Build-a-Bear Bonding

I took some time yesterday to take Nono to the mall. Just the two of us. She is always requesting time alone with me and I can never seem to make it happen. Anyway, we dropped Beck off at childcare and I made it sound like Nono and I would just be running errands (a loathsome activity in the children's opinion.) so he wouldn't be jealous and then off we went.

Nono had received a Build-A-Bear gift card for her birthday and I was determined to use it before school starts up on Wednesday. Build-a-Bear stores (or "workshops" as they prefer to be called) are places we normally avoid at all costs. I have always imagined them be uber-expensive and so I pretend they don't exist. I was pretty sure that with a $25 gift card we could manage to get her a stuffed animal and at least one outfit if we were savvy about it. Turns out we were not savvy about it.

For those of you who have never had the Build-a-Bear Experience, the process goes like this:

1. Chose a stuffed animal pelt (looks like heaps of skinned cats) from the many, many options. (Nono chose a grey kitten with pink ears and long eye-lashes.)

2. Bring the animal to the "stuffing machine" where your child picks out either a red satin heart or a plastic "real" beating heart (thankfully she did not choose the noisy kind).

3. The employee at the stuffing station then leads your child through a complicated ritual involving kissing the heart, rubbing it on her head (so the animal will be smart) rubbing it on her heart (so the animal will be kind) rubbing it on her biceps (so the animal will be strong) and closing her eyes and wishing before inserting the heart into the stuffed animal. Then she asks your child to spin around in one direction for good luck and spin around in the opposite direction for extra good luck. The employee allows your child to decide how floppy or fully stuffed the animal should be and then sews up the back of the animal.

4. Your child then proceeds to the "fluffing station" where she pretends to give the animal a bath (No water is involved, just an air vent.)

5. Then you clothe and accessorize your animal. They have a pretend dressing room you can use. This is where things can get really crazy, because the clothes don't seem that expensive, but they really start to add up.

You end up having conversations like this one:

Me: Do you want to get roller skates for her?
Nono: Well, she wears glasses, so it's probably not a good idea.
Me: People who wear glasses do roller skate.
Nono: Well, she's only 5 though, so I wouldn't feel responsible.
Me: Oh well, you are her Mom, so you know best.
(Nono seemed pleased with this answer.)

6. You and you child go to computer where you input all of your contact info (um, why do you need this again?) so they can print out a birth certificate for your animal. Who, in our case, is named Pearl Pink.

7. Then you finally go to the register with all of your stuff. We started with a $25 gift card and ended up somehow spending an additional $30. Because Pearl Pink needed Hello Kitty undies and red satin undies and a back-to-school outfit and red sparkly ruby slippers and a fluffy Hello Kitty bathrobe and eye-glasses. I vetoed bunny slippers and a silver sequined headband that kept falling off (the eye glasses kept falling off too, but it was such an endearing choice that I couldn't help approving them.)

The thing is, it was great watching how much Nono enjoyed the process of creating this new toy and mothering it, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit I enjoyed the process too. It was definitely one of those times I was glad I have a girly-girl to do these things with. I don't think we will be back ever again, but I'm glad we went just this once. And it may be that Pearl Pink will receive those bunny slippers (and maybe a ballerina outfit and toe shoes - what the heck.) as a Christmas gift.

Once A Time

Beck has started to be more verbal these days and because his father makes up stories for Beck and Nono almost everyday, if you ask Beck he will now tell you a story. His story goes like this:

"Once a time, dare was a yawn-mower (lawn-mower) BIG yawn mower. Farmer drive it. Cuts the gass (grass). Dare's some sheeps. Farmer say, "Oh no, Sheeps, I cut the gass. You move. Go back to barn. " Sheeps say, "Baaaa! Baaaa!" Dare's some bears too. Gizzly bears - They ROAR! Scare farmer."

It goes on this way, with various farm animals (and bears) getting in the way of the farmer trying to cut the grass. He is so pleased with his ability to tell this story and the fact that we all stop and listen to him tell it and ask him questions about the story-line. He seems drunk with power that he can make up whatever he wants and I love that.

From Minnie to Dora

On Friday Nono wore a Minnie Mouse costume to school. She had borrowed it from a friend of hers after a play date the day before and was totally smitten with it. She had talked the owner of the Minnie costume into lending it to her in exchange for a princess dress and pink sequined tiara. An even trade to my mind. She accessorized the red and white polka dotted dress and mouse-ear and bow adorned headband with striped winter mittens because "Minnie needs gloves." She rounded the ensemble out with her pink cowgirl boats.

I liked it that the only comment we received from anyone when I dropped her off at school was, "Thank you for bringing Minnie to school today.", from one of her teachers. The attire tends to be "varied", to say the least, at Nono's school. The only time I have ever noticed them intervene was when one little girl wore only formal, sleeveless gowns, with no coat during the winter for several days in a row. And then it was just an email to the school as a whole about "please dress your children in weather appropriate clothes." And the girl continued to wear her sleeveless formal gowns.

