This is 40.

If you had asked me at 18, what being old meant I would have said: ‘Being 40.” Back then, 40 felt so distant is was virtually unreachable – something impossible that I would arrive at “someday” when “someday” really meant “never.”

Clara, sliding into 2 feet of snow.

But here I am.  Forty.  I am 40.  How did ‘never’ and ‘someday’ become today?  Two summers ago it was my 20^th High School Reunion.  I didn’t go. My memories from high school are barely tarnished…I was 18 and graduating five minutes ago.  My 20^th college reunion is in two years.  What?  I look at my twin sister and I feel like we were just running around Riverside Park jumping off of rocks and digging for worms.  Instead, I am showing my three-and-a-half year old how to jump off rocks in Fort Tryon Park.  Standing at the precipice, she asks me: "Help me to be brave, Mama.” And I do, and she jumps.

 Is anything different? I am the same person I was at 3…and 12…and 18…and 33.  The same person but a lot more willing to speak my mind and a lot less worried about what anyone else thinks.    The older you get the less you look around for someone to tell you you're doing it right or that you're okay. You actually become okay with telling yourself that you're doing it right - or wrong...or whatever but suddenly it's your opinion that matters the most. That’s a perk.

Life does pick up speed as you age.  Childhood and high school seemed to take forever...maybe from all that time you spend worrying about what other people think. Then college, then the years in your twenties where you’re trying to do everything  - make friends, keep friends, find a partner, find a job you can stand, then find a job you can stand that also pays you enough to stop having roommates. It all starts the clock ticking faster. I spent my 20's feeling like everything I wanted was just barely out of my reach. By my 30’s I was settling into my career in props for theater and television, I had a great group of friends, and was considering trying to have a kid on my own because I just couldn’t find the right person. Then I turned 34 and met the right person.  Over the next six years, we moved in together, chose to start a family, bought an apartment, had a daughter, got married, I finished graduate school, and then we had a second daughter.  Thirty-four to now was a roller coaster of milestones but every decision I made felt grounded in the absolute certainty that I was making the right choices. All of a sudden I have breathing room - and now (it seems) the world has to huff and puff a little bit to keep up with me instead of the other way around. 

The most recent candid  photo we have of the whole family is from Halloween.  (sigh)

I waited until I was 35 to add “mother” to my resume, and this past August at 39, I updated it to include "mother of two.”  Maybe it’s living and growing up in New York City but among my friends I was one of the first to have children.  Before me, I only had one friend from high school who already had children. Now the parents of Clara’s friends, who have become my friends, have all had or are having their second child.  My twin sister just had her first, and two friends from my graduating class in college are having their first children – squeaking in just under the wire for 40.  Maybe it wasn’t a deadline for them – it was a sort of invisible deadline for me but now that I am here nothing really has changed.

Photo Credit: Clara, after grabbing my phone to snap some flattering pictures.

So I’m a middle aged mom to an almost pre-schooler and an infant. Who cares?! Every mother I know is a middle aged mom to a kid that’s under five.  If this is a New York City phenomenon, I am even happier that I live here.  My husband and I juggle work, parenting, and the mad dash for babysitting when our work schedules collide.  In theater there's a saying: THE SHOW MUST GO ON. And because everyone on the stage loves what they are doing they take the aphorism seriously. It doesn’t matter if you’re sick, or didn’t sleep all night – THE SHOW MUST GO ON.  Baby was throwing up all night – THE SHOW MUST GO ON. You’re delirious with a fever?  Your toddler will still ask you every five minutes “when will dinner be ready?” while adamantly denying having anything to do with the marker scribbles all over her face that magically appeared when you tried to go to the bathroom with the door closed (for once) . THE SHOW MUST GO ON. It can be messy and hard and sometimes you might want to put your head in your hands and cry but it's also wonderful, and magical and full of surprises when you love what you're doing.

And then there were two.

As a parent you hone your reflexes to a razor edge – catching the cup before it hits the floor, pulling out the penny your baby just popped into her mouth in the one second you glanced away, or just knowing your daughter needs a little extra reassurance in her lifelong quest to spend every day being brave.  At the end of the day, when you finally sit down, the 40 year old’s bones are a bit creakier, so when the baby starts to fuss it takes a little extra heave-ho to get back up on your feet.  The one thing I would like to borrow from my 20-year old self is a bit of that seemingly inexhaustible  energy you carry with you from your childhood. Clara's boundless vitality and stamina carries her through her days with extra to spare.   I’d love just a little bit of that overflow…or maybe a glass of wine will do just fine.  

I wish I slept this well. 

Things That Go Bump in the Night.

