Growing Up, Moving Up, Standing Up.

Clara has had an action packed June. For months Clara has been talking about being a Flower Girl in her Aunt Margaret's wedding, and finally the day arrived.  Clara an I had many discussions about what an important job she had at her aunt's wedding.  We discussed dresses and shoes and when Clara decided she wanted to wear a red dress I told her: Margaret's the boss of this wedding so what she says goes. Clara got to choose between two pink dresses and she (predictably) chose the one with more sparkles.  Knowing what a flower girl does in the abstract is a lot different then the reality.  At the wedding rehearsal Clara was frozen by the enormity of her task.  She refused to walk by herself and it was quickly decided that Gerald would walk with her during the ceremony.

Gerald giving worried Clara a hug at the wedding rehearsal..

The next day Clara seemed thrilled by everything.  We visited the bride and the bridesmaids while they were getting ready.  I did not have high hopes that Clara would consent to having her hair and makeup done but after she watched the other women getting prettied up she decided that they all looked like Disney princesses and she wanted to look like one too.  Bridesmaid Jess looked like Aurora to her and her Aunt Margaret was Cinderella. Clara wanted in on that action. While we all looked on Clara got her hair done and then her makeup.  The makeup artist showed Clara a palette of lipsticks and asked her to choose one.  Clara authoritatively chose the most crimson shade of red she could find.   No pastel pink for this little girl.  All prettied up, Clara was ready to go.

Clara and the crimson lipstick.

Showing us her make up.

The bridal party looks on.

At the wedding, Clara went off with her Dad to get ready for "the show," as she called it.  Freya and I waited with the wedding guests for it all to start.  You would never know that less then 24 hours earlier Clara had been scared and shy.  She was the most professional and beautiful flower girl her totally unbiased mother had ever seen.

Doing her "flower girl" thing like a pro.

Just a few weeks later, Clara had her Moving Up ceremony at school.  Back in the day, we only had graduations when we left schools...so I can vividly recall my 8th grade graduation, my high school graduation, and my college graduation.  These days, you start graduating at 3 years old and you call it "Moving Up."  I am not ashamed to admit I teared up a little as Clara's class took the stage to sing two songs.  Clara took center stage and sang her heart out. No trace of butterflies for this little girl.  She was totally into it.

Waving to her parents as she takes the stage, 

Singing.

Clapping choreography.

Hugging choreography.

After the songs each child was called onto the stage  one by one to walk over a small mountain and "move up" to next year.  Needless to state, Clara nailed it.

Moving up.

In the Fall Clara starts at a new school in Pre-Kindergarten.  The events of June have had a lasting impact on Clara.  It's incredible to watch this little person take on every new challenge life throws her way.  

In other news, Freya is ten months old and almost walking, much to her parents dismay (I mean delight!)  She has 2 little teeth and her favorite activities are cruising all over the apartment, crawling as fast as lightning and saying:  "DaDAdadadadaDa."  She would also like to do whatever Clara is doing at any given moment and Clara usually obliges.

At the playground.

Taking a breather after chasing this 18 month old all over the library.

Watching the wedding rehearsal.

Thinking about walking over to the coffee table.

On Her Feet.

As if it isn't enough that Freya has been crawling since she was 7 months old, she has the sheer audacity to start pulling up at nine months, and if THAT wasn't enough, a few days later she's cruising along the furniture. It's wonderful and heart-stopping at the same time.  You would think having Clara would have prepared me for this but nooooooo. Clara waited until she was a sensible 10 and a half months to start crawling, pulling up, and cruising.  Just who does little miss Freya think she is?  

Oh right...she's a little sister.  And her mission in life is to get over to Clara and see what she's doing. This is all Clara's fault for being so interesting,and funny. Clara's main goal in life seems to be making Freya cackle with laughter...and trying to teach her things with varying degrees of success. Though a few days ago Clara actually did teach Freya to clap while I was in the kitchen putting away dishes.  From the living room I hear Clara telling Freya how to clap and then shortly after Clara's excited yells of: "She's doing it! She's clapping!"  I rushed in, and indeed - Freya was clapping, eyes glued to Clara looking for her approval.

Freya, just standing around.

