Older is Not Necessarily Less Fun

A few nights ago I went with some friends to the midnight showing of The Hunger Games. We left once our children were in bed, and after one of our husbands returned from a meeting. We arrived at the theater to find lots and lots of teenage girls. And we felt a little old, because we were older than the vast majority of the vastly female audience filling most of the theater. Still, we enjoyed our girls' night out probably as much as any of them. And we weren't so different.

We did not braid our hair, make t-shirts, pick teams according to the male character we hoped the female lead would eventually choose (seems kind of pointless since the entire series is out), or paint our skin and hair. We did, however, play games, take pictures of ourselves, drink caffeine, and generally fill in the member of our group who hasn't read any of the books but came along for the fun. And, inspired by the row of girls playing the "I Never..." game behind us, we discussed some of the craziest things we've done. Our stories were much better than theirs; we've been to college.

Then, when the movie was over, we spent the ride home discussing the cinematography, the effects of violence in our culture, the quality of writing in the books and the modern day location of the various districts of Panem. And, in all my 2:30 a.m. haze, I was grateful to be at a place in life where I have friends who want to be a little crazy and go to movies in the middle of the night, spend the ride home discussing the cultural and political messages of the story and the editorial choices in adapting the books to film, and would drowsily commiserate with me when we all took our daughters to Kindermusik at 9:15 the next morning.

The only thing missing was Sheena, the friend who got us all reading The Hunger Games in the first place.

Striped Tights and Other Fashion Adventures

We've reached that glorious stage through which every little girl must pass. We're out of the nudist phase (mostly) and into the independent dressing phase. This phase is distinguished by garish clothing choices, pattern mixing, multiple outfits per day for no apparent reason, a puzzling refusal to wear certain perfectly cute articles of clothing and an obsession with one or two particular items that can never be worn too many days in a row.

A jumper that's too small, gym shorts and technicolor striped tights? Sure. Heck, those tights will also go nicely with a plaid skirt and heart patterned shirt. At least it's easy to find her in a crowd!

On Becoming an Adult

When I was little, I thought that adults wanted to floss their teeth and clean the house. They wanted to do all those things that I had to do and hated, like eating foods that I found disgusting. Being an adult would be wonderful, I believed, because I would do all the same things I already had to do, but I would want to do them. I also believe that all adults went to bed at 10pm. My parents told me their bedtime was 10pm, and I certainly wasn't up that late to check. Little did I know.

Now that I've joined this elite group we call grown-ups, I've realized some things:

1 - My mom and dad probably weren't really going to bed at 10, but they could tell us that because saying that they had no bedtime at all probably would have been too much for me to handle. Becoming an adult means that you transcend bedtime, but it also means that you feel it a lot more if you forgo bedtime altogether.

2- While some foods, like peas, do become delicious when your tastes mature, some still aren't that great. However, being an adult means that you determine the menu. So Spanish rice never makes it onto our menu. If I don't like it, I'm not going to cook it. That's why we almost never ate French Toast growing up; Mom didn't like it. Adulthood brings not only improved in enjoyment of many foods, but also reduction of necessity of eating foods you don't like.

3- Adults don't particularly want to vacuum the couch any more than kids do. However, they want the couch to be vacuumed badly enough to do it anyway. The pain of the problem is greater than the pain of the solution. I took a major step toward adulthood when my uber-messy roommate moved out and I decided that I wanted my bed made and my floor free of clutter just because I liked having my room clean. The journey was complete when I started teaching Scout to admire how pretty the Living Room looks when she's done cleaning up her toys at night.

4 - I'll probably never want to floss. The rewards are a little farther away than even my adult mind can grasp. Accompanying a friend to have her rotting teeth pulled out and replaced by dentures helped, but even that wasn't thoroughly motivating. I'll go ahead and confess that I still don't floss my teeth every day (sorry, Mom). But I do do it often because, for me, flossing your teeth is the ultimate sign of maturity. Flossing is an activity engaged in by the most adult of adults, those who really have it all together. So, every time I take those extra 45 seconds to floss, I feel really good. I feel like I have my life together. Flossing is my way of telling myself that I am an adult and I no longer need to be told to pick up my socks, make my bed or eat my vegetables. Flossing makes me feel old, in the best sense of the word.

Why?

Why don't my children sleep anymore? They're really sweet and cute from 6am until 7:30pm. But, by about 7:45pm, they're supposed to be soundly sleeping so I can work or relax or whatever it is that I need to do. They're not cute anymore. Staying up until well past nine whining, eating or generally demanding that I continue to be a parent for a full 24 hours rather than the 13.5 hours a day I prefer is just not doing it for me. They used to sleep so well. What happened?!

Sometimes I wonder...

...does she say to herself, What's the most inconvenient place I can possibly put my play kitchen? Here, between the kitchen and the front room? While Mom is trying to get lunch on the table and going back and forth? Yep, that will work.

Oh wait, there's still a way into the front room if Mom goes all the way down the hall and through the other doorway....

Yep, that will work.

