Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Take your daughter to work...and have a nervous breakdown

At home, Clementine can be very independent. She'll get involved in her kitchen or in reading herself a book or in arranging something (the kid may have a little OCD--I once occupied her for an hour by giving her a box of coins to put in her piggy bank piece by lovin' piece) and wouldn't even notice if I ran out for groceries. Not that I do. But I have thought to myself how easy it would be to work from home or have her with me at work when she plays so independently for hours at a time. That, of course, is a foolish statement born of naivety and silly hopes for the best.

We have no day care this week. Public schools are closed and Julie and her family go south for family vacation--it's one of only two weeks she takes off a year and she totally deserves them, so I never complain. At least not about her. I may have complained this time about how this interruption in normal day care has been all my problem to deal with, as if I don't have a husband with resources of his own, but that's a tired subject that has already been beaten to death in our house. Let's just leave it that I never complain...at least not much.

Since I am one of three dozen people in the free world that apparently had to work on Monday, I knew bringing Clementine with me would be pretty easy, especially since my friends Karen and Dave live in the boys' dormitory across the walk from my office (oh, the glamorous life). While I started the day forcing crayons in Clementine's hand and teaching her not to move around too much in the rolly office chairs lest she fall down and break another bone (my biggest fear is another trip to the ER and all the questions from the doctors), it wasn't long before Aunt K came and swept darling C away for a day of house or, as I like to call it, the best form of birth control there is for a newly married couple: a day with a toddler.

Yesterday was another story. I brought Clementine in with me but hired a sitter for part of the day to hang out at Karen and Dave's. Sitters are expensive, so I tried to be judicious about how long I used her, but I didn't factor in how she might be a little weirded out to sit at a stranger's house for a long day. I ended up having to make several trips over to reassure, coordinate meals, double check and assist. I let her leave during nap time thinking it would be easy to end my day with C in the office with me, but I hadn't anticipated my boss wanting to have a huge spontaneous meeting at 4:00. He was extraordinarily patient with me as I interrupted sentences to ask Clementine not to eat paper clips, rip apart the 60th sticky note pad, throw business cars or touch the thousands of dollars worth of video equipment or as she demanded to watch "Shoe" (a great old cartoon from the 40s), which I had left in Karen's living room. By the time it was all over, we were all exhausted and every last illusion I have at combining work and Clementine at this age is shattered.

Let me be clear: I don't put the blame on her at all. She is such an interesting, chatty, interactive little girl these days that I find myself frequently mired in some trite "Where did the time go?" musings. Seriously. Wasn't she just a baby? I just can't juggle her and the demands of a job at the same time if the ebb and flow doesn't align and make it so that I'm not neglecting one completely to engage with the other. Best not tread there for now, and that's cool with me.

I've solved the rest of the week's day care problems by taking the time off. My lovely friend Laura and I are headed up north today and the menfolk will join us tomorrow evening. There will be snowboarding, shopping, perhaps snowshoeing, an inn on a lake and other fabulousness that is so much better than work I can't even begin to describe it. AND I've got my camera back so I may even have photographic evidence of our journey. I think I heard Clementine sigh when I opened the box last night. Let the excessive picture-taking commence.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Books for snowy days

You're never too old for a snow day, and when we had ours last week I had a million ideas about what to do. Sledding, hot chocolate, a family of snow people.... All Clementine wanted to do was hang out in jammies and read, and that ended up being the best idea of all. Here are the books we hit hard then and every day. I've been meaning to post reading lists for a while because I strive to find books that are as entertaining to the reader as the audience (in other words, books that don't make me puke). Clementine has some damn good taste.

Punk Farm by Jarret J. Krosoczka

Definitely one of our all time favorites. It lets us practice animal sounds, talk about musical instruments and SING! Visit the website to download your copy of the song and you too might be Eee-Iii-Eee-Iii-Ooo-ing your way through the day.







The Wuggie Norple Story by Daniel M. Pinkwater; Tomie dePaola illustrator

This book was originally published in 1980 and was a favorite of mine and my sister’s while we were young. It is a book about Lunchbox Louie, a totally hippy whistle fixer whose wife is Bigfoot the Chipmunk and whose son is King Waffle. Louie buys them a cat, Wuggie Norple, who gets so ridiculously large, Louie brings home a menagerie of animals as a comparison. The animals include Exploding Poptart, Laughing Gas Alligator (not an alligator at all) and Papercup Mixmaster. It’s a riot to read, with lots of great repetition. Want to get it? Hope you’ve got $100 bucks or more to shell out for a paperback copy. The thing is out of print and impossible to get. My mom bought me a copy off aLibris.com for my baby shower because she is fabulous.


