The Finish Line is in Sight

I am really itching to take the Christmas decorations down. This actually has nothing to do with my somewhat disappointing holiday (more on this in a minute) but happens every year around this time. The tree dries out horribly, the house feels cluttered, I feel like I need to enter detox from all the cookies and champagne, etc. Yesterday I bought "clean scented" candles which I burn every January (this year, the scent is grass) and some new ornament storage boxes in an attempt to be more organized next year. I can't bring myself to take everything down until after New Years, though. Even in my eagerness, it seems a little wrong to discard of the holiday too soon.

But I don't think I'll miss this holiday season too much. Don't get me wrong- we had some good laughs. Our holiday open house was a success (I think) and people actually cleared out ahead of schedule which meant I had time to clean up and put the kids to bed before the cookie swap the next day. The cookie swap was tremendously fun. We had a good time in NY visiting with my family and the girls had a blast dancing the night away at my dad's office party. We had a good dinner Christmas Eve and the looks on the kids' faces on Christmas Day when they came downstairs to find Santa had come were priceless. And then there was Isabel's first holiday concert (thanks to NAEYC, the theme was one that even Irving Berlin could be proud of- winter. Izzy still says her favorite song is "Let it snow" which she and her friends sang for the parents.) And Isabel's newfound love of puzzles, Candyland, and Peter Pan has made the evenings alot of fun lately. Ok, so it wasn't all bad. But the holiday did have a weird feel to it- as if no one, other than the kids, really cared that much. Ryan admitted to being distracted at work and not really "into" the holiday this year, my in-laws decided to forgo wrapping most presents so we ended up handing around cardboard boxes (not that the kids cared that much). My poor niece was thrown off her schedule, left without her usual toys, and probably teething, so spent the better part of her stay with us balling her eyes out. I got myself so distracted with everything that I ended up missing our Christmas Eve outing after forgetting my wallet at home.

And then there was the dreaded stomach bug. Lottie caught it first Monday night last. A few episodes of puking all over our bed in the middle of the night (one of her specialities), some runny BMs, and she was fine. Next to go down was Ryan on Tuesday. Dry heaving, stomach craps, and fatigue for several days, but by Thursday evening, he was more or less in shape again. I went down Thursday night. It was ugly. As usual, I got the triple strength dose. I was prone Friday, up a bit Saturday, prone Sunday, and tied up in knots yesterday. Today is my first day "back in the saddle." I hope I am able to stay upright.

I suppose if everyone holiday was picture perfect it wouldn't be memorable. But I'll be relieved when the last ornament is off the tree. Then I can start planning for Easter... (just kidding!!)

So this is Christmas

Things are definitely looking up.  With the open house and cookie swap behind us, the presents wrapped, and the house generally in order, the girls and I have decided to have some fun before our extended family arrives for the holidays.  I decided to keep Izzy and Lottie out of school this week to enjoy a little time alone before the next round of madness descends.

Today we went to see the train exhibit at the Botanical Gardens downtown.  This is our third year attending so I wasn't expecting magical but then again, I'm not a kid, so what do I know?  Clearly, as you can probably tell from the pictures, I was in the minority with that one.  It's bitter cold here in DC today, like much of the rest of the East Coast so we decided to drive into town and to forgo foraging at the outdoor Christmas market near Chinatown.  (I guess there's always tomorrow for that.)  But despite the wild winds and the itchy wool hats, the girls had a magnificent time.  And the trains, which were all indoors this year, were lovely.  It is, after all, the little things that make up memories worth remembering.

Bah Humbug

I feel a little bit bad about even broaching this topic since it doesn't seem to be in the proper spirit of things, but I am really sick of Christmas. I fully recognize that I do this to myself and do it almost every year, but this year it seems a bit worse. My problem is that I take on too much, start too early, and by the time the actual holiday is here I want it and everyone else to go away. This year we packed in birthday parties, a boat parade, a dog parade, dinner with friends, our anniversary, a trip to NY, a holiday open house, a cookie swap, and soon, a visit from my in-laws all before the 25th.

It seems that we add on some more to this crazy list every year and every year Ryan seems to disappear a little bit more from the holiday planning part of the whole thing. He'll claim this is totally unfair (and it probably is since I am so stressed out and tired right now that I want to crawl under my desk, have a good cry, and then fall asleep), but I think my breaking point happened last week when he sat around complaining about my liberal use of bookmarks on my bookmark bar while reading a Sherlock Holmes website while I sat in a giant pile of gifts that needed to be wrapped. Sound familiar to anyone? To make matters worse, it seems that few people around me think of themselves as organizationally challenged at best and at worst think that I am insanely anal. I have tried the Schroeder method of waiting til the absolutely last minute to get anything done and, in it's own way, the Schroeder method has driven me to the brink. I am one of those people who compile a list of gift ideas, scout the Internet and my favorite stores for the best deals, order the Christmas cards before Thanksgiving, and hopefully have everything in place with a few weeks to spare. Needless to say, I have been having dark thoughts lately about being surrounded by procrastinators. I do believe I sounded quite shrill at 11 PM the other night as Ryan agonized over getting his grandparents another food basket for Christmas. My response was that it didn't matter anyway since they would never get it in time unless he was willing to pay $40 to ship the damn thing.

