and gladly took over. Chloe didn’t know what she was getting into. Or did she? I went in to see her shortly after they resumed play, and the first thing I noticed was all the money she had in front of her. And all the deed cards. My hyper-competitive cousin (who will be graduating from an Ivy League law school in May) had about $20 left to his name.

He was a little sullen, and claimed the reason for his woeful state was that he had taken one too many risks. Sure, cousin. Rationalize all you want. But face it. While your 7-year old cousin’s gaming resembled the bold (and profitable) moves of Goldman Sachs during the ongoing subprime mortgage crisis, your own strategizing was more like Citigroup‘s recent performance – simply not a pretty sight to behold.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

He’s Not Rich Enough

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While we’ve established that Sophie may not be a toddler genius, Chloe is, without a doubt, a political savant.

During our annual Thanksgiving dinner at my Mom’s place, Chloe amused everyone by showing off her vast knowledge of trivia. She asked everyone at the table to ask her questions. They ran the gamut:

What’s the capital of France? What’s the capital of the United States? What’s the capital of New Jersey? Who was the first President of the United States? What was the name of the ship the Pilgrims sailed to America? Who is the current U.S. President? As a bonus, Chloe threw in the names of Bush’s daughters and cat.

After a few rounds of family-style “Jeopardy,” someone asked her whom she would like to see as the next President. “Papa” was her heartwarming response (perhaps if Hillary Clinton gets elected, her response next time will be “Mommy”). The question that followed was “Why can’t your papa be President?” Expecting her to quote Article I, Section 2 of the U.S. Constitution verbatim, thereby gently reminding everyone that her Papa can’t be President because he’s not American, she did one better. Her response was simple, yet so incredibly astute, that we all were momentarily stunned into silence, before bursting into fits of laughter. Papa can’t be President, she confidently replied, “because he’s not rich enough.”

What this says about the state of our country’s political process when a 7-year old comes out with that doozy is beyond me. Watch out, all you highly-paid TV pundits. Chloe is close on your heels.

(For a related and timely article, click here)

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Genius?

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For about one minute earlier this evening, I thought my little Sophie was a genius.

Chloe and I had started playing a game of Rummikub and were in the process of selecting and organizing our tiles. Sophie partook in the fun by choosing tiles of her own.

As we were getting ready to make our first moves, Sophie pointed to one of Chloe’s tiles and exclaimed, “10!” She did that a few times before I realized what was happening, and when I looked at tile she was eyeing, it was indeed a 10.

I was amazed. My husband, who was watching this scene unfold, just snickered (that’s because he’s French). When he suggested that we ask Sophie to identify the numbers on other tiles, I readily complied.

And faster than a snap of the fingers, my dream (ok, that’s not really my dream) of her being the youngest member of Mensa was quickly deflated. For Sophie, all of the other tiles were 2s or 3s, regardless of the actual number displayed.

And then I remembered. This is a toddler whose aptitude for counting by numbers goes something like this: “oneee, twooooo, threeeee, nineeeee, tennnn” (I’ll have to add audio to provide readers the full effect). Admittedly, not a bad start for a two-year old. But I won’t be sending in her application for MIT anytime soon.

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Tenacious C

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No, this post is not about Jack Black’s musical alter ego, Tenacious D. This entry is actually about my tenacious Chloe.

Earlier today, the first morning after receiving her no-TV-for-three-days punishment, Chloe played games on the computer. One of her favorite sites is Funbrain, which is supposedly educational. And some of it is indeed minimally pedagogical.

Anyway, she decided to make her way through an “arcade” of different games, where you can’t move on to the next game in the series until you’ve conquered the current game. She was proceeding along nicely until “Mighty Girl.” The concept is cute enough in theory – a young girl draws a pencil cartoon in her math journal, and the cartoon comes to life for the game. Mighty Girl has to overcome obstacles by running past them, jumping over them or ducking from them. Chloe hit a roadblock. She couldn’t get past the third screen and was growing increasingly frustrated at her inability to finish.