The two girls share a room now and maneuvering through the minefield called "bedtime" with an almost 4 year old and a 9 month old can be perilous.  But it can also be wonderful.  A few nights ago after an attempt to get Freya to sleep first went pear-shaped, I asked Clara if we could read books in her bed with Freya, and Clara happily agreed.  The two girls lay down side by side next to each other on the pillows.  I started to read a book to them and one silly look from Clara and Freya dissolved into laughter - which made Clara laugh - which made Freya laugh, and so on and so on.  It was a laugh riot at bedtime and I got a flash of what great friends these two are going to be. 

Sisters.

I guess Gerald and I have to accept the fact that Freya is in a big hurry to grow up...or at least in a big hurry to chase her sister all over the place.  We're looking forward to the next milestone, the first word, which at this rate might happen sometime next week.  Clara is insistent that Freya's first word will be: "Clara." I wouldn't be at all surprised.

The Superhero Book. By Clara

Clara's preschool class has recently been working on making their own books.  The kids are crazy about it and I have been "gifted" with a number of scribbled books by Clara.  This week, Clara brought home a new book, this time with a twist.  Clara got to describe what was happening and her teacher dutifully took notation. I present to you:  Clara's first "book."  

The Superhero Book

by Clara

p. 1: This is our race.

p.2 Then we went to the pool.

p.3: Then we went to outer space.

p.4:Then I just writed everything.

p.5: Then we went to the ocean again.

p;6: Then we went to the pool again.

p.7: We just went home again.

p.8: Then we did everything.

The End.

Now wise reader, you might be thinking to yourself: I've been duped!  This isn't a book about superheroes at all!  But just take a moment to read between the lines...

This is our race.

This is a race that is happening SO fast that all we can see are blurry, purple scribbles.  I don't know about you, but that clearly puts this in superhero territory.

Then we went to the pool. Then we went to outer space.

When was the last time you went to the pool AND then went to outer space in the same day?  Also, last time I checked us mere humans have to use a spaceship to get to outer space - all this superhero needs is a purple scribble-oval.  BAM!  Superhero!

Then I just writed everything. Then we went to the ocean again.

Have you ever tried to write EVERYTHING?  If I did that it would take me the rest of my life and I STILL wouldn't be done.  This little superhero had time to write everything and go to the ocean AGAIN which infers that she had  time for ocean swimming TWICE, while writing everything. 

I also find it interesting that writing everything and ocean adventures look suspiciously like purple M's. Clearly only superheroes can see the nuance.

Then we went to the pool again. We just went home again.

Superheroes can sure pack a lot into their day.  I am glad to know that this little superhero equally enjoys the ocean and the pool multiple times over the course of the day. After all that racing,  swimming, writing, and outer space adventuring it's time to go home.

Then we did everything.

No rest for the weary superhero.  Arriving home after a long day, the superhero is able to get EVERYTHING done. Even those purple scribbles look exhausted.

The End. 

Conversations with Clara. Episode 11.

Today Clara, Freya and I got on the Bx7 New York City bus in order to get to her school on time. We sat next to each other.

Clara: Can I pull the yellow string?

Me: Yes, when it's our stop you can be the boss of pulling the yellow string.

Clara: I'm the boss?

Me: Of the yellow string.

Clara: No, I'm the boss of you. I'm the boss of Freya. I'm the boss of the WORLD! Because I'm getting boobs. And when you have boobs you're the BOSS! SEE?!
(Clara pulls down her dress and shows off her nipple)

Clara: MOM! Why are you laughing? Look at my boob!

Thankfully  all the women around me on the bus were also laughing. Thanks for keeping me on my toes, Clara.

Flat Clara...Flat Mommy.

First a disclaimer.  I had and still have no idea what Flat Stanley was or is.  A quick internet search informs me it's a child's book about a kid named Stanley Lambchop who is squashed as flat as a pancake when a bulletin board falls on him. He remains flat and goes on to be mailed in envelopes in order to visit his friends (for the insanely cheap price of a postage stamp) as well as being able to slide under doors.