Oh the holidays. If it wasn't for the girls, I would be on the first cruise ship to Bermuda right now. And poor Izzy is sooo into it this year. She keeps running around saying "this is going to be the best holiday ever." Meanwhile I am in the kitchen pouring myself an increasingly large glass of scotch.

What is it about Target?

Have you ever met anyone who doesn't like Target?  Who would rather say, "no thanks," when someone asks if they want to do a run?  For a long time, I just went along with it, not questioning the universal appeal of a mass market chain retailer.  But lately, I am finding it kind of weird. People with a wide range in tastes, incomes, geographic locations, family status, etc, all say the same thing- Target has everything and I never go in without spending at least $100.  I should admit here, at the risk of sounding like a snob, that I am decidedly NOT a Walmart person so Target is about the closest I have to an obsession with mass marketers.  I'd like to think my Walmart antipathy is not a class thing but more the result of being a textile analyst in the mid to late 1990s and watching one textile mill go out of business after the other.  Every last person at those mills blamed the loss of business on the mass market retailers with Walmart being chief among them.  Anyway- I digress.  This isn't about Walmart but why everyone loves Target.  

I admit to being a late comer to Target mania.  I didn't start shopping there until after I moved to VA from DC in late 2001.  Course before then, I didn't own a house and was furnishing my apts mainly out of family cast offs and quirky finds from Urban Outfitters (a definitely misguided attempt at hipness.)  But the addition of a (town)house and four years later child essentially solidified it for me.  I need Target.  I need to feel economical but still somewhat stylish.  How is it that a mass marketer can lure you in by feeding your need to feel quirky and a little different from everyone else?  The Target addiction is so bad among my peers that there have been days when Isabel has walked into preschool wearing the exact same shirt as three of her classmates.  

Today I made a Target run and ended up spending $170.  I still am not sure how.  Somewhere between the silver reindeer statuette, the Archer Farms caramel apple pancake mix, gift cards, gift tags, and cat presents from Santa, I spent way more than I should of.  There are some days I want to cry over the general homogenization of taste and shopping impulses, but then I grab my latte, fill up the trunk with goodies from Trader Joe's and get over it.

My Lovely Man

Prepare yourself for some gooey stuff here.  (I promise not to make this a habit.)  Ryan and I celebrated our 8th anniversary yesterday.  We went out to dinner last night and after a strict rejoinder that we would not talk about work (which of course was broken by the time desert came), I thought I would offer a quiz to get the conversation started: what are your three favorite memories from our eight married years together?  Ryan's were sweet and not necessarily predictable: scenes from our honeymoon, the surprise party I threw for him for his 30th birthday, our trip to California.  He said when you add in the kids, hands down our annual pilgrimage to apple pick is among his favorite collection of memories.  I, of course, countered with mine- celebrating our first anniversary in our new house, California, and telling him I was pregnant with Isabel.  

But here are a few more that I didn't share with him:

--Watching him swaddle Isabel in the hospital, a job he took very seriously

--Listening to him tickle the girls.  Somehow he can make them shriek with laughter so much better than I can

--Watching him hoist Lottie up to the upper levels of our mammoth Christmas tree this past Sunday so she could put her ornament on

--His omelets and pancakes, which are way better than mine

--How any and all car rides are much more preferable when he's along, even if he passes out faster than the girls

--His willingness to try and teach me to play golf, ski, throw a baseball properly

--And the way he sniffs new tennis balls before serving.

WTC?! (What the craft)

I think there is something wrong with me. I can't stop crafting these days. I think my latent desire to quit my fairly good-paying job that makes me generally happy and give myself over to crafting in some backwoods town in Vermont must becoming not-so-latent. Got all that? It really started innocently. Before I left for a longish business trip this past spring, I took a book out of the library on knitting. I started knitting a few years ago and after a disastrous start (a woman teaching knitting at a local Michaels in northern VA shook her head when she looked at my attempts and said "I've never not been able to teach someone to knit), I got the hang of the scarf thing. But I got bored. And Isabel still refuses to touch the scarf I knit her a few years ago. So I took the book out to learn to knit something else, anything else. I was happy to discover that I could actually make a hat out of a basic scarf. So I did. Four of them. And then I made a blanket. And now I am knitting a dress for Isabel's bear. But it doesn't stop there. I found a pattern for a sock puppet that Boden (a great clothing line btw) most unhelpfully sent me so now I have a stack of socks and buttons to create a family of sock puppets. Never mind the excessive amount of time I've been spending in AC Moore these days. I have ornaments to make with Isabel, candy cane reindeer for Lottie and her friends, and endless amounts of gingerbread men over the next few weeks.