Honky-tonk Heroes and Hillbilly Angels: The Pioneers of Country and Western Music by Holly George Warren; Laura Levine illustrator
also by the same duo: Shake, Rattle and Roll: The Founders of Rock & Roll

When I first bought these, they were way more for me than Clementine—each featured musician or group has a folksy painting and a thorough history. Waaaay too many words for Clementine, but she’s fascinated by both books and likes to page through them and point out all their shoes and guitars. I usually just read the first paragraph or make up a quick story based on the pictures. When we get to the end, she always asks to read it again right away.

In The Night Kitchen by Maurice Sendak

I remember checking this out from the library when I was a little kid, mostly because I was fascinated by the fact that Mickey is NAKED at parts in the story. It’s hardly a detailed drawing, but for a curious young mind it was enough. Apparently, as I learned from my Google search just now, the book has been/is controversial and occasionally banned due to the nudity. That’s just silly. It’s a great book about a little boy who wanders into a nocturnal fantasy city which looks an awful lot like a basic cupboard from the 30s. C likes to read this over and over and over again, and I have no objections.

Anything at all by Mo Willems

We would be lost, lost, lost without Mo Willems. And while part of me wants to say his stuff is too precious, too cute, the fact is that Clementine can’t get enough of it and neither can we. I thought I had a big collection, but this guy is prolific—it would be hard to have an entire library. Our favorites include:

Time to Pee!

At first Clementine’s interest in this book was just curiosity, and then she took an extreme interest in what we adults do in the bathroom. She will be across the house downstairs and hear Nate in the bathroom and race as fast as she can to the door crying “Pee! Pee!” Yep. It happens in public too. But the book is having a very serious effect on her, as today she discovered the hand-me-down kid’s potty (is that a gross thing to have second-hand?) and insisted she use it. I thought I was just humoring her, but she really did take her pants off, sit down and pee. I’m not letting it get to my head, but you know I’m gonna brag a lot if my kid learned to pee at 17 months old from a book.

Don't Let The Pigeon Drive The Bus!

Enjoyable and educational…if you consider learning to say “No No!” over and over again in response to various questions educational. The reader is instructed by the bus driver not to let the pigeon drive the bus in his absence. Of course the pigeon puts on the pressure and the charm, much to the delight of Clementine, who is all too happy to enforce the rules. She now refers to all trucks and buses as No No, to which I respond yes, that’s a bus. Everyone around us is always baffled.


Don't Let The Pigeon Stay Up Late!

Similar premise to the bus story. She gets to say no over and over again as the pigeon begs to stay up late and refuses to admit he’s tired. Clementine doesn’t yet understand this as a lesson in irony.

Leonardo The Terrible Monster


Not my favorite story, but Clementine loves it. Maybe because she has a friend named Sam, same as the boy in the book. Maybe because she gets to make all sorts of silly noises like Blaggle and Roar along with Leonardo.


Pumkinhead by Eric Rohmann

An odd tale about a boy whose head is a pumpkin that is snatched away by a bat and begins a journey than ends happily. Very beautiful illustrations and just off-beat enough that I love to read it.




Alphabet Poem by Michael Rosen; Herve Tullet illustrator

This book is perhaps the most heavily rotated right now—we even have an upstairs copy and a downstairs copy. It’s your basic ABC book, but you won’t find no A is for Alligator, D is for Drum here. Instead, it’s Computers Cooking Cakes, Noses Need Nets, Fish Find Fans and, Clementine’s favorite, Teddies Tap. She insists we all tap our feet and say “Dapa Dapa,” which is also how she asks for the book…morning, noon and night. Seriously. At 3 AM the other night I heard her saying “Dapa Dapa” to herself.


Bad Cat by Tracy-Lee McGuinness-Kelly

Another big favorite for all of us, Bad Cat wanders through the Big Stinky causing all sorts of trouble…that is, until you look closer. It turns out that people may just be misjudging poor old Bad Cat. Pictures are amazing, and even when we’ve read the text 20 times in a row I can distract C by asking her to point out all kinds of cool details. Not surprisingly she likes the tattoo on the sailor most of all.