I first heard about Flat Stanley when Clara's nursery school class voted to learn more about the post office when asked about which neighborhood building they would like to learn more about.  Losers included: The Library, The Police Station, and School.  Clara quickly became obsessed with mail.  She would draw pictures and clamor for envelopes and stamps,  and when she couldn't wait to get it in the mailbox, she would put it directly into our apartment mailbox for me to find upon my return, or sometimes just put it on the dining room table.

Her first attempt...addressed to Mom.

The contents of her letter.

A more sophisticated attempt.
 Clearly, sophisticated mail requires a hand drawn stamp in EACH corner.

Post Office/Flat Stanley fever escalated and the kids made their own "Flat" versions of themselves.  The teachers asked us to provide addresses of friends who lived far away for our children to send their "Flat" people to.  Our friends would then send photos of the "Flat" people visiting landmarks back to the classroom for the kids to discuss and learn about.

I tapped two of my friends for the challenge.  My friend Kim lives on Bainbridge Island in Washington State.  I asked Kim's daughter Lucy to show Flat Clara a good time and she did.  Apparently Flat Clara really likes castles, dragons and unicorns.  (Interestingly, Real Clara does as well.) Bainbridge Island is fantastically magical!

Flat Clara meets a unicorn and wears a necklace.

Flat Clara meets a dragon at the castle.

I then tapped my friend Ailsa who lives in London to also participate in the Flat Stanley project.  She enthusiastically agreed, and until I received the photos from the adventure, I assumed that Clara had made another Flat Clara to go overseas.  Generously, Clara decided that Flat Mommy deserved a trip to London.  Apparently you need a hat whilst in London (it does rain there a lot, bird) but not any pants - clearly just a shirt will suffice. And you mustn't appear too impressed by the wonders of London - hence Flat Mommy's skeptical expression.   That being said, I am absurdly touched that Clara sent a Flat Mommy out into the world. 

Flat Mommy and a famous Double Decker Bus in Piccadilly Circus.

Flat Mommy riding in  a famous London black cab.

Flat Mommy having tea.

Thanks to Kim, Lucy and Ailsa for hosting Flat Clara and Flat Mommy.

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. 

Dear Santa...

Last Christmas Clara was two. She was excited about leaving out cookies and milk for Santa but still took a lot of prompting to remember what she was doing and why. Needless to state, she didn't make herself sick with excitement the night before Christmas waiting for Santa to show up.

Yes, I am THAT mother. The one who wants her daughter to stare at the ceiling all night long straining to hear reindeer hooves on the fire escape. I stubbornly believed in Santa until I was almost ten, and still kinda do. This year I want to make Clara as over-excited as possible.  I already have her hooked looking at all the Christmas decorations all over the neighborhood and I know I'll have to actually hide all her presents this year or else she'll TOTALLY find them.  Tomorrow we're breaking out the advent calendar.  Open a little door EVERY DAY and get a little prize! (WHAT!? AWESOME!)  This is good training for Clara as she will become my willing accomplice as the years go by in making her baby sister totally over-excited about Christmas as well.

We made this snow-globe craft together.  I think Clara did a really good job making the tree. Maybe I'm biased, or maybe I just LOVE CHRISTMAS!

 

On Sunday, Gerald sat Clara down o help her write a letter to Santa.  He took down everything she wanted to say.

Dear Santa, I hope you love your list. I’m really excited for Christmas this year. I’ve been a very good girl this year. We should make a present for you too! Here’s my list:

Anna Bubble.

Glitter

Art Supplies

Shopkins and Blind Bags

A “Big Girl” Hat

Stickers

Sunglasses

“Serious” Books

Chocolate Treats

Teddy Bear/Olaf Toy

Anything”Frozen.”

A Pink Umbrella.

Thank you so much, Santa!  Love, Clara.

Now did Clara really understand the whole "I've been a good girl this year" thing?  I'm betting not but I give Gerald major Christmas points for working it into the letter.  I like how Clara is trying to soften up Santa with the whole "we should get you a present too, Santa." Good woork, little girl.

I  find Clara's present list both heartwarming and hilarious.