This craftiness is starting to get in the way of relationships. My mother-in-law warned me off my craft habit after I showed up in Kansas with a stack of kits to make pilgrim and Indian hats for the kids at Thanksgiving. Eight pilgrim girl and boy hats and Indian headdresses later (as well as some finger cramping from holding scissors), m-i-l, who perhaps unwisely volunteered to help, was done with me and my campaign to "Do something creative everyday." Damn The Paper Source. (Want any more evidence of my addiction?)

Seriously, every time I read an article in the New York Times about some supermodel who goes to upstate every weekend to run her own bakery (such a story exists- see here), I get woolly-eyed about being surrounded by cupcakes and knit goods and books. Ryan likes to add here when I pine in such manners that a good bottle of scotch would also be necessary for happiness. Maybe someday when I don't have to worry about sending kids to college or affording "high heels" for this year's Christmas party. High heels for Izzy and Lottie, of course. I already have quite a few in case you're worried. In the meantime, folks will just have to suffer my habit. Until I move onto something else!

Btw- want a totally trashy, beach-read-y, Christmas diversion? Try "Bergdorf Blondes" by Plum Sykes. It's obnoxiously awful but somewhat fun, especially if you are secretly addicted to Vogue like I am. (Not that you would ever be able to tell from my closet.)

My New Image

Just a quick note to comment on the new Codename Pinkerbelle look. After envying other blogs with quirkier titles or graphics, I had to find something that encapsulated the true meaning of Pinkerbelle-ism. I think my fairy does the trick. She looks happy enough but do notice the menace to her wand. Hope my girls don't find this one day and think I was totally off my rocker.

For the love of books

Writing a post Thanksgiving about books seems a bit off even to me.  Surely I could fill up a post about traveling with two girls under the age of 4.5, being thrown up on (literally by both kids just days apart), Isabel and her love affair with Duke the boxer, the problem with pancakes, or managing to have a lovely time visiting with family- which we did.  But no, I want to write about the lovely time I had on my holiday surrounded by books not people.  (How social of me!)

I've always been a reader, from the time of the story hours at the Wayne Public Library and accidentally losing "Fraidy Cat" in my mailbox-shaped toy box and almost having my first library card ever taken away.  But it's honestly been a long time since I sat down with a book and remained immobile for hours on end.  (Harry Potter excluded, although, at this point, I don't think HP counts since I am sure there was something subliminally added to those books to keep readers rooted to their seats.)  Some of this has to do with having kids but some of it also has to do apparently with my more recent selection of books.  Try as I may, Zadie Smith just hasn't moved me.  But on the recommendation of "Bit o' Lit" I picked up "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society" in the airport on the way out of town.  And I have to say I was just delighted.  I spent more of my evenings curled up in a chair in my host's house than I did elsewhere and I don't feel a bit guilty about it.  My "booky" holiday was capped off by a visit to The Reading Reptile, perhaps the coolest independent bookstore I have ever been to.  (In fact, it is so freakin' cool, I've added it to my links of recommended sites to check out.)  I should caveat here by saying that it's my mother-in-law who deserves all the credit in the world for discovering the Reading Reptile in Brookside, Kansas City.  We made our first trip there last May when we were out West but I swear it's almost at pilgrimage status for me now.  This past visit, a bunch of kids were happily ensconced in the back shredding endless amounts of paper to no apparent purpose, two cats lounged about on the paper maiche Olivia, a rabbit was trying to ignore the swarms of children hovering around his cage, and I hear there was a rat near the stage although I never made it that far.  Gosh what fun.  We probably stayed far too long for the money we spent but the visit of course re-ignited my not so small fantasy of being a shop owner.   There really is something really magical about good books, isn't there?

Thank goodness, Ryan and I have bred readers, at least so far.  There's few things more heartwarming to my geeky self than saying goodnight to both girls as the lay in bed books in hand.  (By the way- the cutie in my lap is my new niece Gillian.  I hope her parents don't mind that she's made it to my blog!)