I remember talking to a friend long before I became a parent.  A new parent himself, he told me about how he found it impossible to watch most series television since having children.  The idea was baffling to me.  He explained that he couldn't stand to watch anything where especially children but really anyone came to harm or was threatened with harm.  Since series television is flooded with law and crime procedurals whose plots almost always hinge on a brutal, violent, act against another human being he found himself avoiding the television.  In the abstract I could understand but I didn't really.  I absolutely love horror movies.  The more gore and gratuitous violence the better.  I'll see your Jason Voorhees and raise you a Freddy Krueger and a Cabin in the Woods.  Cabin in the Woods, a terrifically scary and funny horror movie, was the last scary movie I saw before giving birth to my first daughter and as it turns out, it remains the last horror movie I have seen since having children.  My friend was right.

And it isn't just horror movies. I can't watch the rape/murder/abduction story lines in network dramas, and since the last series comedy I watched regularly was Family Ties, I find myself watching Top Chef, reruns of Chopped and Antiques Roadshow, and Game of Thrones. (somehow the violence is acceptable when it's set in a feudal fantasy world.)  My friend, and fellow mother, Libby Emmons recently posted about this same topic. (read it here.) Libby had her husband turn off the first episode of Daredevil because a little boy was injured and blinded in a car accident.  She writes: "Dave said 'but it’s okay, he ends up the hero.' I demanded that we turn it off. The anxiety produced by feeling like something bad was gonna happen to someone’s kid was more than I could deal with." Her experience echoes my own.  She's right.  It doesn't make it okay when the injured, blinded kid becomes the hero. It isn't okay is that there are terrible people who would do terrible things to children or that there are terrible things that happen randomly to people with no rhyme or reason - like car accidents, lightning strikes, and natural disasters. And beneath it all is the heartbeat-strong current inside of me that is silently praying: "pleaseletnothingterribleorpainfulorscaryeverhappentomychildeverpleasepleaseplease." 

I used to pride myself on keeping up with current events but I can no longer watch the news. Everything is terrible.  I know that in this 24-hour news cycle world, drama and tragedy keep people coming back for more but not me.  I wish there was one news program that focused on the goodness in people.  It has to be there, it just isn't being reported.  Instead I keep myself current with my subscriptions to TIME and New York Magazine.  It's easier in print.  It's easier in tiny doses.

Not afraid of a little mud.

Most of the time this parent anxiety is manageable.  All of the time, really.  Watching my child grow up and experience the world is heartening and hilarious and tiring. My husband and I trade funny stories about our daughter and about our lives and it is okay.  Except when it isn't. 

I am six+ months pregnant with my second child.  A few nights ago a small sound woke me abruptly from my sleep. I was immediately convinced someone was trying to come in through our bedroom window.  Some part of my psyche clearly knew I was being ridiculous, as I decided not to wake up my sleeping husband.  I peeked through the curtains to the open window (with a gate on it).  No one was on the fire escape.  I lay down.  Another tiny sound from somewhere. I looked through the curtains again - surely someone was out there.  No.  I close the drapes, think for a moment, then close and lock the window - cutting us off from a cool night breeze.  We must be safe now. I lay down. But wait....what if the sound I heard was not from the fire escape but from somebody ALREADY IN THE APARTMENT!.  I get up and walk around the apartment - checking the front door is locked, looking in closets, checking the kitchen, behind the shower curtain (maybe an elf burglar squeezed through our tiny bathroom window), and finally checking to make sure Clara was still in her bed (not abducted by the tiny sound).  I then spent the next three hours awake envisioning break-in scenarios and wondering if there was anywhere I forget to check for burglars (under our bed with the Christmas ornaments?, behind the chair in the living room?, Could an adult fit under Clara's toddler bed?)  In the light of day, over tired and still burglar-free it all seemed ridiculous - even the word burglar became ridiculous as visions of the Hamburglar trying to squeeze through my window with his giant head made me laugh.  But my parental anxiety needed some place to go, someplace to release - and in that instance midnight worries about phantom burglars did the trick.

As a parent it feels like I can't afford to be scared.  I can't afford to show my daughter that I am worried or fallible.  In this way I can protect her from everything she may be afraid of or worried about.  In this way maybe she won't ever be frightened or worried about anything.  (Rational, I know.)

One night, around 10:30 Gerald was still at work.  I was sitting on the couch watching Chopped, and Clara was (supposedly) asleep in her room.  Next to my head, the baby monitor goes off.  I hear Clara say:  Mama, it's opening."

Heart attack.  Cue the opening sequence to my own personal horror movie.  What's opening?  The window?  (Murderer/Kidnapper/Burglar/Madman)  Or even worse, the closet? (Monster, Clown from Poltergeist, Alternate Dimension) Had I been alone I would have run out the front door in my pajamas and no shoes.  But I'm not alone anymore - I am never alone.  I am the mother.  I am my daughter's first line of defense against all thing terrible.  So I got up - ready to do battle with anything - though hopefully not the clown from Poltergeist.

Inside Clara's room I find her calmly watching the air conditioner blow air,  That's what was opening, the vent on our mini-split a/c unit.  "Mama, it looks like a smile."

I tucked her back in and left, my status as defender of my child intact.

