Katarina, Katarina...

...what am I going to do with you?

Kati sat on the counter this morning as I rolled cake balls. She likes to just sit there and watch me, and in this case, to grab a little piece of dough when I'm "not looking" and quickly get it in her mouth with a grin that tells the story better than any words ever could. She loves red velvet, and these balls are delicious.

"Mommy, are you making cake eggs?"
"No, I'm making cake balls." I say, as I roll one ball at a time. "See? This is what an egg would look like..." I roll an egg for her to see.
"Oh... that looks just like an egg!"
"Huh..." I say, as an idea hits me. "We could make cake eggs for Easter!" I look at her and smile, feeling so smart. "That's a really good idea..."
"I know. I'm a genius."

And there you have it.

Bedtime stories two...

Reading done, I was saying good-night when Jim came in and let me know the laundry was on the bed, which got me groaning. After he clarified he was taking care of most of it (grateful, proud wife here), Katarina asked why I was 'crying.' I told her because I had so much to do and no time to do it. I said "I have to fold laundry and put it away."

Kat: "I'll do it for you..."
Me: "You will? Ok. Go. Fold, and put it all away."
Kat: "Nah... you can do it."
Me: "But I don't want to..."
Kat: (hands holding my face, eyes intently on me) "Mommy, you can do anything you want to do!"
Me: "I don't want to do this. I have to."
Kat: "You don't have to, mommy. Daddy can do it all instead."

Kat: 2, Mommy: 0

Bedtime... or not

Those of us with kids know the importance of routines, and in particular, the importance of the bedtime routine. Especially when our little angels find ways to stay up later than they should. After baths and dinners and reading, it's time for bed. No excuses, no ifs, buts or whens. And so it goes. We say goodnight, we kiss, we hug. We walk away ready to take a moment for ourselves - sometimes.

There I was, a rare moment in my favorite Papasan chair, catching up with my shows, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Katarina, blankets (yes, plural) in hand, thumb in mouth (when is that going to stop?) I looked at her and she walked in the room. She's so big now... my little girl is growing so fast. The chunky cheeks remain, and in a moment of softness I open my arms and let her join me for a minute on the chair. And so it goes...

Me: Nina, it's time to go to bed. You gotta go back.
Kat shakes her head in disagreement.
Me: Nina, do you want me to take you?
Kat: You have chunky cheeks... (pinches my cheeks) kissy (gives me a sloppy kiss)
Me: Nina, it's time for bed now.
Kat: I can't sleep.
Me: It's ok. You can lay in bed and not sleep. I'll tell daddy to come and kiss you when he's back.
Kat: But then I'll fall asleep.
Me: I thought you couldn't sleep...
(silence)
Kat: But there's still a lot to talk about.
Me: (laughing out loud) What do you want to talk about?
Kat: The United States of America.

Kat: 1 Mommy: 0

Katarina Tree-Hugger

We went out to dinner last Friday. The girls got out of the car, and before I knew it, Katarina's attention was on a used and discarded paper coffee cup. Someone had carelessly thrown it on top of the bushes - which really, really gets to me. People!! Don't litter!!

Anyway... Katarina grabbed the cup, which had all my motherly instincts going "No! Cooties!!" She looked at me and said:

"Oh, oh... someone is not saving the Earth!"

My tree-hugger heart was putty in her hands...

More tales from the dinner table...

Katarina: (burp!)

Katarina: (burp! again)

Me: "Katita!!"

Katarina: "What...? It's necessary!"

...

Katarina: "What does necessary mean?"

Soap material

Ever wonder where soap operas get inspiration for their material? I mean, life isn't really that complicated, right? And relationships aren't really that fleeting... or are they?

I think I may have found the answer. Where, you wonder? The most logical place, of course: preschool.

Katarina came home one day to let me know that Hunter, her pal she hangs around with all over the place, was now Allison's boyfriend. "OK...", I said - I mean, what else am I supposed to say?

The next day, Hunter and Allison weren't girlfriend and boyfriend anymore. Hunter was now Katarina's boyfriend. "OK...", again I replied. She seemed to be taking Hunter's apparent indecision and potential commitment issues with relative obliviousness.

The day after, Katarina informed me that Hunter wasn't her boyfriend anymore. "What happened?", I inquired. "He broke up with me." "Oh..." I said - again, what else could I say? Her heart seemed intact enough, so no worries on my part. Hunter may have commitment issues, but they weren't affecting her. She also proceeded to tell me she didn't want to marry him, because she didn't want to have babies. In my book, right now, that sound just fine...

One more day went by. Yes, there's more.