Ah Family

In the spirit of the season and things to be grateful for, I thought I would share a few really funny vignettes about my lovely little family. (I.e., this is a cheap way to do multiple posts as one catch all.) I am sure I'll have more stories to tell after we return from our Thanksgiving adventures in Kansas.

So on to the first- Ryan and I have begun discussing the idea of earning an allowance with Isabel. We explained to her that in exchange for doing a set group of chores every week, she could earn some money. She could then spend that money as she saw fit. (We tried to explain that if she kept her money from week to week, she could save up to buy herself something really good.) I am all for the allowance and giving Iz some responsibilities around the house. We experimented with this idea last year using the Melissa and Doug responsibility chart. Iz was pretty responsive to it, but frankly, Ryan and I lost interest faster than she did. (Please imagine a frowning emoticon here.) This whole discussion about allowances happened on the fly after Izzy tried to strongly suggest we buy her a heinous and giant snow globe featuring the Disney princesses dancing around a equally heinous and giant Christmas tree to the sound of untuneful Christmas carols that she spied in Home Depot this past weekend. The whole experience brought home the fact that Ryan should NEVER hold discussions on the fly. He's just not good on his feet, unless it's a quick barb or witty repartee. But unconsidered parenting advice? Absolutely not. To be fair, I am pretty sure that it was Ryan that introduced the idea of an allowance, which you have to give him snaps for. Unfortunately he followed it with the following line- "Iz, you can earn up to a whole dollar a month." For Pete's sake, what century does he live in? I know she's only 4 but hello, Ebeneezer! Fortunately, he quickly reconsidered after I shot him one of my famous death rays and said "wait- how about a quarter a chore." With four chores, it equals to a dollar a week, which is a bit more in line with what I was thinking to start with. Then he starts ticking off what might be good chores for her to handle. On the top of his list- the cat box! So maybe he's not Ebeneezer but Cinderella's wicked stepmother?! I wouldn't let my worst enemy near that fecund mess of clay. (Never mind the aforementioned in a previous post problem the cats have with using the litter box.) Here I was thinking Izzy can clear the table after dinner, help fold some laundry, help her sister with her toothbrush and Ryan goes for the jugular. All in all, it wasn't a shining moment in dad history. I think mom will have to be in charge of this one. (Imagine smiling emoticon here.)

Second tidbit of the day- last night we hosted a dinner party for a friend of mine who we haven't seen in ages. I admit to getting hyperactive (as is my way) about the dinner party since I wanted it to go well and make a good impression. And I thought we were successful. The kids got along and behaved nicely. The guests ate much of the dinner and, of course, were gracious about the food even if they hated it. Folks left at a decent hour so I wasn't left to shout my goodbyes as I tried to wrestle the girls to bed- which I have done before on several occasions. So, all in all, a success- or so I thought. After everyone left and Ryan and I were cleaning up the plates, I noticed there was a chunk of the pot roast left that I had made for dinner. I thought I might give it to the cats as a treat. Please keep in mind that these are the same cats who have been known to eat crackers, popcorn, apple sauce, and whatever deconstructed food particles the girls leave laying around. So I shredded some of the roast and put it down in front of Coco, who is the main offender of said eating (and non-compliant pooping habits.) She took one sniff of the meat and started making forceful scratching motions towards it, as if she was covering it up in her litter box (which she does not use.) I was actually speechless although I do believe I shrieked.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Sisters

It's a two-fer today folks as I try to catch up on all my "important" news. Something very funny has been brewing in the Schroeder household these days. The girls are playing with each other. Don't get me wrong- Isabel and Lottie have been playing around each other for ages. You know- the classic parallel play. They will play in each other's company but usually they do their own thing. But over the past few weeks, Lottie has been seeking Izzy out to play. She pull out plates, colanders, dolls, blocks- usually whatever they have been last playing with and wanders around the house yelling "Izzy, Izzy." You can almost here the "come out to play" coming from her lips. It's really kind of cool.

Of course, playing together also means growing rivalry. (Here, for those of you familiar with the tune, please begin humming the sister song that Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen sing in "White Christmas" as my dad does to my sister and I whenever he hears us "discussing" things.) Usually, the rivalry goes no further than Lottie shrieking at the top of her lungs "mine!" when Izzy tries to play with a toy that Lottie is particularly keen on. It will get worse, as I know from experience. But it does make me look forward to the day when I can sit down with a trashy magazine and let them argue somewhere else in the house.

Is it wrong to envy the shoes of a 4 yrs old?