Maybe the secret to surviving parenthood lies in the power to stay positive.  And also maybe trying your best to keep your children safe from things that have at least, a small basis in reality.  

Good-bye, horror movies...see you in 20 years when my second child leaves for college.

Conversations with Clara. Episode Nine.

Here are some of Clara's recent words of wisdom.

The other night, Clara is running around the laundry room playing a game she calls: "Stop.Go."  It involves her running around like a maniac and stopping when I say "Stop." and running again when I say "Go. " Clara thinks this is hilarious.

CLARA: (out of breath) Ok, Mama. Now it's your turn.  You run around and I'll say stop.

ME:  No, Clara.  I think I'll just sit here.

Clara, shakes her head slowly and walks over.  She climbs up onto the chair next to me and pats my knee.

CLARA:  Ok...let's talk about this.

*******

Or last night, the wonderfully potty trained Clara pooped in her overnight diaper while trying to fall asleep.  I change her diaper.

CLARA: UGGGGH!  What's that smell!!!???

ME:  That's your poop.  It's a lot less smelly when it goes in the potty, right?

CLARA:  YES!

Clara thinks for a minute while I finish changing her.

CLARA:  Mama...don't ever eat poop.

ME:  Good advice.

CLARA: Also, don't ever drink Wee wee.

ME:  Also good advice.

Clara clambers into her crib, and I try not to think what event may have prompted this sage advice.

Conversations with Clara. Episode Seven.

This morning I was up early getting ready to go in for work.  Clara was eating her yogurt.

Clara: What are you doing?

Me: Getting ready for work.

Clara: You don't go to work.  Dada works.

Me: You're right Clara...usually Mama only works on the weekends but today I am going to work.

Clara: But I want you to stay with me.

Me: I know you do.

Clara: You stay here. Dada goes to work.

Me: Today I get to go in and work with Lauren, my friend.  Isn't that nice?

Clara: (thinks about this) I don't like Lauren...I like cats.


I think Clara needs to develop her arguments a bit more but points for originality.

Why I am Raising My Child in New York City.

I am a native New Yorker who grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan long before the Upper West Side was fashionable and rich.  These days, I live in Washington Heights with my husband (also a native New Yorker), and our 2 and a half year old daughter.  I recently came across an article titled “Why I’ll Never Have Kids in New York City” written by Eudie Pak. (read it: here or here.) As a parent choosing to raise her own child in New York City I was initially interested in Pak’s ideas on the subject. Then I read the article.

Her first premise is how excruciating it must be to carry children in strollers up and down subway steps.  What Pak doesn’t consider is the incredible freedom that public transportation gives you in New York City.  Many people grow up in the suburbs, small towns, or the country.  These people are shackled to their cars.  Everything is far away.  Every place is a long drive bookended (for parents) by stuffing your children in and out of car seats. I will gladly take the subway stairs over the hassle of driving a car everywhere.  NYC transportation is also incredibly freeing for those under the legal driving limit.  As a teenager I wasn’t dependent on parents or older siblings to drive me everywhere. I didn’t have to count the days until I was old enough to get my driving permit because I could already get everywhere on my own with a token or,  (these days) a metrocard.

Pak is also offended by those hardworking mothers trying to wrangle their young children on a subway car.  After 39 years of living in New York City I have yet to see the scene she describes as commonplace: “…the little tykes hijack the train, running from one end of the subway car to the other, while temporarily making pit stops to swing on the poles as they almost knock your teeth out. Like deja vu, embittered mom senses she's been in this situation before but her rage overtakes all rationality. Spitting out pieces of soft pretzel as her Winstons fall out of her purse, she screams bloody murder (e.g. "Shut the hell up and sit cho a$$ down before I break them legs!"), indicating she's lived a damn hard life. In response the kids often blink with immunity and proceed to cackle at her threats, while holding an open bottle of Mountain Dew as remnants of potato chips and candy fall out of their mouths.”  All Pak needs to complete this unflattering image of the mother is to have her pick up her pack of Winstons, light up, and blow the carcinogens directly into her children’s faces.  I have found it far more likely to be bothered by a group of raucous teenagers (without adult supervision) than to be angered by tired toddlers and their loving mothers, or fathers for that matter. I don’t think any parent – in New York City or anywhere else – would want to be characterized as “barfing out obscenities” at their children.  Riding NYC public transportation is not that stressful for anyone.

Pak then goes on to describe the endlessly annoying upper class children who complain about organic food and yoga while being pushed around in double-wide strollers by foreign nannies. She chastises these rich families with bratty children and foreign nannies.  “Just imagine all the emotional displacement going on between the rich parents, their ugly baby, and the nanny who's spending all her time with junior in order to send back moolah to her own young kids, who are thousands of miles away craving her love and affection.”