Katarina let me know that now Hunter wanted to marry Allison - so much for commitment issues, I thought. "OK... so now Allison and Hunter are back together?" I asked. "No. Allison is with Eddie now. Hunter wants to marry Allison, but Allison is now Eddie's girlfriend." All this was said as if telling me they all shared crackers for snack before going to the playground. "Ah..." I replied, not sure what else to say. "After Hunter left, Allison and I were friends again, and we played together."

So, in summary, here's the Days of Our Lives (insert your favorite soap here) script: love triangle, commitment issues, boy wants girl, boy doesn't want girl and now wants other girl, boy wants first girl back, but only when she's found someone else.

And in the end, they can all go back to playing in the same sandbox. Literally. Can't beat 4-year-old logic.

Kids say the darnest things...

We were at a little dinner at Katarina's daycare, an end-of-year get together for her classroom, when Larissa spotted one of the pregnant teachers. 

"Mommy, did Tiffany really want a baby? Or did she just get one?" She asked.

Katarina, in all her three-year-old wisdom, replied "She got married to her husband, then she got skinny, then she got fat with her baby."

Rock anywhere?

Kids...

Most of you know that I talk to my girls in Spanish mostly (lately, English has been creeping in, against my better judgment). From the day they were born, this has been something I've been determined to give to them.

My hope? That they will learn the language, of course. I figured eventually they'll take it in school, and one day I'll send them off to grandma for a summer of full immersion.

My frustration? That they never speak in Spanish to me. Why would they?? Try as I may, it ain't happening.

My rewards? Not many. There was Larissa at 11 months saying "agua" as her first word ever (go figure). There is Katarina throwing a word here and there, mixed into a sentence of fluent English. There's the girls praying in Spanish with me at bedtime. There is the girls learning how to tell Jim his butt is big in Spanish, and enjoying it immensely (hey, I gotta find the way to get them talking, right? A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do...)

The same thing is happening with German, by the way... Larissa is in Saturday German School, and Jim and I could swear she's not learning a thing, not a peep, nada, zilch, zero. The teacher says differently, however, so we keep at it and will be enrolling Katarina come September.

And here's the kicker. The reason that tells me I must persist, and the fact that will keep me going. And yet another window into the little person that is my oldest daughter.

I went to pick up Larissa from school yesterday. On our way out, we run into one of the custodians. He stopped and started talking in Spanish to her (my friend! How are you? See you Monday, right? etc.) Larissa just nodded, which seemed totally in character to me.

He looked at me and said, in Spanish:
"She speaks Spanish."
"She understands it..." I replied, smiling, and hoping, as I usually do.
"No, she speaks it too."
I looked at him, puzzled. Maybe Larissa was saying a word here and there. "What do you mean?" I asked.
"She comes over with two of her friends, and they talk to me in Spanish. They tell me 'here's my friend Tony, how are you, etc.' She speaks Spanish!"

I was elated. I was frustrated. I wanted to hug her. I wanted to strangle her. I opted for smiling at Tony and thanking him for the best news he could have delivered and wishing him a great weekend.

As we walked to the car, I asked her. "Do you talk to him in Spanish?" The little brat smiled sheepishly, avoided my eyes, and said "Si."

Ugh.

In her own words...again

I was on the phone with our friends Bob and Janice, trying to ease Janice's worries about leaving their new baby at daycare, so I had this conversation with Katarina for Bob and Janice to hear:

"Katy, do you like your daycare?"
"Yes"
"Do you like your teachers?"
"Yes"
"Do you like to go to your daycare and see your teachers?"
"Yes"
"And what do you do at the daycare?"
"I pee my pants"

Ugh...

In her words (yeah, there's more)

Katarina is going through the horrible threes - there's the terrible twos, but the threes complete overshadow them, imho.

She is now also completely articulate, uncannily clever, and entirely too quick for our own good. And, alas, not a baby anymore!

Here's one of our recent conversations right as I was working unsuccessfully to tuck her in for the night.


Katarina - Mommy, I don't want to get married, and I don't want to have babies, and I don't want to have a boyfriend.

Me - (thinking, that's totally fine by me, especially since you're three) Why not, baby?

Katarina - Because they're yucky...

Larissa - No, they're not!

Me - (thinking, oh boy, not this soon...)

Just rambling... again...

I'm so emotional right now... (yes, it-is-that-time-of-the-month...) Too many things are going on in my life, and every time I think I was able to somewhat deal with one, there comes another!

So, to make a long story short, here's this blog's bottom line: Katarina is moving up to her next classroom. Yeah, big deal, I know... The thing is, as she moves from one classroom to another, I am confronting two realities: one is her inevitable growth, as she leaves behind everything that makes me think she's still a baby (except for the diapers, that will never happen...); the other one is the fact that, since she's my last baby, we are leaving this classroom behind as well.