But the thing is, with Chloe it’s never just simple expressions of frustration. It’s always accompanied by tears, yelling (specifically, that my computer “stinks!” – which, I am ashamed to admit, she learned from me, because I can’t stand our laptop), banging and lots of tears.
Yet, she would not give up. I told her to play a different game. “But if I don’t finish this game, I won’t be able to move ahead in the arcade.” I told her to take a break from “Mighty Girl” and try it again after school. That reasonable comment earned me a scornful glare. When none of my words of wisdom calmed her down, I resorted to threats: “If you continue to act like this, not only will you be grounded from TV for 3 days, but you’ll also be grounded from the computer.” That didn’t help much, either.

I even tried the game myself. But I was never very good at video games, and I thought this one was just plain stupid in its execution.

With minutes to spare before my having to plead with her (yes, it makes me crazy that I have to plead with her at all) to stop playing and get ready to walk to the bus stop, and after what seemed like 1,000 “Mighty Girl” fatal injuries (the character gets crushed by loose, rolling wheels, among other things), she conquered the game. I was pretty impressed. Not impressed with her behavior, mind you. But fairly amazed by her ability to work through the tears and master the game.
She’s started to ask me about Nintendo Wii, but I say, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Hess Trucks

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A few years ago, in an effort to show Chloe that toy trucks aren’t just for boys, my mother bought her a Hess toy truck for the holidays. It’s really cool – a big semi that holds two speedy racecars with reverse friction motors. Chloe was amused by it for a bit, and then we relegated it to the basement when she tired of its play quotient.

We took it out again for Sophie’s enjoyment, and I’m happy to report that she thinks it’s the coolest thing since no-crust sliced bread. Especially those little cars. This morning we spent some time playing racecar roly-poly, zooming the car back and forth to each other. “Awesome!” she exclaimed (of course, when I asked her to repeat the word, since it was the first time I had heard her use it, she refused with a big self-satisfied grin). We had a grand old time together.

Hess annually releases a new collectible truck for the holidays, and this year’s model is a monster truck with two motorcycles. The name of the truck is particularly a propos, given our little Sophie’s sometimes monstrous behavior, so I plan to buy it in order to further inculcate our little one in the importance of not falling prey to gender stereotypes. The lesson won’t be coming too soon. A few minutes after our truck bonding experience, she was brushing the hair of the figurines in Chloe’s My Little Pony collection. Oh, well. At least her interests are varied.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Homework Blues

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Woe is me. At the beginning of the school year, Chloe and I agreed that her after-school schedule would be as follows:

(1) treat
(2) homework
(3) play/tv
(4) dinner
(5) play
(6) bed

For the most part, I’ve been fairly strict about adhering to the rules. The one exception is Thursdays, when our babysitter watches the girls and I have several uninterrupted and precious hours of alone time. Today, our babysitter gave Sophie and Chloe a break from the rainy weather and took them to the local McDonald’s to play at the indoor playground.

When they got home, I reminded Chloe that she had some homework to do. But it was 6 o’clock, which is her usual TV time. She asked if she could do her work after the shows, and since I was not in the mood for a screaming child (she had already taxed my patience earlier today during a rare morning bath), I acceded to her request. To her credit, this is not something she asks to do often, as she is actually pretty diligent about her homework. But stupid, stupid Mommy nonetheless.

Truth be told, I’ve actually enjoyed helping her with her daily assignments. I look at that 1/2 hour as an opportunity for us to talk about her day at school. And I admire her facility with math, and her increasing ease with reading.

In another break from the rules, she completed the math portion of her homework during the TV commercials. But the reading part was more complicated than usual, so we didn’t start it until after her show was over at 7 pm.