I've been meaning to share this little ditty for a few weeks now, but work has been intervening. (sigh!) I suppose I shouldn't complain about being productive in my day job. A few weeks ago, my sister brought her sons down to VA for a weekend visit. Being a good NJ mall girl, one of my first thoughts for entertaining a preschooler, two toddlers, one infant, and two mommies was to go to the LL Bean store! Hooray- commerce and love for all. We decided to extend our outing by having lunch at Nordstrom's fabulous cafeteria. Nordstrom really is a suburban mommy's best friend.

While we waiting for my sister to feed the baby, I took the girls over to the shoe department for a little fun. (Yes, I know this story keeps getting worse but it will get better in a very bad mommy kind of way.) I should preface this by saying that somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew Isabel was likely to be in need of a new pair of shoes since she had chosen to wear only one pair over and over again for the past few months. I thought we would really make it a grand occasion so Izzy took her shoes off to have her feet measured by a "professional." Much to my horror, he told me she was a 10.5 and probably could easily fit into a size 11! Those pair of shoes that she'd been wearing over and over again for months- a 9.5!! Oh the guilt, the bad mommy coming home to roost. Really, I didn't want her to be a geisha. So I desperately combed the shoe rack for a pair that was not Juicy Couture and would not cost me $100 to buy. We settled on a pair of Merrells because they were pink and because they wouldn't freak out mommy's credit card. Of course, the day got even worse when we had Lottie measured (again for fun) and found out she too was wearing a size too small. Ugh. L did not get a new pair of Merrells, however, since I had a big box of shoes in the attic with her name on it, most of them Isabel rejects from a few years ago. Doesn't it stink to be a younger sister?

With my kids in shoes that actually fit, I began to mentally crank about my casual yet active footwear selection. Usually, this cranking came to the fore as I hiked the mile from the metro to my office. Ok- it's probably less than a mile and I could just transfer trains and walk about 10 feet but then how would I justify my cranking? My mind settled in turns on Isabel's pink Merrells and my desire for a pair of casual yet active footwear grew. I found myself daydreaming at work, casually checking out the Merrell website. I wandered over to the six (literally count them) Comfort Zone Shoes- the mecca of casual yet active footwear--in DuPont Circle. I tried to talk myself into waiting for my monthly trip to Target and checking out their selection. I didn't really need anything fancy. It didn't help matters when Ryan firmly told me that I was "too old" for a pair of Converse trainers. So I did it- I cracked. One somewhat chilly Friday night, I dragged my happy family with me to Nordstrom and bought myself a pair of Merrell's. Mine are brown, fwiw (in case you were afraid I'd go with pink.) Do I love them- absolutely. Did I need them- of course not!!

D-O-G (Sshh, Don't Say it Out Loud)

For those of you not living in DC and freakishly following every last detail of the Obama family as we are wont to do here these days in our nation's capital, you may not have caught that our president-elect told the crowd in Grant Park Tuesday night that he had promised his two girls a dog after the campaign had finished. Obama's apparent attempt to be fatherly and folksy to the electorate has set off a minor furor here. The NY Times and Washington Post both started blogging on the topic, taking readers "suggestions" for what kind of dog they should get (?!) Advocates of shelters and rescue societies went up in arms when Malia Obama suggested she might like a cockapoo since it wouldn't bother her allergies. One society actually wrote a letter to the Obama family reminding them of their duty towards unwanted pets as the first family. Yikes.

I told Izzy the other night at dinner about Malia and Sasha getting puppy. We've been talking more about the election process by relating it back to Malia and Sasha figuring she would understand that more. Fortunately, she hasn't become so populist to suggest that they might sleep over or vice versa. But at the news of an impending first puppy, she nodded solemnly. You see, Izzy also has puppy dreams. I am not sure when it started, but Izzy began asking for a dog much earlier than either Ryan or I expected. We figured we would be petitioned regularly beginning around 8 with the usual "I'll take care of the dog. I'll walk it, feed it, etc." Neither Ryan nor I are opposed to a dog in theory but it seems to be alot of responsibility and I am not entirely sure we're there yet. Last year, we adopted two sister kittens after our beloved Sally cat passed away. We thought Coco and Lulu might forestall the dog push but alas, they have not. They are loved and patient (and also- for the record refuse to use the litter box as regularly as we would like and have a problem scratching things.) They even occasionally condescend to be dragged on leashes around the front yard but (sigh) they are not dogs.

We thought we would put Izzy to the test this summer by having her spend a week with my mother-in-law's Westie, Piper. Piper is also sweet and patient but she is a dog and does poop and bark. She is also not as pliable as Izzy's stuffed doggies which she has taken to dragging around on ribbon leashes. Unfortunately, our little sabotage effort backfired and Izzy and Piper got on like a wildfire. There was nothing about Piper that put Izzy off. Piper was so generally agreeable (even to Lottie who liked to stick her fingers in Piper's ears, nose, etc all the while shrieking "Dogga") that she did a little too much for the cause of furry four legged friends everywhere.