At noon, when I came to get Nono, the other kids were sitting down for lunch and they all shouted a chorus of "Bye, bye Minnie!" and my daughter waved this stiff Disney parade float kind of wave. On the ride home in the stroller some tough-looking women across the street waved to her and yelled "Hi, Minnie Mouse!" she waved accommodatingly and then commented on their folly to me, "They think I'm the real Minnie Mouse." She smiled and shook her head, but was content to humor her fans.

Today, we got home from a road-trip during which she was allowed to watch a lot of Dora the Explorer while we were driving. After we got home I took her out in the stroller with her baby brother and she said, "Hola! Yo soy Dora!" to everyone we passed on the street. She hopped off the sit 'n' stand every few feet to exclaim, "Where do we go?!?!" and then clap her hands and sing the "I'm the Map" song. When we got to the playground she collected a bunch of sticks and handed them to me, assigning me the all-important role of Dora's side-kick monkey "Boots" and telling me to hold onto all these "keys to the buried treasure". She would then walk up to children she had never met before and order them to "Vamanos!" with her. Which, oddly, seemed to work pretty well (probably because every child on the playground has seen Dora the Explorer)

It's a shame she's so shy.

Why I can't tell people about my blog

I can't tell people about this blog because I have spent years making fun of blogs. Saying how they are totally narcissistic, navel-gazing endeavours and very rarely of any interest. How they seem to be just sort a series of rough drafts of a book that the writer is working up the nerve to write and why would you want to read someone rough draft before they have edited out the boring stuff? Why indeed. So here I am using the word as a verb -- I am "blogging".

So why the change of heart? Well, to be honest there hasn't been a change of heart. I still think all those things. But I kind of like having this sort of on-line diary...except that it's possible that people I know may find it somehow....without my telling them. Maybe after I have had a chance to edit some of these posts, I'll feel comfortable sharing this blog address. Maybe.

Also, I like the implied challenge of trying to come up with a new daily post. Which I will of course fail at, but that's okay.

Mr. Joe

We were waiting to board an airplane home. Me, my 3 yr. old daughter, my 13 month old son and my poor exhausted-from-a-weekend-of-auntie-duties sister. I had the baby on my lap and Nono was wriggling on the seat next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a big Cheshire cat kind of smile on the man at the next set of seats. I am used to this; my children are adorable and friendly. I am not being vain (Okay, I am being vain, but that doesn't make it untrue.)

Nono talks to everyone. She doesn't just talk to them, she be-friends them. She likes for people to like her, she enjoys cheering up old people and babies. She is drawn to people in wheel-chairs, because she wants to take care of them. She is equally friendly with motherly postal clerks and filthy homeless men. I have seen her wrench smiles out of passersby who I would not have believed had any smiles in them.

In moments, Nono is talking to the man. I say "Don't bother the man. He' s reading."
He beams at me and says he doesn't mind at all, that this is just a "warm-up" for his three grand kids. He seems to be trying to reassure me that he's a good guy, which actually has the opposite effect. He asks her name and then says, "I'm Mr. Joe." and offers his hand for her to shake. I listen in on their conversation and hear him talking about how lucky she is to have a brother. He goes on and on, in a preachy way, about how lucky she is to have a brother and how he will look out for her when he is bigger. Something about this annoys me. Like he thinks Nono's world revolves around her brother. He looks Italian and is reading a big book about the bible. I am profiling him big-time. I am suspicious of people who read religious things in public. It feels like it's just for show. (my mother would find this appalling, no doubt.) I know that some people who don't enjoy reading think that all books are just snobby, show-offy props. I definitely don't feel that way, but this guy seems to want me to see what he is reading.

Nono is now running in circles around the man's chair. He is watching me. I look annoyed. He reassures me that she's not bothering him. He doesn't seem to get it that he is what's annoying me. Or maybe he does, but doesn't care. They start playing hide and seek under the chair. Nono is giggle-shrieking and rooting around like a puppy under his chair and he is clearly delighted. My sister and I eye each other warily. I feel I have lost control of the situation. I hand her Baby Beck and scoop Nono up off the floor. I take her by the hand and tell her we need to use the potty. She collapses to the floor in a pile and when I pull her up she bursts into tears and sobs that I pulled her too hard and "pinched" her. I whisk her off to the bathroom and on the way I say that she needs to sit with Mommy when we get back, not Mr. Joe.

"Why Mommy? Is he not nice?"

"He seems nice, but we don't know him."

In the bathroom she continues to cry and say she can't lift her fore-arm and I start to worry that I've yanked a joint lose or something. We get a bag of ice for her arm from a Starbucks booth on the way back to our seats.

At this point I feel I should let you know that my daughter's face is covered with bruises. One from a bath tub incident with a toy boat that left a bruised scrape at her temple and a whole bunch of scratches on her nose and left cheek from a "Look, Ma, no hands!" moment on the swings yesterday that didn't go so well. So as I hold an ice pack to my still-sniffling daughter's arm, I am very aware that I look, at best neglectful of my child's safety and, at worst, like I'm inflicting the abuse myself.

