Musical Genius

The other day we were listening to a Laurie Berkner (children) CD in the car. We've had the CD a couple of weeks, and there are a few songs the girls ask to hear again and again. We were listening to one such song when Turtle said, from the back seat, "They're playing a tambourine, Mommy!"

Slightly shocked, I listened closely to the music and did indeed hear a tambourine in the background. I have to say, I still haven't recovered from my surprise. The girls sing, make up new songs, and play with instruments at home constantly, but for Turtle to be able to identify one instrument among many on a CD actually kind of scares me a little.

Despite my lingering fear of my child's sponge-like mega-brain, thank you Heartsong Music and the Music Together program. In that freaky moment I felt fully justified in the many, many, many hundreds of dollars spent on weekly music classes over the past 15 months, and all the other activities passed over to keep room in our calendar and in our budget for Heartsong. Knowing that my kids will ultimately have greater musical prowess than me (whether they choose to exercise it or not) is a source of real pleasure and gratitude.

Funny

Yesterday Twin Daddy opened up the television cabinet, and this is the conversation that ensued.

Twin Daddy: We're going to watch a little (World Cup) soccer now.

Turtle: I want to watch Dora!

T.D. (kind of mumbling to himself): Maybe Dora will be playing soccer.

Twin Momma: (laughs quietly)

T.V. comes on.

Turtle: Will Dora be playing, Daddy?

T.D.: Oh, no, honey (apologetically). Dora's not really going to play soccer.

Turtle: You were teasing me, Daddy?

T.D.: Yes! I was teasing you! (very surprised she knows how to use teasing in context).

Turtle: You stinker!

TM and TD burst out laughing, and Turtle is quite pleased with herself.

Tidbits

Goodbye Pony:

There is a convenience store in a strip mall where I occasionally go for coffee that had a full size horse statue out front. I first started running in and out for coffee when the girls were just months old; I could leave them in the car parked right in front of the store without ever having them out of my sight, and I would direct them to talk to the pony while I ran in for a minute. Well, "The Pony" became a "thing" and they would regularly ask to go see the pony. One or the other would say, "Mommy, let's go see the pony and you get." (which meant I would "get" out of the car.) I would often say, "we can go see the pony but I'm not going to get" and then we'd just drive by and wave to the pony. Last week Monkey said, "Let's go see the pony mommy," and I said, "Sure!" I drove to the store and GASP! There was no horse statue!! This was a big bronze horse statue, full size. And it was gone. I was shocked and I really thought I might cry. I went into the convenience store demanding to know where my babies' pony had gone. Turns out the owner of the strip mall sold it. SOLD it. I really don't know who could possibly buy such a thing, or how one would even sell it. Craigslist? Anyway, the cashier lamented the lost horse as well, saying that his daughter had been enjoying the pony since she was two (she's now 12). After I whined a little more, wishing I could have known so I could have at least taken a picture, I left. I dreaded telling the girls that the pony really was gone, fearing a screaming melt down from Monkey.

"Well girls, the pony is gone. The woman who owns it sold it," I said after I got in the car. They both looked a little surprised. Then Turtle said, "Can we go see my old school now mommy?" (referring to the daycare they attended part-time for a few months during my half-hearted attempt to return to work after they turned one). It's close to the store, so we drove by it, and that made them both happy and they haven't mentioned the pony again. Which goes to show that they are a lot more flexible than I give them credit for.