Let me first address the "Shopkins and Blind Bags" request.  For those of you not in the know - Shopkins are tiny. cheaply made toys that come in tiny shopping baskets. But here's the kicker - you don't know what one you're getting until you open it-  and you know how little kids love surprises.  Each shopping basket comes with a list - a key if you will, of the names of each of these little cheap pieces of plastic  and whether or not they're common,rare, super rare....etc.  So for the bargain price of 3.00 if you might get a pinky nail sized coffee pot named  "Coffee Drip",  and a sneaker with glamorous eyes named "Sneaky Wedge." At least you get two to a basket.  We can thank You Tube and the Disney Cars Toy Club channel on aforementioned You Tube for introducing Clara  and by extension, her parents, to the wonders of Shopkins. Clara would watch Amy Jo unwrap Shopkins for HOURS on You Tube if we let her.  When we buy her Shopkins as treats she always says "I hope we don't get a duplicate," just like Amy Jo does. It's ridiculous.  But who am I to talk?  I collected Garbage Pail Kids.

Anyone have some suggestions for "serious" books for a three year old?  What does she mean?  Who knows?  Better get cracking, Santa. And while you're at it, keep a lookout for a "Big Girl" Hat. Just cross glitter off the list, Santa, and please take note of Clara's three references to Frozen. Anything Frozen - she's not discriminating. She might even sing you all the songs from Frozen if she catches you putting presents under the tree this year.

And Then There Were Two.

As of August 24th, 2015, Gerald and I now have two children.  Two daughters. 6 weeks later and I finally have a moment to write about it. Boy, do you forget how much time and effort it takes to care for a newborn. And a toddler?  We're just a little tired. (Gerald will totally back me up on this one.)

Clara arrived fashionably late, one day past her due date.  I was pretty sure I would go the full 40 weeks with the second, so I felt only a mild twinge of anxiety when Gerald wanted to go see Andy Pettitte's number retired at Yankee Stadium.  I was a week away from my due date...and really, what were the odds?  I made a joke on the way to the train that if I went into labor at Yankee stadium, our TBD little girl was going to be the first female Major League baseball player. Gerald bought tickets and we headed to the stadium on the subway.

Before the fateful "water break."

Freya already planning her jail-break.

We had great seats in the upper levels - plenty of leg room and space for Clara to walk around if she got antsy.  We watched Andy Pettitte get his number retired, and then it was time to watch the ball game. (Yankees vs. the Indians)

We had only planned to stay for about 4 innings anyway.  Clara can last only so long, even distracted as she was by pizza and ice cream.  Gerald suggested packing up to leave and I excused myself to use the restroom for the hundredth time (thanks to the baby using my bladder as a pillow and punching bag.) Except, when I stood up, it felt like I wet my pants.(embarrassing) I quickly waddled to the bathroom.  It wasn't pee.  My water had broken, which along with about fifty other pregnancy symptoms I had been experiencing with this pregnancy,  hadn't happened when I was pregnant with Clara.

I hurried back to Gerald and Clara and told him the news.  Gerald, with an excellent poker face, said: "Well, let's get going." The people in the row in front of us heard, cheered loudly, and suggested we name her Andy. In the lobby of the stadium I suggested asking guest services to help us get a car service to the hospital.  But the words: "my wife's water broke" incurred a frenzy of activity.  Soon we had an entourage of 2 EMT's and a police officer.  No, I couldn't walk - they would get me a wheelchair.  And a car service was out of the question - we would ride in style in an ambulance.  To be fair, Gerald and I both expected this labor to be pretty quick.  Common wisdom proclaims that your second labor will be about half as long as the first.  Clara's was six hours so we assumed we had to get moving.

They wheeled me over to first aid to wait for the ambulance to arrive.  Family was called, and my sister and mother planned to meet us at the hospital to take Clara home, and Gerald's parents hopped in their car to come down to the city and stay overnight with Clara. An absolutely lovely police officer whose name I can't recall (edit: Gerald remembers: Officer Vanessa De Los Santos) stayed with us while we waited for the ambulance.  It arrived, and the two EMT's (Andrew and Guy) manning the ambulance were equally lovely and had a sense of humor about the whole thing which was greatly appreciated. They treated Clara like a princess and made her ride in the ambulance seem like an adventure instead of something scary. It was my first ride in an ambulance ever, and the two EMT's made it fun and made me feel safe.