Whether or not her criticisms are justified her critiques only cover a very small subset of children and families in New York City.  What about low income and middle income families?  New York City is an expensive place to live but it isn’t entirely populated by the 1%.  There a many of us who take our children to wonderful free events hosted by local libraries, or to the city parks. By hopping on a train we can take them to world class museums, cultural institutions, and zoos - every day if we want to. We meet other parents in the playground and form playgroups.  In Washington Heights a local parent formed a Yahoo group that makes our large community suddenly smaller.  Parents swap clothes, used toys, cribs, high chairs, and parenting advice.  They post about local events and classes for kids.  They discuss what local schools are the best to apply to and how to navigate the newly instituted UPK system.  In short – we aren’t all absent parents who have emotionally abandoned out children – regardless of your economic class. We are all doing it how we think best and trying our hardest to raise healthy, happy, balanced children.

Pak’s final critique is over the often competitive process of finding the best school for your children in New York City.  First, Pak erroneously links New York City public schools to the system of paying lots of money on test prep, tutoring, and practice interviews.  Parents eager to spend money to get their children into the “best” schools are likely prepping their children for the ERB which many elite private schools use.  Those same elite schools cost upwards of 30-40k a year which makes them hilariously out of reach for most New York families.  It’s another dig at those parents in the 1% which may or may not be true but certainly is not representative of most New York families.

I went to New York City Public schools from Kindergarten through high-school with a brief need-based scholarship stint at a private school from 2^nd-4^th grade.   I attended my local zoned school for K-1^st grade then applied to and was accepted at a local magnet school for 5^th through 8^th grade. Yes, they considered my grades, and I was interviewed by a teacher. It wasn’t an automatic ‘in’ to the school of my choice but luckily there are thousands of other schools with different specialties to apply to. I went to LaGuardia High School for Art, and yes they considered my grades and my art portfolio.  No one I knew could afford test prep for the Science and Math High Schools and yet magically – most of us still got accepted.   Today there are a lot of schools in my district I would like to send my daughter to and most of them are lottery based.  Like this system or not, my daughter has about even chances of getting in with everyone else.  And if she doesn’t get in?  There are literally thousands of other schools to choose from.

New York City is not a small town with one local elementary school and one local high school that everybody goes to.  It is a city of millions with thousands if not hundreds of thousands of children that need to go to school.  Sure, the NYC school system is a bit of a madhouse to navigate but I wouldn’t trade the experience of growing up here (for me or my child) for anything else.  I grew up going to school with children of every conceivable race, religion, country of origin, and economic class. That is what makes urban communities, and New York in particular and amazing place to live AND to raise children.

Cookies in the Rain.

I have been trying to come up with ideas for indoor activities as I eye the impending winter season with shivers of dread.  Last year there was so much snow I sometimes went days not going outside.  And now I have an almost two and a half year old that is constantly looking to me for the NEXT GREAT IDEA.  Who knew being someone's playmate could be so tiring.

As a practice run, we were hit by a two day epic rainstorm that kept us huddled inside.  We made this dollar store craft.  Clara chose the jaunty angle of the buckle on the Cat Witch's hat...

And that was thirty minutes well spent...

So I decided to try cooking with Clara for the first time.  We got the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and settled down on the floor of the living room.

Stirring the dough.

Measuring the baking soda.

Measuring the salt.

 It went pretty well.  Clara stirred for a while and then realized how good the dough tasted and just wanted to eat it.  She measured out a teaspoon of baking soda and got a cup more on the floor.  Ditto with the salt. 

 She liked portioning out the cookies on the baking sheets but kept sneaking huge blobs into her mouth when she thought I wasn't looking. 

Note the lonely, unused potty under the chair.

Sneaking a blob of dough. 

I was multitasking at the time, doing laundry downstairs, so we popped the cookies in the oven and ran down to put everything in the dryer.  When we came back up Clara loved looking at the cookies in the oven and wanted to take them out immediately.  

 

We took them out, let them cool, and then had a tasting together.  By together, I mean theat Clara tasted the cookies and thought they were delicious.  When I tried to sample one she swatted my hand away and said: "No Mama.  These are mines."

The process start to finish including going to the grocery store took a little over an hour.  (Not including the hour of cleanup I had after the cookie bomb went off in the living room)  Next time I'll make sure Clara helps with the cleanup but this time - she really loved making cookies.

Conversations with Clara. Episode Four.

Clara is officially a two year old, and by that I mean she has decided that she is totally self sufficient and independent (thank you,very much), unless of course she has a boo-boo or needs help, which she asks for by saying: "Help you?  Help you?"

Here are some recent interactions:

Clara (doing anything she has asked help with and deciding suddenly and without warning that she no longer needs help)

"I DO it.  Don't touch me! Stop touching me."

Or this: 

After a protracted bartering session where we were discussing a long walk to visit friends.  She wanted to walk the whole way herself, I countered with walking part of the way and being in the stroller part of the way.  Clara ran to the front door - turned and looked at me - arms wrapped defiantly around her chest and said:

"I don't like it, Mama. I'm NOT kidding!"

Or this:

She only gets a binky at nap time or at night.  It used to be any old binky would do.  Now Clara has her favorites, and if I try to slip in a new one she says:

"Not that binky, old binky."