The Highlight of My Days

Farewell to Winja

For the better part of a year now, Scout hasn't been able to say her own name. She knows a lot of obscure words, but Virginia wasn't one of them. Instead, she briefly called herself "Nina," which eventually morphed into "Winja." She's been Winja all through the delightful phase of referring to herself in the third person. "What's Winja doing?" "Winja is reading." "Winja is playing with dolly." "Winja is sad."

Winja narrates her life a little more than most, I think. This is probably my fault because I believed all those books that said to develop language by talking to my child about all the things I was doing. I suppose this practice may have contributed to her abundant language, but it has almost definitely also led her to believe that whatever one is thinking should be announced to the world. We hear all her inner conflicts, "no, don't kick mommy," and everything she's contemplating, "play with dolly," and have the opportunity to stop bad ideas before they turn into unfortunate action, "grab Thomas." Of course she's now moved on to pronouns and refers to herself as you (because everyone else calls her "you"). And most recently, she's gotten a fairly solid mastery of I, me and mine. Winja, however, remained the name she called herself.

Then, a few weeks ago, I heard her carefully sounding out "Vir-gin-ia." Well, at least we knew she could say it. Then she repeated it a few times, as if to show that she could. Unlike most of her developments, I didn't really applaud or celebrate this one. I liked Winja. It's endearing and easy to pronounce and works well enough. Nevertheless, I've noticed her calling herself Winja less and less. She almost exclusively refers to herself as Virginia now. And it makes me sad that my little girl is growing out of things. At long last, she's grown out of not being able to say her own name. Some things she'll grow out of and I won't miss, like diapers. But this one I'll miss. Like the tiny onesies I was so sad to tuck away every few months as she grew out of being a baby, I'm sad to let go of her self-appointed nickname and be back to plain old Virginia.




There are certain outfits that remind me of certain stages, like the clothes she wore the summer she crawled everywhere. Winja, I think, will always remind me of Scout learning to run, loving to jump, beginning to sing songs in somewhat recognizable tones, developing a vivid imagination, moving into a bigger bed and becoming a big sister.


A few weeks before Thomas was born, Scout and I spent an afternoon out in the courtyard in front of our apartment building. She and I went up and down the hill and crunched through the fall leaves. We pretended a round cement block was a birthday cake, then we ran around and around the circle. After a while, I sat down in the grass and watched her practice going up and down the stairs without help. Someday she'll be confident enough to always go up and down the stairs without holding my hand. And when I'm carrying groceries and a baby, I won't mind. But I also try to remember that she won't always be so willing to take my hand and need me, even if it is just a little.It was a wonderful afternoon of relaxing and enjoying my daughter just exactly where she was.






As I watched her, I reflected on how far she's come. When I watch her prancing around and doing her funny little walks, I remember how long it took her to crawl and how hard she worked to be able to walk. I love to watch her run, even if it means she runs away from me sometimes. I'm never sad that she runs because for such a long time she wanted to run so much and couldn't. Now, at last, she runs around and around the living room and, even though she's been doing it for months, it makes us both rejoice.

Some of the best parenting advice I think I've ever received is to enjoy the stage your child is in and not spend all your time wishing for the next development. I do try not to pass too much time pining for the next stage, even when she wants it even more than I do. Conversely, I guess I shouldn't spend too much time mourning how little and cute she used to be and the fun things she used to do. I've tried to live in these moments and enjoy her discovering life in so many ways. And I know exciting things are yet to come with new developments that will be just as celebrated. I must confess, though, that I will always look fondly back on Winja and may sometimes, just for a minute, wish that I could have her back.

Loving Big Sister

Despite the fact that Scout still seems to think Thomas lives at the hospital and will go back there someday, she does her best to keep him happy. She sings him songs when he's sad and lets me know whenever she thinks he might want his binky.


The other day I decided to hang a few toys from his car seat handle. Scout liked the idea and decided to bring him more. By the time I was able to convince her that he had enough toys, I could barely see him underneath the pile of toys she had given him.

Switch

Scout informs me that she is growing little and Tommy is growing big. When she is little, she says, she will sit in his swing and sleep in his bassinet. And, of course, she's already making use of his carseat and binky. Thus far, all parties have upehld their obligations.

One of my children was laying in bed crying loudly at 3:15 this morning, but not the one you'd expect (he was eating peacefully).

One of my children had a blowout this morning that necessitated the replacement of every item of clothing the child was wearing except the socks, but not the one you'd expect (he kept his inside his diaper).

One of my children cried, squirmed and complained loudly while being changed for and put to bed tonight, but not the one you'd expect (he spent the time calmly sitting in his swing looking around and smiling).

One of my children yells at the camera and produces weird expressions when I try to take pictures, but not the one you'd expect (he looks calm and cute and smiles like a champ).

As for Tommy, he is growing faster than we can believe. We actually had to break out the next size of clothes before he reached the supposed age of those clothes. That's never happened in our house before. He'll be getting new, larger ear molds for his hearing aids tomorrow.

We're now taking bets on which of our children will surrender the binky first. My money is on Tommy.

Thomas, Gunn and Tommy Gunn