It would be generous of me to say that she was distracted. She needed to answer some reading comprehension questions, and it took her FOREVER (ok, I’m exaggerating) to write her responses. And since I’m never going to win any awards for my patience, this was torture. She was unfocused and sloppy. At one point, she needed to write “Mr. Green,” a character in the text she had just read. It took her FIVE times to spell it correctly – at one point Chloe had even transgendered him – even though the name appeared at the top of the page. Following are Chloe’s various permutations of Mr. Green:

(1) Ms. Green’s
(2) Mr. Greern
(3) Mr. Gereen
(4) Mr. Greeen

She practically erased a hole into her paper. After 30 excruciating minutes, the ordeal was finally over. Of course, my frustration grew in direct proportion to my recognition that this was all my doing.

Chloe is in first grade. There are about 7 more months in first grade. And an additional 110 months of schooling before she graduates from high school. And when you add Sophie into the mix, that’s yet another 30 months. So 147 school months until both girls are in college (hopefully), which translates into 147 months of assignments. Suddenly, homework has lost some of its appeal.

Calgon, take me away!

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

It’s Not Enough to Have One Fashionista in Training

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This anecdote was recounted to me by my husband. He suggested I add it to my blog, so here goes.

Let me preface the following story by emphasizing the fact that while I think I have a decent sense of style, I am not “Project Runway” material, nor do I shop as if I believe I’m “Project Runway” material. I don’t spend hordes of money on clothes, and much of what I have in my closet was purchased years ago. As for my husband, any sense of style he has is thanks to me. I also wish my dearly departed father was here to witness these episodes. He may no longer be with us physically, but his fashion sense thrives in his grandgirls.

You’ve already read about Chloe’s attempts to discover her sense of style (and her struggle with making choices). It seems that Sophie has now caught the bug, too.

Forgetting that Sophie had a YMCA gym date with her father, our babysitter tried to put pajamas on Sophie after her bath. Sophie started to cry and protest when confronted with her nightclothes. Now, I’d like to think that Sophie is really smart. To the point of knowing that today is Wednesday, which means fun gym class with papa before bedtime. But that’s just wishful thinking on my part. She simply didn’t want to put on her pjs.

My husband came to our babysitter’s rescue, and carried Sophie to her closet so that she could choose an outfit. Note to Papa: Didn’t you learn anything from my blog posting about Chloe the other day? For crying out loud, Sophie’s only two! At least I waited until Chloe was six to give her the chance to break down in tears over clothes.

So what did Sophie take from her shelves? Believe it or not (although I guess if I’m being honest, it’s no surprise), she pulled out her denim mini-skirt and her pink (yes, pink – it’s very hard to avoid pink in a girl’s wardrobe) tunic shirt (see photo above). What did she exclaim once my husband dressed her? “Pretty!” Shoot me now.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

In Today’s News

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SOPHIE

(1) Didn’t throw a fit…at all. She remained calm and happy for most of the day. There were some grunts and groans, and crocodile tears, but nothing Super Pink Me Not Mom couldn’t handle.
(2) Had another stellar session of creative movement (see my update to the initial blog post here).
(3) Voluntarily went to the couch to take her afternoon nap. All of that dancing exertion must have wiped her out.
(4) Informed me that she had made number two and assumed the horizontal “change my diaper” position without my asking her to do so.
(5) Has a new favorite exclamation: “Gross!” (not difficult to guess where that comes from; see below for her inspiration)
CHLOE
(1) Also had a decent day, with minimal angst and frustration.
(2) Upon being informed that her Grammy was in the delivery room (along with her papa) when she was born, asked, “Did I come out of your v____a?” To which I responded very matter-of-factly, “Yes, you did.” Her reaction: “That’s GROSS!” You don’t know the half of it, sweetie.
(3) Made a good-faith effort to remain seated at the dinner table until her father told her she could be excused. That’s not to say that she accepted her fate without protest; the protests simply came in one-minute intervals instead of every 30 seconds.
(4) Hugged my husband and me this evening without our asking her for one. Mind you, she’s thankfully not at the stage where hugging us humiliates her, but I have noticed that she doesn’t do it as frequently as she used to.
MOMMY
In a stupefying feat of baking, I made a pear tart from scratch (including the crust). Book club friends, if any of you read this entry before our gathering tomorrow night, consider yourselves on notice that you are going to be my guinea pigs. If you give my creation your seal of approval, I will replicate it for Thanksgiving at my mom’s next week.
All in all, a very excellent day.
Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Music in Sophie?