And she is no longer content to let me choose a binky but instead asks permission to look through the binky bowl.  

"Mama, let me pick one. I pick one."

Or the other day - she held out her hand to me, clearly expecting me to do something.  So I took her hand.  Clara nodded her head and said:

"Nice to meet you."

She is so sure of herself and most of the time Gerald and I manage to keep the smiles off our faces and take our independent little girl's suggestions...very seriously.

Conversations with Clara. Episode One.

Clara loves salad - especially cucumbers.  And she calls cucumbers: pickles.   The other night I made a salad with cucumber, tomato, cilantro, lettuce and some salad dressing.

Seeking to participate in the dinner conversation, Clara delicately picked up a piece of cilantro that was covering one of her cucumber slices.

With a smile dancing on her lips she said: "Pickle hiding."

Gerald and I laughed and agreed - the pickle was hiding.

I then encouraged Clara to try the piece of cilantro that had so cleverly hid the "pickle." 

She carefully placed the cilantro in her mouth.  Made a  face, pulled it out and exclaimed: "Not good."

Adventure Clara

Clara is into trying out everything these days and asking a lot of questions.  If she sees me doing something she quickly says: "I try." and tries to do it herself.

A few nights ago, I flipped over our leather swivel chair to tighten some of the bolts.  Clara saw the crescent wrench and said: "I try."  After watching me tighten one bolt, she went in with the wrench and actually tried to tighten bolts.

That same day, in the playground she decided to try going down the slide feet first on her stomach while whooping in delight.  And then tried face first on her stomach but got her hands caught under her chest and did not whoop in delight - she cried - but bravely went and tried again.  That night in the bath she discovered she could flip over in the water - almost submerging her face - and float.  She kept saying: "Oooooooooh" I think to hear how her voice sounded underwater.

She is also constantly trying to figure things out.  Like crawling through this tube at the zoo.  First she had to see that Gerald was on the other end - now she bravely scrambles through on her own.

At the playground she spent 20 minutes figuring out how to pry up loose soil from the ground and then make tiny piles of dirt. She did not ask for my help, just worked at it intensely on her own. I love this exploration. I loved digging for worms as a child - I can't wait to show her how to do that.

She can also be a bit of a minx.  This is the calm before the storm at a recent demonstration art class.  Clara probably drew for thirty seconds before she picked up the glue sticks and ran around evading my grasp while eating the glue stick like it was a popsicle.

She is determined to understand everything.  Up until this week, Gerald has managed to cling to some tattered shreds of privacy by insisting on closing the bathroom door while he is in there.  I gave bathroom privacy months ago.  I am used to Clara pushing back the  curtain peremptorily while I shower - her gleaming mischievous eyes dancing  while she throws tiny toys into the tub at my feet.

Somehow this past week Clara muscled herself into the bathroom while Gerald was in there.  He realized she was in there when he heard her piping little voice say:"Pee Pee Stand Up."  

As the last vestiges of his  privacy blew away on the wind, Gerald was impressed by Clara's acumen. 

Kepit!

Clara loves ketchup.  Seriously.  She loves it.  She will eat lots of things but on meatloaf night or french fry night, her love of ketchup is revealed by her baby warrior cry of: "Kepit!"

Clara has no trouble pronouncing any other words.  Even (I would think) hard words like: butterfly, zebra, stinky butt, and purple.  Clara clearly thinks that ketchup has been horribly misnamed.  To her, that sweet, red ambrosia is Kepit.

Kepit.

Has a nice ring to it.  I would like some kepit on my hamburger.  Please pass the kepit. Maybe Clara is starting a new trend.  Kepit will replace salsa as the national condiment.

Also, Clara refers to Sour Cream and Greek Yogurt both as "Ice Cream."  She loves to eat both, and will crow for more "Ice Cream" if she runs out. 

 That's fine, Clara...you go on thinking that's what ice cream is.  I've got no problem with that.

Clara, post lunch. A tiny dab of kepit on her cheek.

Bedtime

Usually Clara goes to be by getting into her crib and drinking some milk why we sing her a few songs.  But last night Clara said: "Book...book."  I said okay and she ran over to her toys and picked up two dolls.  A baby doll and a little girl doll with a crinkly skirt..  Clearly, she wanted me to read to them too.

We got comfortable in the glider and I read her a few books.  At one point, I was reading the " If you're happy and you know it clap your hands..." song, or poem or whatever it is.  Clara clapped a bit along with the reading.

Clara politely listened, then at the end of the song, she re-adjusted her pink baby, took her two tiny hands in hers, and made baby "clap."  It was so sweet.

She has never wanted dolls to read with her.  She has never made dolls clap.  Every moment is a new adventure.

A funny thing happened...