Still, in the midst of my self-consciousness, I notice that "Mr. Joe" has moved all the way around to the other side of our row of chairs so he is next to Nono again. Nono has spent all weekend in a falling-down house that is not safe for children, surrounded by adults who haven't seen each in years and want to chat. But not with her. So she has basically spent 72 hours being told to "hold still and be quiet" and now she is about to get on an airplane where she will be told to "hold still and be quiet" for two more hours. She is starved for attention.

"Mr. Joe" talks to Nono and soon she has slid off of the chair next to mine and is drawing pictures for him and he is making paper airplanes for her. He tells her that he will take out the bookmark he has for his book and use her drawing as a bookmark so that whenever he sees it he "will think of her." I roll my eyes at my sister. I feel totally uggged out by this guy, but I can't explain why. It just seems like I keep setting boundaries and he keeps crossing them.

Then the flight attendant is calling for pre-boarding for people with small children and I am relieved to have an excuse to get the hell out of the waiting area. As I am scooping Noli up in my arms away from this questionable guy, the flight attendant makes some announcement about how they may be pulling some passengers aside for "routine questioning" and Mr. Joe smiles at me and says, "I always seem to get pulled over for that." And I feel my eyes go sort of dull and I am moving us all away as fast as we can go. I can only imagine what it is on his record that makes them "always pull him over".

On the plane we get settled and quickly forget Mr. Joe, because we are dealing with a fussy baby and trying to entertain Nono. When we get out I offer to walk my sister to her connecting flight and as we leave the gate I see Mr. Joe waving at Nono out of the corner of my eye. We keep going. When we get to my sister's gate I say, "That guy was creepy."

Mo - "That guy was a total Chester."

Me - "Chester?"

Mo-"Child Molester."

I let this sink in.

Mo - "He was sitting ahead of us on the plane and he said this was his final destination, so why was he waiting for us outside the gate?"

In the days since this incident, I have had all sorts of nightmares about Mr. Joe somehow finding Nono and kid-napping her -- generally at school, so I finally set an email to the school list-serve describing him and warning them about him. Which I hope didn't unnecessarily freak people out. I think I listened in on most of Nono's conversation with this stranger, but I have heard her tell people where she goes to school before and I just want be able to sleep again.

Nono's First Haircut

I gave Nono her first haircut tonight.

Many of the other girls at her school have been sporting haircuts of late, so it was a pretty easy sell.
Me -- "How would you like to have your first haircut tonight?"
Nono -- "Like Simone's?"
Me -- "Yes."
Nono -- "O.K."

It was important to me that I do it and that it be done in our kitchen, because that's how my first haircut was done. It feels traditional to give your child a bad, slightly lop-sided cut the first time out. Not that I did that on purpose, but I'm not a hairdresser, so, you know -- doing the best I can is still only half-way decent.

Luckily, she is three and was way more interested in the fact that I was giving her both a lollipop and letting her watch a Wonder Pets video on the computer AT THE SAME TIME, which seemed pretty miraculous to her, given that we are very stingy about doling out both candy and T.V. and she has certainly never been allowed to have them together before this.

There is this kiddie cuts kind of place in our neighborhood that charges $20.00 for a haircut. I've heard rumors that the barber "chairs" are shaped like motorcycles and Barbie cars. They get to pick out a video to watch and if it's your first time getting a haircut they sell you before and after photos too. This seems a bit pricey, and once you have done it once you're kinda stuck doing it every time, because that's what your child will think a haircut is.

I saved the clump of hair that I cut off first. A nice sized curl. I'm guessing that her hair will probably not really be wavy like this anymore. Which makes me a little sad somehow.

When I was done, I asked her if she would like to see her haircut (she had moved on and was playing with her dolls.) and she said "No."

"Don't you want to see what it looks like?"

"Maybe tomorrow after school."

Damn, I wish I could be that unconcerned with my looks.

Show & Tell

Today I sat in on my 3 yr. old's Show & Tell at school. She brought in some oyster shells that she found on the beach while we were in Maine this weekend. She was very excited to tell her classmates about them and hand them around for them to hold, after admonishing them that "they are very fragile." She's not shy and she was very pleased to answer questions about her objects.

Unfortunately, I could not seem to keep my mouth closed. I meant to just stand by and let her do her thing, but somehow I ended up answering some of the questions her teacher and her friends asked. There's nothing really wrong with that. I didn't take over or anything. It's just not what I intended to do. I intended to smile and nod if she needed reassurance, but let her have her moment all to herself.

I think part of the problem is that when you have a baby you have to do literally everything for him/her, and so as they start to grow-up into little individuals separate from you it's hard to know how much help to give them. You don't want to end up doing laundry for your 50 yr. old son (like my grandma did) but you want them to know you are there if they need you.

Having children has made me more understanding about my parents total lack of boundaries with my sister and I.