We pulled into the Emergency Room at Columbia Presbyterian. The ER was backed up and I waited on the gurney in a hallway with a lot of other people waiting on gurneys and in wheelchairs for care.  Gerald stood next to me, holding Clara's hand.  I soon noticed that all he people around me were acting sorta strange.  Well, really strange.  The woman across the aisle from me made some funny faces at Clara (normal), then made some slightly obscene faces for my benefit (less normal), then licked the cheek of an unconscious woman sitting beside her who may or may not have been known to her, and told a passing orderly she was in love with him. The EMT's from my ambulance came up to me and said: "Just so you know, everyone else waiting here is high on K2."

I told Gerald to get Clara out of there and find my mom and sister - I would let him know where I ended up.  Shortly after Gerald and Clara left, an ER nurse asked what I was doing there, and I was promptly wheeled out of the ER and up to maternity.

My water broke at 2:30.  At around 6PM I was admitted to Triage and they confirmed my water had broken, but I was only one centimeter dilated.  I was having contractions but they weren't really strong.  Gerald and I watched Into the Woods on his phone.  At around 8pm a labor and delivery room freed up.  My first reaction to the room was: Is this a film set?  It looked like a staged labor and delivery room in a movie where the laboring mother's hair and makeup remains perfect while a nurse blots her lightly sweating forehead with a cloth handkerchief.  The wall-to wall picture window had a sparkling view of downtown Manhattan.  In front of the window was a giant sofa that folded out to a bed for Gerald.  Our nurse told us that down the hall was a lounge with a fridge stocked with sandwiches and drinks for the dads. AMAZING.

At 11pm the on call obstetrician came in to discuss pitocin.  After insisting on being checked to see how dilated I was and finding I was still one centimeter, I agreed to start a low dose of pitocin. Contractions enhanced by pitocin are no joke.  They felt nothing like my first (drug-free) labor.  They were intensely painful and radiated out from my pelvis.  I labored through the hellish pitocin contractions for 4 hours before considering an epidural.

On the fence about an epidural I asked the nurse for her advice.

She said: "Well, it depends on what your birth plan is.  Do you want to feel the worst pain imaginable while giving birth, or not?"

I laughed hysterically at this and the nurse replied:

"You still have the energy to laugh, you're going to be in labor for a while longer."

Epidural please.

After the sweet relief of the epidural kicked in, I labored for another 5 hours for a grand total of 18 hours.  The end was very quick - I pushed three times, and there she was on my chest.  Her first sound was a pained: "Owwwww."  Ow, indeed.  Gerald cut the cord and we both got to meet our second child - Freya.  Gerald insists the labor was so long because our littlest Yankee fan couldn't bear to be born on a day when the Yankees lost...so she waited for a day when they did. (Astros vs Yankees)

Clara meets Freya.

 Welcome to the family, Freya.

Worry

You seem so excited about your new baby sister.  You kiss my tummy and say “hello” to her.  You tell me how you’re going to teach her how to walk, and feed her bottles, and change her diapers.  You want to teach her how to laugh.

You also just turned three.  You sometimes throw things when you don’t get your way. You confuse me sometimes.  Like when you ask for an apple and I go to get it and you yell” NO APPLE!” but when I move to put it away you start crying and want the apple back. You love to help set the table and empty the dishwasher but usually put up a fight when it’s time to clean up the toys.

You amazingly take new things in stride.  When we took the side off your crib, you happily got in bed at night and didn’t constantly climb out. You switched into the bigger bedroom for you and your future sister, and slept through the night the first night and every night since. The tooth fairy “took away” the binkies the same week you independently decided to give up naps. At night you were overtired and binkie-less and yet you slept through the night. A few days later your “big-girl” twin sized bed arrived and you had no trouble sleeping in it, even with your “old bed” - soon to be your little sister’s crib - across the room.

I remember the first three months you were alive and how tired your Dad and I were from feeding you every two hours.  We got through it and every day was a little better. I worry about those first three months with a newborn and an active, inquisitive three year old. I don’t want you to feel lost in the shuffle and I want to be able to focus on you both equally but I worry that you’ll be sad or think I’m ignoring you. I don’t want you to worry.  About anything.  Ever.