Last night, Gerald, Clara and I were having a lovely evening together.  Clara and I played while Gerald made chicken parmesean.  I made a salad and we had a nice family dinner together.  After cleaning up the kitchen, I thought to myself:  Gerald is home.  I could actually take a hot shower with the bathroom door closed.  And that's exactly what I did at 6:20 last night. It was such a luxury to know that I didn't have to peek out of the shower every few minutes to see if Clara was unspooling the toilet paper roll, trying to open the toilet bowl lid, or pulling things out of the trashcan.

I got out of the shower and into pajamas - shorts and a tank top.  (this becomes relevant later)  Clara was already in her nightgown and overnight diaper and the three of us were watching a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse while Clara took occasional sips out of her bottle. Clara toddled over to me and held up her arms: "Mama, Up?"  I picked her up and snuggled her in my lap for the final fifteen minutes before her bedtime.  Gerald took this opportunity to go into the bedroom for his version of what we call: "letting our brains fall out," which is basically any mindless (yet entertaining) activity we no longer have time for.  In this case - Gerald had to go send the heroes of Marvel Avengers Alliance out on quests.

6:58 PM.  Time to pick up Clara and take her to her room. She has handed me her giraffe doll and as I pick her up my thumb touches the inside rim of her diaper and comes away covered in poop.  Now I have a poopy thumb I am trying to keep away from the giraffe doll and the task of changing her into another overnight diaper.  But then I realize there's not just poop on my thumb.  There's poop squished up all up the inside of Clara's nightgown. That is enough to send my poopy thumb directly onto the giraffe doll's face as I reflexively flinch in horror. Poopy giraffe, poopy thumb, poopy baby.  All this I could have handled until this thought invades my mind: "Why do both of my legs feel wet?"  Yes.  There's poop running down both of my legs.

I call to Gerald for help and we go into action like a crack commando team who have been training for this for years. Ignoring my poop covered legs - Gerald takes the giraffe and nightgown to set them to soak in the sink and has the unfortunate task of wiping the poop I had been too distracted to see off the couch. At this point there is more poop than baby. I wipe Clara down with about 400 baby wipes and change her into a new pair of pajamas.  Through it all Clara is happy and cooing...I lie her down in her crib, pull out the spare giraffe from its hiding place, give her some milk and head to the shower to finally clean myself off.

Clara went to sleep without a hitch and that's all she wrote.

Except I am somehow ridiculously proud of us.  A year and a half ago we were bleary-eyed neophytes in the ways of parenting.  Everything was new and required instant learning curves.  Our world had narrowed to the minute details of Clara's every move.  Is she wet, hungry, or tired?  Is she sleeping?  Is she breathing?  Is she too cold or too hot? Does she have gas?  Is she sick? Is she happy?

I don't remember even once asking Gerald if he was okay, hungry, happy, or sick. It was the 24-hour Clara reality show.  

Fast forward to last night and Gerald and I are the A-Team.  Cool, calm and collected in a firefight that would send everyone else running for cover. It's been this way for a while and  it's nice to be able to have thirty seconds to string together to appreciate it.

The Wonderful World of a Toddler...What the @#!????

Is there anything more wonderful than watching a 19-month old explore a snowy wonderland?  How awesome was it that Clara got to be the first kid down this slide - covered in 5 inches of fluffy snow?  She slid down and laughed as she plopped into her own self-created pillow of snow.  Then she went down the other slide and laughed even harder.  It was fun chasing her around and lobbing snowballs at her that she would pick up and taste. And then I flash backed to the scene upstairs in the apartment a mere hour earlier.

I had received a call from work looking for some receipts.  As I talked at my desk, Clara was sitting on the floor to my right - in my extreme peripheral vision.  All seemed well.  She was babbling to herself.  I was on the phone for all of two minutes.  TWO MINUTES!  

I turned to my lovely little daughter and was greeted with:  Clara, no diaper on, holding out something to me which I quickly realized was a small, round piece of poop she had picked up from the big pile of poop she had just POOPED ON THE FLOOR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I scooped Clara up in my arms (ignoring the poop pile for the moment), brought her to the changing table, and cleaned her off.  All the while Clara happily said: P.U! P.U!

P.U. indeed, Clara.  P.U.

So this just happened...my little Picasso.

Clara and I just got home from her visit with her Nana.  She went into her room and pointed to the blue tin of markers and her drawing pad and said: "Draw."

I took down the supplies and took the caps off the washable markers as she picked out colors.  Up until this instant Clara has been content to draw lines and squiggles and the occasional circle.  But today she was on a different mission.  First she used the green and the red and explained to me that it was a tree.  Then in the corner she drew some little shapes that she pointed to and kept saying: "Tweet. Tweet."  Birds.  Okay.  Then she drew with some yellow.  I asked her what it was and she said "House."  And surprisingly, it does sort of look like a house.  A yellow cave sort of a house.

I would have chalked this all up to an eager mom's misinterpretation but she returned to the drawing to point out her "tree," her "tweet tweet," and her "house."

I am floored.  You be the judge.

Clara's Drawing 1.30.14 

I love cheese!