Katarina is in the same developmental daycare where Larissa was before going to school. The Irvine Child Development Center (ICDC) has been the place we've trusted all this time. Each classroom has been special, but the one Katarina is about to leave is my favorite. Here is where I've seen the most change in both my girls. Here is where they went from being a babbling toddler, to being intelligible little people. Here is where diapers were replaced by pull-ups and panties (not for Katarina, never...), where likes and dislikes became more evident, were little friendships blossomed, where temper tantrums flourished - and were squashed. As my little one leaves, I get a little pang thinking of the things I've seen, of the things I've cherished, of the things I won't experience again.

So, I'm a little emotional, and as I write, I celebrate this pity party for myself.

Trust your instincts or learn the hard way

I have been dreading the approach of the girls' birthdays for some time. Not so much because they are getting older, but because this year they were getting a joint party, and we know that means a lot of work. Thankfully, most of the mini-guests were siblings in one of the girls' classrooms, which contained the numbers on the obligatory set of parents that come when you celebrate small kids' birthdays. Being an obligatory parent myself, I also should say that the parents who came are friends, so that was a nice bonus.

Anyway, this is not so much about the feast itself (I'll do another one on that), but about the lessons learned. Somebody said that life isn't a destination so much as a journey, so let me tell you about the journey. And let me convince you to trust your instincts from time to time, unless you like to learn the hard way.

At the risk of having this turn into the 5th grade composition paper, let me start this way:

What I learned this weekend:
(a) If the weather report says it's going to rain only in the morning, it's wrong.
And if you think it will, somehow, work out, then you are wrong. As I planned the girls' party for a Saturday in September, the last thing in my mind was the possibility of rain. I mean, this is So. California last time I checked, and last time I checked it NEVER rains in September. Enter Global Warming, Climate Change, or whatever it's called these days, and I guess anything is possible. We were hit by a storm front coming in from Alaska, and by the looks of it, the storm just didn't move quickly enough, because the downpour came on Friday night and lasted through the early afternoon on Saturday. It didn't rain quite enough to flood us, and the thunderstorms never materialized, but it rained enough for us to judge it better to move the party indoors.

(b) You can fit a whole bunch of people and a swarm of screaming little girls in a small space and survive to tell the story.
Our discussion when considering plan B (indoor party in our small house v. outdoor party in the picnic area of our beautiful park, playground included) was quite the tug-o-war. Since plan B hadn't become a necessity until the last minute, we finally stopped arguing about an alternate venue and agreed that the house would be party central in the unlikely event of rain. Unlikely having become likely, we routed everyone to our 1667 sq. ft. home. Take out the master bedroom, the office, and wasted spaces, and it's not so much space anymore. Add in a troupe of screaming five year-old girls, a couple of toddlers, two unsuspecting little boys, and voilá: if you are not ready to have a drink, you will be by the end of the night. We adults ended up knowing each other better due to the close proximity, but everyone seemed to be happy and there was plenty of food. And since the house isn't palatial, then the parents didn't have to run around to keep an eye on their kids. My closet became the hideout at some point, and Katarina ended up with orange juice on her hair, after Larissa and her BFF Isabelle decided it'd be fun to pour it on her. My carpet ended up soaked in the same juice as well, so Jim had to clean the carpet he'd cleaned that morning. And we lived to tell the story, after having a few drinks.

(c) If you think that children should not play with bubbles unsupervised, you're most definitely right
I can't stress this one enough. Maybe it's common sense, but again, remember the small house? Well, once it stopped raining for sure, a few kids spilled out to the patio/yard area, where I rediscovered the bubbles intended for their use. My strategy at this point was to keep them entertained and out of trouble in the patio, while we adults had a bit of a reprieve and time to recharge our worn-out parenting batteries. It didn't take long for me to see the error of my ways. Larissa and her BFF Isabelle (see an emerging them here?) had decided to pour the bubbles on the sodas and one of the toy cars outside. The sodas became the cleanest sodas in the neighborhood, and ditto for the car. And for the driver. Yes... the car had a driver, which made my godson Noah the victim of female mischief, as he became the recipient of their soapy liquid.

(d) Last but not least, I have learned that little girls are skilled at scheming. I have learned that I shouldn't trust them when they are quiet (well, I learned that one long ago). I have learned that watching my kids play with their friends in this early stage is one of the sweetest memories of all.

And off she goes...

Actually, and off she went. Larissa, my five year-old baby, started school on Monday. Now, that's a brutal reality check for parents, if there ever was one.