Trapped in Chick-Fil-A

There's a Chick-Fil-A in town that has a pretty good climbing structure inside that I've been wanting to check out for the girls. We went there yesterday for lunch and Monkey climbed up higher and higher. While it is incredibly tall (as tall as the store), it is virtually impossible to fall more than 18 inches, and then onto a soft landing, so I wasn't too worried. Until Monkey started saying, "I need help mommy." I tried to direct her to the tunnel that led to the slide, but she couldn't quite figure it out. And I couldn't reach her or fit inside to get her. She climbed up another step and then I couldn't see her at all, but I could hear her. "I need help mommy. Help mommy, I need help." It was like hearing a kitten mewing in a tree but you can't quite figure out where it is. She was calm; I don't think she was afraid. She just needed help. But after a few minutes I starting getting anxious because I was worried she was going to get afraid and start screaming. Also, I could not see her at all, so that was pretty disconcerting. I wanted to say "Come to Mommy's voice, Carol Ann," but I refrained. Instead, I gave a 10-year-old $2 to climb up and save her, and then we had lunch.

Sandbox

We have a little sand table that Monkey loves to play in. Yesterday, though, she told me it was too small and she was going to get a new one. "Oh really?" I asked. "How?" "From Christmas," she answered. I was so shocked I sent her in to tell Twin Daddy exactly what she just told me. She told him she was going to get a sandbox in her stocking. So, I guess it is all over now. Last year all she asked from Santa was a lollipop and a candy cane. We cherished the sweetness of the simple request, and I'm glad we did.

Year of the Pee

I'm sure that someday I'll look back, fondly and with nostalgia, on the months we spent potty training in the first half of 2010. Ah yes, that future someday when I will sadly miss cleaning pee off the floor five times a day, or wrestling Monkey onto the potty with no success, only to have her pee on the floor one minute later.

Turtle has been fairly well potty-trained for over a month now, and it was relatively easy. Monkey flat out wasn't ready, but last week she starting showing more awareness of her bodily functions and asking to wear underwear, even going so far as to say, "I'm ready" when I asked her if she'd like to try potty training again this week. So on Monday we started in earnest and I will say that while progress is slow, it is progress. Now instead of peeing all over herself and the floor and just sitting in a puddle until someone finds her, she pees just a little bit on the floor and then yells for me and sort of holds it while I pick her up and run her to a potty. So that is progress. I can generally clean up the accidental pee with one Clorox wipe, and have only had to clean up about one big puddle per day.

Then there was tonight. I was worn out - Monkey didn't take a nap and was a real bear all evening, pushing, pinching and hitting Turtle and generally melting down over every perceived slight. I laid down for a few minutes after Twin Daddy came home from work, then got up just in time for Monkey to let out a doozy of a pee all over the playroom floor, getting the rug and an entire "Little People" village soaked, and spraying the Aqua Doodle mats and a few other toys in the path of destruction, not to mention the river that ran from the playroom to the bathroom as Twin Daddy tried to get her to the potty.

You might be thinking to yourself, "If that happened to me, I would just cry." That's what I thought, too. So I indulged myself. It was just a wimpering little cry and I managed to squeeze out only a few tears, just enough so Twin Daddy could see how deeply I suffered. Not sure how much it affected him, though, considering he lives with a 2.5 year old who also likes to cry just to show off her tears.

Anyhoo, we cleaned up the main wetness and then after a truly horrendous bed/bath time filled with unhappy scream upon scream, I spent an hour cleaning up the pre-existing general kitchen dinner mess, wiping down the affected non-plastic toys with Clorox wipes, soaking the Little People and all their accoutrements in hot, soapy water, and running a load of what I like to call "pee laundry."

Ah, yes, someday.

Sparkly Chicken

I bought a roasted chicken from HEB this afternoon for dinner, as I often do on Sundays. I pulled the meat off one of the chicken legs for Turtle's plate, and she polished it off before I even sat down to eat. Twin Daddy offered her some of his chicken breast, which she promptly threw on the ground, screaming for what sounded like "broccoli". We finally figured out that she was saying she wanted more "sparkly chicken." As in greasy, sparkling-with-fat, dark meat off the leg bone. Mmm Mmm delicious, and so good for you too!