Clara is now one and a half years old.  It's so nice to be able to say: "One and a half" when asked her age instead of trying to tally up the months. In honor of this new moniker, Clara has decided it's time to really start talking.  It's startling every time she blurts out a new word or a tiny sentence.  Also, it's amusing that everything she says seems to end with an exclamation point.

Some of her favorites include:

Whoops!            

Sock! (while pulling off her sock and handing it to me)

A cup!

Binkie!

Shoe!

Turtle!

Yellow!

Purple!

Bubbles!

Hello?!

(while pretending whatever she's holding is a phone she's answering - binkie, keys, remote control)

Yes!

Okay!

Oh no! 

Treats!

Aaaa-choo! (she pretends to sneeze then laughs)

Soup..yum yum yum!" (while pretending to make soup in her play kitchen)

No..no...no! (while waggling one finger at me like an old granny)

Thank you! (when handing me anything, or I hand her something)

"P.U!" (said cheerily when realizing she has a poopy diaper)

I love you!

I love cheese!

Today, when asked by her dad what she would like to have for dinner she replied: "A kiss!" 

Congratulations, Clara.  I can't wait to hear what comes out of your mouth next.

What Clara gets into...Merry Christmas.

I recently came across this blog on Reddit and laughed so hard I cried.  Read it HERE. In it, the blogger describes her 10-month-old's real present list to Santa.  I identified with almost every item on the list.

I will proudly  admit that I have done a really good job of hiding electrical cords from Clara but whenever I forget to close the bathroom door I return to the mayhem of a cloudy pile of unwound toilet paper, the items of the bathroom trash strewn across the floor, and the strong possibility of one of Clara's dolls posed in her potty, or (heaven forbid) if I have also forgotten to close the toilet seat, a soggy doll taking a bath in the toilet.

I would also love to know what aspect of our evolution has enabled small babies to grasp tiny objects - almost invisibly tiny objects - in their fingers and then carry them to their mouth for a taste.  Was food in the distant past so scarce that babies were crawling around under the tables fighting over tiny crumbs, Lord of the Flies style?  Because I find myself vacuuming the entire house every single day because no matter how clean the floor is Clara finds the one stale, ancient broken shard of Chex cereal hiding in a crack in the floorboard and pops it in her mouth before I can blink.  Ninja-style, Clara gets her hands on everything I think she shouldn't have.  Here's a picture she snapped with my phone after stealing it out of my pocket and running away with it, madly giggling and pressing buttons.  

At least she didn't purchase a ten dollar app like last time this happened.

Last week two of my Mommy friends came over with their children for a play-date.  18-month-old  twin boys and two 17-month-old  girls created a predictable cyclone of toys in Clara's room.  Us parents laughed as they pulled out every toy and book they could get their hands on, regarding it for mere seconds before tossing it in the growing pile in order to get something else.  Billie was digging around in Clara's crate of Duplos, pulling them out piece by piece with laser concentration.  That is, until her mother Sindy remarked in surprise: "Oh what's this?"  She reached over to Billie and pulled a perfectly preserved, dessicated Baby Carrot out of her daughter's tiny fist.

My first reaction was to be completely mortified - what kind of mother was I?  The kind that left a  baby carrot mummify in the toy box?  But instead I just laughed.  Maybe Clara thought she would save that carrot for later...a month and a half ago.  Or maybe she has a squirrel's instinct to bury food for the winter.  Either way I think I can place the blame squarely on my almost 18-month-old. At least the floor was vacuumed.

I swear that Clara grows an inch a day.  She has figured out that she can stand on tiptoes and run her hands over tabletops to see what kind of treasures her little hands can grab and pull down for a look-see. She is also determined to bounce across the couch and try to pull ornaments off our tabletop tree.  And let me tell you people...as sad as I was to get a tiny tree this year, I am so happy not to have to contend with the smackdown that would occur between Clara and a giant tree resting in a stand on the floor.  Because believe you me, by the end of that battle Clara would be left standing (albeit covered in sap and probably wearing the tree skirt on her head) in the smoking pile of rubble that would be the toppled tree, broken ornaments, and billions of pine needle that had been ripped of the branches.

So far this Christmas, Tabletop Tree - 1, Clara - 0.

Purple and Turtle

Clara is full of energy and getting into everything which is why I was dreading the idea of being shut inside all winter with a toddler bouncing off the walls.  Going anywhere in the freezing cold is daunting with a small child and it turns out there are not a lot of structured activities or classes for under-2's.

Over the Spring, Summer and Fall I organized a meetup in the park for local moms with babies. We have a local yahoo group for parents and I posted there to see who might show up. I got a nice response - some became regulars, others drop-ins.  We spread out blankets and brought some toys to share.  It was a great way to meet other parents and have some adult conversation while the babies played.  I also thought it really helped the babies.  I could see Clara watching older kids who had mastered things she hadn't yet, and I could almost see the brain synapses firing.    Inevitably she would start doing something she had watched another baby do a week or so later.