So, we've more or less resigned ourselves to getting a dog at some point sooner rather than later (although sooner still has not been fixed with a time.) Or, I should probably say that I've resigned myself. Ryan's still resisting a bit. I've warned him that the dog would probably be a gift to him so that he couldn't say no. Izzy kind of recognizes that a dog is not going to materialize tomorrow but she's pushing big time for the dog to join the family before next Halloween. She has plans for her costume next year (sadly, aided and abetted by her mommy after what had to have been one glass of wine too many). Iz plans to go as Eloise, with me as Nanny, Dad as either the scotch drinking lawyer or tutor, and the dog as Weenie. Of course, that leaves Skiperdee, the turtle, for Lottie. Not sure she's going to dig that idea!

Election Day

We took the girls to the polls this morning. Although we were prepared to wait around (meaning we did bring a snack bag), we were thrilled to find almost no lines at the local high school. Thank goodness since the Washington Post and New York Times are portraying a total mess in other parts of Fairfax County. Explaining the process of voting and what it means to a 4 yrs old is hard (obviously Lottie was in it for the snacks and the sticker) but a large part of me wants to share this moment in our country's history with Izzy in a somewhat intelligible way. Ryan somewhat sarcastically said this morning that every election is an historic event and maybe he's right, but I do think there's something different about this one. Regardless of where you come down on the political spectrum, the fact that an African American man can run for and legitimately contend for the office of president of the United States is a really cool thing. It's about time that someone other than old white dudes got to represent our country to itself and the rest of the world. I know it wasn't a very PC thing to say but I'm with Michelle Obama on this one- for once in my adult life, I am proud of my country. And I am proud of the lines of folks waiting to vote and that enough people care to take part in this process. Ultimately, even if Barak Obama loses, I hope this moment represents a turning point for our country. Just as Hurricane Katrina exposed the absolute worst part of our nature, I hope this will become the best.

Cheers everyone and make sure you vote!

Boo

We survived another Halloween. I'll admit upfront that Halloween is one of my favorite yet most dreaded holidays. Favorite since it's a relatively low maintenance, high impact event. For the cost of puzzling out and sometimes assembling a costume, you have free entertainment for your kids plus a bucket of candy to boot. It's one of my most dreaded because we still are unable to accurately predict which Isabel will make an appearance on Halloween night. More often than not (at least recently), it is fear plagued Izzy, who despite the "tough talk" in the run up to trick-or-treating shows up and ends up in a puddle on the floor begging to go home immediately. Last year she got so worked up after seeing one homeowner dressed up like a ghoul, she bit Ryan on the neck. Needless to say, our Halloween ended promptly thereafter. This year we tried what we hoped would be a foolproof solution. We decided to forgo joining our friends in Old Towne and kept close to home. My sister and her sons as well as some local friends would join us for a spin through the neighborhood.

All was going well until Izzy decided to actually grace us with a nap before trick-or-treating. (A rare event these days.) I probably could have predicted that this would be a mistake since Iz doesn't wake up easily from naps. She's alot like Ryan in that way. The thought of hyper active, under-napped 4 yrs old was equally daunting, however. Sure as the sun shines, she woke up a terror. She didn't want to put on her costume, didn't want to trick-or-treat until we had dinner (!), wasn't going to go but decided at the last minute that she would, wanted to be carried, and then conveyed from house to house in a wagon that was meant to house her younger sister and cousin. All the while, I, ever graceful, tried to play this down, taking turns yelling and having a sickly sweet smile on my face for the benefit of the other parents and children. "Isn't this fun?" "ISABEL- get over here now!" "Don't you look cute?" "ISABEL- if you don't stop whining, you're staying home and getting NO candy." "Can Auntie Jozie take your picture?" "Don't sass me young lady. I am your mom and I CAN tell you what to do."

Eventually, everyone calmed down and we just had to listen to the incessant whine of "I want to go home now." Funny how when faced with the prospect of candy, the whining would cease momentarily until she resumed her position in her wagon/chariot. The other kids gamely ignored "Fancy Nancy." Our two years old companion soldiered on insisting that Owie can walk just fine and yes Owie would like more candy. Lottie, bedecked as Angelina Ballerina, had wrapped herself around my neck early on and would not countenance stopping or being put in the wagon. My nephew, Baz, was so taken back that he was being offered free CANDY that he walked around in a bit of a daze and kept forgetting to hold out his pumpkin bucket.