Clementine in the City by Jessie Hartland

We like to give this book as a gift because…well…it’s about a dog named Clementine (which, incidentally, C still hasn’t tried to say). The name isn’t the only draw—Clementine is a poodle who goes to the big city to have adventures. She also buys shoes, which is my little Imelda’s favorite thing about most books. Shoes, shoes, shoes.


That’s Disgusting by Francesco Pittau; Bernadette Gervais illustrator
also by the duo: That's Dangerous, That's Mean and Elephant Elephant, a Book of Opposites

These books aren’t for everyone, but they sure are fun. We like That’s Disgusting best of all, but That’s Mean will probably be great if Clementine ever has siblings. A lot of my non-parent friends really like the scatological inappropriateness of That’s Disgusting because they’re happy to know all kids books aren’t just talking rabbits and horses. The book is a sing-songy list of things that are gross, each followed by the refrain “That’s Disgusting.” Topics range from sticking your finger in the cat’s behind to pooping in the bathtub to blowing your nose in the curtains. They’re all disgusting. Elephant Elephant is a fun, usual book of opposites that Clementine probably won’t understand for a few years now. Each spread in the book has two elephants that represent opposites. Some are pretty straightforward, like big and small; others are interesting/off like inside and outside (one elephant is exposed beneath the skin) and boy and girl (no genitals—it’s all about where the pee comes out).

Frida by Jonah Winter; Ana Juan illustrator

There are lots of draws to this book. Beneath the dust jacket (we pull those off immediately lest they get ripped into a thousand little pieces to be distributed throughout the house by both Clementine AND cat), there are lots of interesting faces that we have created different sounds for—this is how C asks for the book: “Oooo! Oooo! Ah!” while pointing to it. Inside, the illustrations are amazing and very much influenced by Frida Kahlo’s work. C is less interested in the story than the pictures, most especially the skeleton, which makes her dance.

This really is just scratching the surface. Let’s do this again sometime, huh? Also, what are your favorites? I have a list of book I covet…add to it, will you?

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Valentine's Day: the new Christmas?

I'm not gonna hate on V-Day even though Nate and I really don't celebrate it apart from hand-made cards. And I'm not gonna be all predictable and decry the media-induced frenzy, the Hallmark guilt machine, the ridiculous expectations that lead to long lines of men shifting their weight back and forth in the line at the flower shop and throngs of women feeling short-changed or, worse, lame because there is no one to call them Valentine. Nope. I'm far too excited for the first hand-made card darling C brings home from school for us, the first chance we have to surprise her with a little Valentine of our own. Celebrating holidays as parents is all about making it our own, starting our own traditions, doing it our way, so I'm just not gonna bitch about how you all do it.

But.

I got lots of strange mail that made me feel like I was reliving another recent holiday. Is Valentine's Day the new Christmas? Three bits of evidence to support:

1. A card with a long, newsy hand-written note from my stepmother's sister-in-law (how do you get further removed than that?). It mentioned my Christmas card, so I imagine she's feeling guilty that I sent her one but didn't receive one in return (at least I think I didn't--I SO don't keep track). My sister got one too but hers came with pictures. It was a lovely sentiment, but it hardly screamed VALENTINE! Be Mine! It just didn't jive with the holiday...at least not what I think of as the holiday.

2. A Christmas letter (or a Valentine's letter?!) which detailed a family friend's year in review, including updates on their travels, medical histories, children's lives and the chorus of "We're going to be grandparents!" Again, lovely, I'm glad to be included--I love gossip and talk about hip replacements as much as anyone and am happy to see such talk liberated from the Christmas season. But for Valentine's Day?

3. An actual Christmas card with no explanation whatsoever. Hardly a signature beyond "Warm wishes." Dude, I'm a mom so I get it that the post office sometimes seems like a luxury vacation destination you can never quite get to. I sent most of my Christmas cards on December 21st and just knew people would understand. But February? It would actually be kind of funny, one of the stories you tell other moms and get in return a knowing nod IF there had been any kind of explanation on the card. "A little late this year but just as sincere!" "Hope your holidays were good--our were obviously hectic!" "You think you're confused? You should see our kids under the tree as I write this!" But there was nothing. I checked the postmark to see if maybe it had been lost, misplaced. I checked the envelope for a note about how she found the card under her front seat just the other day and thought she'd mail it anyway. Nothing. Could it be the guilt factor again? Am I just so low on the list that I'm lucky I get one at all?