Tell Me A Story

Monkey and Turtle (Monkey in particular) frequently ask, "Tell me a story momma, about how sissy got a boo-boo eye." I then start, "Once upon a time, Turtle was at the window, and Duncan was at the window, and Duncan bit Turtle in the eye because his brain was very sick. And Turtle screamed and Mommy came running and got a towel from the kitchen to wipe Turtle's blood, and said, "It's ok, It's ok. . . . " The story goes on and on of course, of how I hustled everyone into the car, how I dropped Monkey off at the neighbor's house (and that Aunt D. came to get her later), that Turtle and I went to one hospital and then had to ride in an ambulance to get to the other, that Daddy was at the other hospital when we got there, etc. etc. etc., detailing the surgery, Monkey's visits to Turtle in the hospital, who came to see us, and so on.

The most fascinating part of this is that even though I've "told them a story" more than a dozen times, they both (Turtle in particular) have added details over time. Turtle remembered that I ran to the kitchen and got a dish towel to stop the bleeding, so I added that to the story. She also reminded me that she played with Play-Doh while we waited in the ER for the surgeon. And Monkey is the one who first re-enacted my running around the house repeating "It's Ok, It's Ok, It's Ok" in a frantic voice. When I saw her do that I had a clear picture of me trying to soothe myself as much as them.

Both girls have a firm grasp of what happened, and the consequence (we had Duncan put to sleep after it was determined that he had become medically aggressive and couldn't be helped), and while we deal with all of this directly and matter of factly, I wonder sometimes if I'm doing enough to help them work it all out.

The other day when I told the story, Monkey said something that prompted me to ask her if she remembered what sissy's boo boo looked like right after Duncan bit her. It was the first time I'd asked that, and her eyes got very wide and she nodded "yes" and said it was like a mask. I hadn't thought much about what it must have been like for Monkey to see the horrible gash that I saw, and now that I know she remembers it so well, what should I do?

What prompted this post is that tonight Turtle was playing with Twin Daddy's sleeve, making motions with her finger, when completely out of the blue, she said, "I'm cutting your shirt off Daddy. Then I'm going to give you a yucky mask." She had her shirt cut off to prep for the surgery. Then she had "yucky mask" anesthesia (as opposed to the "yummy mask" she had when she had the stitches out and we had time to order a nice strawberry-flavored anesthesia). We have never once talked about having her shirt cut off in the two-plus months since it happened, not because it's so horrible; I just didn't remember that part. But she remembers it - she remembers every detail.

The only physical reminder of this sad incident is a tiny little scar under Turtle's eye. I'm hoping that my inner wisdom (????) will help me say exactly the right thing every time it's brought up, so that over the long term it will become a simple memory, with all the frightening emotions drained out.

Spring Break

After much hand-wringing, I've decided to take a break from posting to this blog for the month of April. I used to sit down and crank out a great little story (in my humble opinion) in about 20 minutes. Now it takes me almost an hour just to create something slightly interesting, and I don't look forward to it. I'm pretty sure it's because my house is no longer quiet - I used to be able to compose complete posts in my mind during the two naps a day, or as I took a long walk in the stroller, or as I sat around watching my babies learn to crawl. Now, someone is talking to me non-stop, there is only one short-ish nap, and going for a walk usually involves strenuous negotiations to keep Monkey in the stroller while I rush back home. In other words, my mind is never quiet enough to remember my friends' birthdays, much less assemble stories.

When I return in May my posts may be very short. I think if I didn't put pressure on myself to write a "story," I wouldn't be so resistant to sitting down in front of the computer. For example, I might post one thing I learned from my kids that day. Something like this:

Today I learned from Turtle that the reason I'm at home is so I can turn on Dora the Explorer for her. Daddy (who they both call "Boots" when they are in Dora mode) isn't at home because he has to go to work. And Mommy (who is "Swiper") is at home so "you can turn on Dora." I'm not sure why Twin Daddy gets to be Boots and I've been named Swiper - pretty telling, eh? Anyway, I guess once Turtle learns how to work the DVD player, I'll no longer be needed around here.

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Until next month!