Perhaps the highlight/low point of the very short evening was passing by a house occupied by teenage girls and presumably their parents although the parents were not apparent that night. These girls clearly were into the grizzly side of the holiday and set up shop in their backyard in order to issue blood curdling screams randomly. This unnerved our small troop. I gamely tried to explain to the screaming girls that pint size people were going past. (They ignored this outright.) Our friend tried to explain to her son Owie that they were in fact laughing and proceeded to laugh somewhat maniacally herself to demonstrate this. Neither Owie nor any of us bought that. My sister then tried to overcome the screams by singing "happy songs" loudly. Again, to limited effect. Fortunately, Fancy Nancy was too busy pouting to be totally put off and if the smaller kids wet themselves, they could always argue that it was just the normal call of nature and for godness sake they were wearing diapers.

Next year, I think I'll lobby to man the door. It's less scary that way.

Birthday Party Redux

Iz celebrated her 4th birthday last Tuesday. With a Tuesday birthday, her birth"day" morphed into a birth"week" ending with a party on Saturday. I think we sang "Happy Birthday" to her more times than her 4 years would normally allow if you take into account an early celebration in VT, 3 jolly wishes on the day itself, and then at her party on Saturday. By the end of it all, I was exhausted.

Party planning is never easy for me. Reading Lisa Belkin's blog on the NYT website last week, I think I must fall into the category of "alpha mom." Fortunately, my alpha mom streak is not all encompassing like some of the other mom blogs that I've read. I am not disgusted that the school systems around here are not more environmentally friendly. My "green" streak largely extends to composting, buying organic milk and now biodegradable garbage bags. Unlike Lisa's alpha moms I don't feel the need to hand out baby organic carrots at Halloween and am not overly concerned that my kids are addicted to fruit-flavored snacks and Sprout. (Apparently Noggin is passe these days.) But when it comes to the holidays and events like birthdays it's like some alien creature overtakes me. Lucky for my neighbors, the holiday alien runs more in line with Martha Stewart than crazy inflatable characters on my front lawn. Still, even though Ryan, my husband, kindly says that he really enjoys "entertaining" with me, I think he must be secretly relieved when the crepe paper comes down and the dishes are safely in the dishwasher.

I knew I was in trouble with this particular birthday party when I had a nightmare at the end of September that all of Iz's friends arrived at our house and I wasn't there because I had neglected until then to buy anything for the party. In the dream, I arrived home two hours later with only a handful of treats and a group of people disgusted and leaving. After waking up in a cold sweat, I immediately broke out the laptop and got to work on the Oriental Trading website. The theme of this year's party was "cooking with Iz." I ordered aprons; we made chef's hats; I bought more colored crystal sugar than should be allowed by law; and I baked and baked and baked. We had cupcakes at school, brownies for the Halloween party at school, a cupcake-shaped cake for the main event, and individual cupcakes that the kids decorated as a party favor. I even came up with kitchen-themed games when the weather proved too foul to have them run some of their extra energy off outside. And, being all at once, a catholic, a girl, and from NJ, I complained the entire week going into and of the birthday celebrations. I scrubbed toilets, put away toys, and acted dramatic as I mixed the last batch of cupcakes at 10 PM Friday night. I fretted about what to feed the moms (we're still not doing drop off parties yet), what to do with all the extra cupcakes, and whether or not Iz should be allowed to open her presents in front of her friends. Last year, that proved to be a big mistake since as soon as the gifts were dispensed she asked me very loudly when everyone was going home so she could get on with playing with her new loot.

And so the party went off. The kids were vaguely interested in decorating their aprons, had little use for the chef's hats, tore through making lunch (the cooking part), but ended up being hungry when their small piece of sandwich wasn't enough. We had a few breakdowns when the girls rushed Iz and Lot's room and playroom with Iz in particular freaking out after a "friend" took a treasured necklace. The single biggest hit-shocker!!- was the colored crystal sugar which got summarily dumped all over a dozen cupcakes to very dramatic effect. I have another mom friend to thank for that idea. No honestly, I do thank her. After the crepe paper came down, I asked Iz somewhat worriedly if she had had a good time. (Something I've inherited from my mom along with the crazy holiday gene is the lingering paranoia that crazy holiday doesn't quite cut the mustard.) Iz, very solemnly, looked at me and said, "It was fun, Mommy, but next year, let's have it out. I don't like people going through my stuff."

Sister Margaret Mary and autumns past

Last week, my older daughter went on her first field trip with her preschool class. The destination: the local and insanely festive pumpkin patch/autumn wonderland. I've known about this place for ages, and in a move very unlike me, have avoided it like the plague. As far as I know, it's hands down the most popular destination for haybales, apple cider, and general Halloween weirdness in the Northern VA area. Therefore, it attracts droves of people. When we got the notice that Iz and her classmates were destined to go, I decided to bite the bullet and sign up as a parent chaperone.