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Does she or doesn’t she? That is the question…at least for my brother. My dear sibling is a jazz musician and he is very disappointed in my husband and me. Why, you ask? I don’t think he has any quarrels with our parenting (I mean, how could he? His child, Lucy, is not of the human species – she’s a yellow lab), but he is crushed that we missed our chance to turn Chloe into a musical prodigy.

A few weeks ago, my brother and I had a long conversation about lots of things, including his youngest niece. He’s currently in the throes of getting his Ph.D. in music education in Austin, Texas, and is convinced that if we don’t act soon with Sophie (i.e., within the next couple of weeks), all hope will be lost for her too. Which makes him very sad. You see, our great-grandfather was a well-known musician in Russia (before the Revolution), who was able to immigrate to the United States largely because of his talents. The musical aptitude then skipped a couple of generations before planting itself in my brother, who happens to be a rather gifted guitarist.

I took piano lessons when I was much younger, but never really liked it (come to think of it, I tried a lot of extracurricular activities that I didn’t like, and my parents indulged my lack of sticktoitiveness to an extent that I refuse to replicate for my kids). So now my muscially inclined brother is hoping that his sister’s last child (’cause the factory’s closed, folks) will carry on the tradition.

Uncle James, this video is dedicated to you. Let us know what you think. Is there hope for our little Sophie, who has paid tribute to Beethoven with her own version of “Symphony No. 9 (Ode to Joy)“?

Frazzled Working Mom's Fleeting Moments (2007-2013)

Creative Movement?

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Update 11/13/07: Sophie followed instructions again! Not all of the instructions, but most of them. She danced backwards, forwards and sideways. She excelled during circle time warm-up, and helped clean up the props. There’s hope for this toddler, yet!

Sophie likes to dance (see photo to left, Exhibit A).

So when it came time to enroll Sophie in a YMCA class, I thought it would be fun for the two of us to bond while creatively moving across the dance floor, since she seems to have a knack for it (see video below, Exhibit B).

With a feeling of irrational anticipation (adjusting to the stay-at-home gig has been a bit trying for me, to say the least), we went to the first class a few weeks ago. The instructor, a lovely woman who teaches at a local studio, warned all of us caregivers that the children might not participate, at least in the traditional sense, right away. They might simply observe, or make up their own moves. All of this is good, she told us.

No problem, I thought. Sophie loves to shake her booty. But Sophie often moves to the beat of her own drummer. And her listening skills are not yet as honed as her mischief-making skills. She is only two, I remind myself, ad nauseum. She’s also the youngest in the class. First session, she mostly watched. Second class, slight improvement. Third class, complete and utter meltdown. You get the picture. Until today, the only thing she seemed to enjoy was climbing on top of my back during warm-up when I’m on all fours trying to demonstrate the moves to her (“trying” is the operative word here) .

It thus came as a huge surprise when, at class this morning (after a minor tantrum when I tried to get her in the car), she creatively moved! We’re not talking 100% participation, mind you, and she didn’t always follow the teacher’s instructions. But she made a good-faith, smiling effort to move like a duck and like a spider, and she leapt and “swam” in the water (represented, of course, by a blue hula hoop).

Even our kindly teacher noticed the difference: “There’s been a breakthrough!” she exclaimed at the end of the class. Indeed, there was marked improvement. Even I had fun.

I’m currently taking bets on the last two classes. Will the progress continue, or will Sophie revert to her old ways? Tune in next week – same time, same channel – to find out…