But with the cold weather closing in around us, what could be done?  Along with a few other moms we have organized a weekly toddler playtime once a week in the Inwood Library Children's room.  We sing some songs, read some books and watch the toddlers play.  It is parent run - we came in and cleaned all the toys.  We set up the toys and clean up at the end of the hour.  But it's a huge success and Clara loves it.

This past Friday she amazed me by picking up a turtle figurine, bringing it to me and saying: "Turtle."  Then she picked up a dinosaur with purple spots, pointed to one of the spots and said: "Purple."  She smiled after each one, knowing she was rolling out something new for her Mommy. Just a little impressed with herself - and so she should be.  I applauded.

I think there should be more activities like this for children under two.  And not necessarily classes that cost money.  All of us parents want our children to grow and challenge themselves to do more. Organize something - you'll be surprised how many people show up.

She's like...both of us.

It is amazing watching a baby become a kid.  Clara still has baby qualities but she is becoming more of a kid everyday.  She is starting to make up games and entertain herself - not always looking to me or her dad for inspiration.  Like when Gerald comes home from work and she smiles that clever little smile and bolts away, running on toddly baby legs, absolutely expecting her father to chase her all over the apartment.  Gerald happily obliges - often before putting down his bag or taking off his coat.

There are pieces of Gerald and me poking through. I can see how we influence her.  Clara loves books.  She loves to be read to.  She loves to read them herself. She loves to point to images in books.

Clara: (pointing emphatically)  "A-dah!"  "A-DAH." 

She either explaining what the pictures are or she's asking me to explain how the gorilla got the keys from the zookeeper. Either way, she is very excited.  That is totally me.  I love books.  I love where they take you.  It is my favorite escape and clearly, Clara loves them too.

She is also silly.  She is trying out comedy on us every day.  She thinks it's hilarious to tilt her head to the side and smile at us.  It makes her laugh even before we start laughing.  And that is totally her dad.  Gerald has always had silly little things he did to make me smile and laugh.  And now he's showing that to Clara.  

Interestingly, Clara has recently begun talking in her sleep.  It's amusing going in to check on her only to find her, butt up in the air, knees tucked under, totally asleep, happily babbling to herself.  What's even more hilarious is to go back to sleep beside Gerald, and hear him talking to himself (though lying on his back in a much more dignified manner).

She is growing up so fast it feels like we're on a speeding train.  Or as my friend Libby said: "It's madness! It's like we're on a flume slide to 18."  Well, I love flume slides.

Kiss and Hug.

I read about this...how toddlers start forming attachments to dolls and hugging and kissing them.  I not-so secretly dreaded this because I hated playing with dolls as a kid.  My twin sister loved them and would make clothes for them and put them to sleep at night.  I hated them and would convince my sister that if she played Solarquest (my favorite board game) with me then I would play dolls with her.  Usually after the board game I would get up and run away.  

Fast forward to my first child.  Clara has been showing no signs of liking dolls.  Until this week...(cue scary music) But you know what, it is quite possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life so I guess it's okay.

Today she got out two of her soft bowling pins - a donkey and a puppy.  She walked around her room, hugging and kissing them.  Then she put them in her pink toy stroller and started pushing them all over the apartment.  She would not slow down long enough for me to take a picture of her in action, so instead I present to you this image: Donkey and Puppy  in stroller. (right where she left them - in the kitchen.)

Donkey and Puppy -  Side by Side.

A Halloween Update.

I was so excited that Clara was old enough to actually enjoy Halloween but I was worried that she would be upset wearing her costume or be upset by all the whole "knocking on doors and interacting with strangers" thing. Instead, Clara had a fabulous time.

We started off at our building's kick-off party.  Gerald got her into her costume with no fuss and she was happy to walk around with the bubble-wrap stuffed cone-shaped starfish top perched on her head.  (This from a girl who won't let a hair-clip stay in her hair.)  I also made some hats for me and Gerald from the same material I made her costume in.  I quickly found out that the polar fleece made me extremely hot.  Clara must have been very warm in her costume...but did she complain?  Nope.  Instead she happily ran around with the other kids in the courtyard. 

Clara and Lessia playing with ghost makeup...(flour.)

Max as Raphael. Clara as Patrick Starfish.

Then it was time to trick or treat.

At each door Clara went up and knocked.  When the door opened, she would take a pieck of candy in each hand and refuse to let go of it until we went to the next door.  When a bowl of candy was proffered, she would drop the candy in her hands and grab more.

Highlights:

At one door the neighbor said: "Who is it?"  Clara answered: "Cla-ra."

At one point we realized she was chewing on something.  Gerald pulled a foil-wrapped peanut butter cup from her mouth - she had chewed it enough to get some of the chocolate out.

At the last two doors we visited Clara got the hang of putting candy in her treat bag.

Through it all she was engaged, interested, and happy.  We have ourselves a Halloween-lovin' little girl.  (And she slept like a rock when we got home - 12 hours without a peep.)