I'm not sure what I had in mind when I signed up but I definitely harbored images of fieldtrips past- the bus, the stupid songs, the naughty kids getting smacked around by the nuns, and inevitably falling asleep on the ride home. When we got to the preschool last Thursday morning, the center director told me firmly, "No parents on the bus." I have to admit, I was a more than a little disappointed. Iz opted to ride to Cox Farms with me rather than experiencing the tainted joys of the bus. Given my NJ-trained driving habits, we arrived at the farm WAAAY early and ended up standing in a wet field looking at a bunch of goats who looked for all intense and purposes like they too would rather be doing something else. Not a particularly auspicious beginning. The bus and the other parents did eventually arrive and after getting our bracelets and taking the prerequisite pictures of Iz and her friends (aw look at them on their first field trip!), we headed over to the attractions. We had a dicey start- a slide whose launch point started in an "active" volcano- I told you this place was insanely festive- which of course caused Iz to freak out a little. Before she could stomp her feet twice and shriek a third time, I had her on my lap and down the slide. And, like some autumn miracle, from thereonin she and I both had a great time. We went down a ton of slides, including one at which I left my daughter holding the supply bag while I went down solo on my jute sack. We drank cider together, ate apples, went on a hay ride during which Iz almost wet herself in the haunted barn, and then, after four hours of exhausting fun, we both went home and took naps.

And, perhaps not surprisingly, I found myself getting really nostolgic and probably almost caused even my syrupy, lovely pink-loving daughter to get a bit ill. Suddenly, I was 6 yrs old again and not so happily entrenched in Sr. Margaret Mary's first grade class at Our Lady of the Valley grammar school. Sr. MM was in a rare good mood the day we took our autumn excursion across the field in front of the convent over to the little farmer next to the school. We walked in zig zags in a single file line behind Sr MM as her habit flapped in the breeze. We each shyly took a pumpkin from the farmer and walked back and wrote a little "story" about our adventures. A pretty pathetic little memory but one of my favorites from that fairly dreadful place. I told Iz that she may just remember her first time at Cox Farms for the rest of her life. Thank goodness it was a good day to remember for both of us!

Confessions of a Pinkerbelle in Training

Welcome to the latest somewhat pathetic attempt by a Gen X'er to get introspective about the rites and rituals of growing up.  That's right-another mommy blog.  I decided to start this blog in part for myself and in part as a way for family and friends to keep up with our lives.  The title of the blog is taken from "Pinkalicious"- a must read and probably have read for those with girls between the ages of 3 and 100.    It's the process of becoming Pinkerbelle that we'll focus on here.

Like a good chunk of the population of mommies blogging these days, I am a solid gen X'er.  Grew up with shrinky-dinks, Hawaiian punch, stew starter, the Dukes of Hazard (with Catherine Bach being the one and only Daisy Duke), Saturday morning cartoons, and Olivia Newton John on roller skates.  And like most of us (at least from what I can tell from the list of friends on my facebook page), I delayed motherhood until I hit that magic number 30.  I had a great time in my twenties- I traveled, went to school, drank too much, finally met a great guy, got married and bought a house with my dad's help.  Kids seemed like a good idea but I was honestly a little bit wigged out by the idea.  It took me a long time to learn to like myself and even then, it wasn't perfect.  I've always had an independent streak that ran distinctly on the nerd side of the line rather than the cool one.  I've never been into sporting badass tattoos or belly rings but didn't think twice about going to a hammam in Morocco to have a traditional bath done.  (Ok I did think twice when Fatima, our dorm maid, stripped me down naked in front of my "bath" companions.)  How on earth would I ever learn to be a role model?

I honestly almost died when the doctor doing the sonogram with our first child told my husband and I we were having a girl.  A girl was definitely dangerous.  I always thought perhaps I could fake it a bit with a boy but girls know.  They smell the weakness and are never afraid to express their unending disappointment.  And here I am at 35 now with two.

After my older daughter was born, I had many preconceived notions about what kind of kid she would be.  If she was lucky, she'd be much cooler than me, but not a prom queen.  She'd be hip but not a poser.  She'd be up on music, art, chunky knits, and "ugly dolls."  Instead, at about 18 months, Iz discovered the Disney Princesses and there's been no going back.  Anything that glitters, shines, or has a pinkish hue is sanctified in our house.  She even had the words "high heels" down before she was 2.  

And so, this closet nerd has had to discover how to be a girl and a kid I never was and try and make sure I don't disappoint my not-so-free-spirits.  Welcome to my journey.