At 35 weeks pregnant I am tired now but you seem to understand when Mom needs a break.  Like yesterday when it took us a half an hour to go one block because I had to keep stopping to sit down from stabbing cervical pains.  You patiently sat beside me on building stoops and stairs while I caught my breath.  Each time we stopped you would quietly sing me the Doc Mc Stuffins song: “I know you’re scared. Tell me what’s wrong. I know there’s something we can do.”  You waited patiently for me to collect myself and keep walking.

Maybe I should just trust in the fact that you’re taking everything in stride.  A three year old is showing me how not to worry. Ok...I’ll stop worrying. Really. OK...I’m stopping worrying….

Solo-Duplo building.

Silly face time while Mom lies down on the bed for a minute.

Clara Turns 3.

We threw Clara a birthday party this past Friday. I know that everyone says it but I literally cannot believe Clara has been in our lives for THREE years...three years 9 months if you count womb time. How is it even possible?  I look back at pictures and see how small Clara once was and think: "How long ago was that?" It feels like last week.

I tried to compare the passage of time to other three-year long intervals in my life.

11 to 14?  Interminable waiting to be older coupled with knife-sharp growing pains. Felt like forever.

18 to 21? Most of college - intensely studying while trying to have fun and make friends. Flew on a plane for the first time. Studied abroad. Less angsty than high school but time certainly slowed down while I navigated the murky waters of social interaction with my peers.

Six weeks from now I will give birth to my second child. If Clara was born yesterday, how is this possible?

Back to the party.  Clara's friends with their parents (a.k.a adult friends) in tow, and other friends and both sides of the family gathered to celebrate.  Clara loves all things doll/stuffed animal/and princess...much to the delight of my twin sister who loved all these things when we were children while I ran away screaming looking for a board game or an encyclopedia to read. My mother always invented elaborate games for our birthday parties as kids, and in that same spirit I planned a Princess Scavenger Hunt for the kiddies while trying to keep the pink princess frou-frou aspect to a minimum.

Here is what the kids had to find:

Princess Tiana's Frog - a delightfully squishy, slimy toy frog. (would probably stick to the wall if thrown,  like those crawling octopi  I used to love as a child)

Princess Ariel's Shell - A seashell whistle. (Surprisingly, it made a pure, pretty tone.)

Snow White's Apple - a plastic apple with a toy insect inside. (Clara's cousin Cricket actually found a cricket in hers)

Cinderella's Pumpkin - a plastic pumpkin with a stuffed toy mouse inside. ( big hit with the three year old set, who loved finding other things to fit in the pumpkin and the apple...open, close...repeat)

Tinkerbell's Pixie Dust - a plastic egg filled with iridescent slime.  (this was like  drugs to the three year olds. Each one of them carried around the slime for at least an hour.  One little girl made herself a bracelet out of it.)

Elsa's Wand - A light up snowflake wand. (I know...I KNOW.  Elsa doesn't have a wand...but we can't exclude Frozen from our repertoire, Disney would revoke my parent card)

Abandoned Tinkerbell Slime.

The kids spent the remainder of the time running around like loons. Clara got over excited and wiped out at one point, needing many kisses and band aids. Gerald and I walked around talking to adults while Clara disappeared into the pack of roaming children. Many hot dogs, chips and dip, and cupcakes were enjoyed by all.  The three year old's eyed each other to see who would be the first one brave enough to request a second cupcake before the firsts' sugar high kicked in. 

Wish time.

                       

Should I ask or just take another?

Delicious.

 While opening her gifts Clara reveled in ripping open the paper. She then proceeded to look at the revealed gift for exactly 3.5 seconds before saying: "Let's open another one."

     

All in all, it was a great day. Gerald and I could see how special Clara felt when everyone sang her Happy Birthday and she got to blow out the candle.

I don't think there's anything better than throwing a birthday party for a child. It's all new and amazing to them. (Even if I don't quite believe that we've just celebrated her third birthday)

Happy Birthday, Princess.

Some of the guests...

Charlie and Marek.

Me and Lauren.

Skip, Jason, and Susan.

Samantha, Becky and I.

       

 

The satisfied parents.