Maybe Valentine's Day is the slacker Christmas. In a way it makes sense that a holiday dedicated to exchanging cards would be the time you send out your family photos, your Merry Medical family updates, your letters. Hell, it would make those weeks I'm wheeling around the crazy malls just a little bit less hectic and god knows there's nothing on TV worth a shit at the end of January--a perfect time to address the envelopes.

Now I'm just wondering what St. Patty's day will bring.

Monday, February 12, 2007

Cast party

Today, after five weeks of life in a cast, five weeks of watching her struggle to get food in her mouth with her right hand, five weeks of baths with one arm wrapped in Saran Wrap, of banging her cast on the dining room table in order to make her dad mad, of smacking herself in the head accidentally and waking herself up all night long, Clementine had her cast removed. In typical working mama fashion, I was late and harried (I left my lights on and had to get my car jumped), but I did manage to grab the work camera for some shots of the cast party:

the saw


And although C spent five weeks picking at the cast and asking that we get it off her, when the time finally came, she had this to say about it: "No! Da-too! Mine."

but I don't want to take it off!

Her one bone (the ulna, I think) remains angulated, which isn't a problem for young bones and will probably straighten out as she grown, but it is a bit noticeable. Her skin is dry and flaky, but she sure is happy to have both arms back again.

Despite her early protestations (she spent the ride to the doctor's office telling me "Doctor bye-bye!"), this trip saw fewer tears and anxiety than before, and she even seemed interested in what was going on with her arm. We've turned a corner on doctor fear! And that's good, since I will be returning to the doctor on Thursday for my own set of X-rays. Like daughter, like mother?

Friday, February 09, 2007

Bad luck be gone

Our little family of three just can’t seem to get a break these days: colds, flu, pink eye, broken limbs, a sprained ankle (Nate’s latest contribution to our health crisis). I was calling it the hat trick of motherhood for a while, then the triple threat, but now I’m starting to run out of my pitiful sense of humor. Clementine is backsliding on her sleep habits, and although I was sympathetic at the height of her illness, now she just seems willful and even a little spiteful. She screamed “Mama!” for more than an hour last night, no matter what I did to calm her, so I just left her in her room until she eventually fell asleep. When I went up to check on her, she was practically still sitting up: her legs were crossed and she had piled blankie in her lap to rest her head on it. Of course this wasn’t going to last all night, so I wasn’t surprised to hear her at 3. I went in and quickly comforted her, but she was up again at 3:45. I let her yell her Mamas for 45 minutes before I just gave up and went in. Know what I found? She was standing up in bed the whole time! Just standing there, not falling asleep, not getting tired. I thought I was going to have a mental breakdown. Instead I took her into our bed (my bed, really, since Nate and his injury were parked downstairs on the couch), where she relegated me to one small corner. I must have been one bad ass in another life because I’m paying back my karmic demerits in triple lately.

I’m not letting this become part of the February blues, though—we are determined to get some joy out of Detroit’s annual Winterblast downtown this weekend, even if it is brief, even if we’re helping Nate hobble around on his one good leg, even if the snot that has been running out of my nose for the last few days freezes on my face. We WILL have fun, dammit.

And I will return to my poor, neglected blog this weekend as well. I have stories to tell of the politics of pick-up and drop-off (Nate experienced the strangeness of this ritual the other day, so I have proof), and perhaps we will once again have a digital camera on hand so you can see how much cuter Clementine has gotten with all this illness and lack of sleep.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Sick. So sick.

We have not been swallowed by a giant black hole, but at this point that's seeming like something I'd rather be doing. We are the house of sick and have been nursing various fevers, sniffles, infections and the likes since Saturday. I'm back at work today but wish I wasn't. The joy of falling into this pit of germs is that between the three of us we may never escape, each of us bringing home germs from school or day care or work and passing them back and forth like an illicit smoke. Nate got a little better from her bronchitis, but then C went down with the flu and ear infection. She turned a corner, but then I got sidelined with my annual winter cold. We're not sleeping. We're cranky. Oh, and we're using lots and lots and lots and lots of Kleenex.