In a mixed emotional state of excitement, apprehension and sadness, I prepared her uniform for her first day at school at Serra Catholic. I got her dressed in her navy blue skorts, white polo shirt, forest green socks and black Mary Jane shoes. I brushed her blond hair, which is a mix of honey and wheat during the summer, and put on her blue/green plaid headband. She was the picture of adorability (is that a word?), and I just wanted to squeeze her tight and never let go.

We got to the school around 8:15 a.m., late by normal standards, but the administrators have acknowledged that parents need a bit more on the first day, especially those of us for whom it is the-very-first-day. We were welcomed by the principal, Mrs. Trudell, a bubbly, warm and very charismatic lady of Italian descent (no, she's not the matronly type; think blond, California tan, impossibly-high heals, and an unabashed love of everything pink), got to the lunch area where we were treated to coffee and donuts, and eventually made our way to Miss Hunter's classroom, the only Jr. Kindergarten class in the school. There we got to say hi to her and her assistant teacher, Mrs. "B" (her last name is virtually unpronounceable to the kids), take pictures of our precious little baby, see the classroom, say hi to other parents, and feel welcome and cuddled. Eventually, we left. I took care of a bit of paperwork, and then we said good-bye to Serra Catholic until later that day.

I have to admit that some tears found their way through my cheeks, but all in all, I think I was very brave. I did spend the day in kind of a blur, anxious to go back and pick her up from extended care at the end of the day, and feeling guilty because she is there - never mind that she's been in daycare from 8 a.m. - 5:30 p.m. every day since she was three and a half months old. Eventually we were reunited, and the world was right again.

Now, let's skip all the little details of going home and yadda yadda yadda. It's time to fast-forward to day two and the military precision of this small Catholic school...

We got up early and managed to leave the house by 7:18 a.m., three minutes behind schedule, but then I had until 7:40 a.m. to drop her off, and the school is five minutes away... BIG MISTAKE.

The line on one of the access arms was two blocks long, on the other arms I didn't bother to try and imagine. It took me more than fifteen minutes and several lights to make it past the intersection and onto the campus. I didn't drop her off until 7:45 a.m., and here is what I'd like to focus on - the military precision of the drop-off and pick-up system at this school will be left for another blog. Let's just say General Patton couldn't have mapped a more thorough strategy or trained his troops any better. If Lincoln had encountered Mrs. Trudell and her troops instead of Gen. Lee's and his, the Civil War might have had a different ending.

There I go... I digress again. So, back to the drop-off. Once I made it through the organized chaos of lanes and cars vying for the precious piece of land adjacent to the school that signifies you're on your way to actually drop off your kid, I was directed to the inner part of the campus. There, staff direct you to your lanes and direct traffic to stop or go, help pedestrians, and, to my relief and my dismay (yes, both), the assist children out of the car and to their classrooms.

I say to my relief because (a) my baby isn't dropped off curb-side, where any lunatic can snatch her from right under my nose, or in later years where she could potentially meet "the bad kids" and skip school; (b) she doesn't have to figure out how to get to her classroom at the very tender age of five; and (c) it's just reassuring to know that someone is looking after her and helping her with her disproportionately big backpack.

I say to my dismay because (a) I am not the one taking my baby to her building or classroom and kissing her good-bye once there; (b) somebody else, again, not me, is escorting her at the very tender age of five - and this somebody else isn't someone I have necessarily met already; and (c) she doesn't need me anymore. My heart broke. I could feel the weight and the pressure, and I could feel the start of panic rising in my chest as I struggled not to wail and sob while running like a lunatic across the lanes to hug my baby and let her know for the millionth time that I love her.

To say that I sobbed is an understatement. Considering I had my other baby in the car with me as well, I attempted to be somewhat restrained. I'm sure whoever was driving ahead of me had quite the show to keep her distracted while we may our lengthy way out of campus. I kept drying my tears, only to have some more find their way through. I managed to calm down for a few seconds between bouts, and finally decided I needed to talk to somebody. My husband was busy - he tried to make himself available, but I didn't want to interrupt, especially since I felt that I was behaving quite absurdly. My mother was nowhere to be found. My dad was on a meeting. With each failed call my sobbing gained strength.

I finally composed myself in order to drop off Katarina at the daycare, where she clung to me for dear life. Isn't that ironic? As she clung and refused to let go, I thought "but you have to become independent"! There was my last baby clinging to me, while I was mourning the fact that my older baby was growing up and becoming more independent, and all I could think was that my little one needed to let go. Life is just a series of contradictions.

Luckily, we do get used to things and are able to adapt. I got chocked up yesterday, but managed to keep my composure. And today it was a bit easier still. In the end, I am so glad to see her do this well. She's not cried for me or her dad, and she plays with her new friends, whose names she doesn't quite remember yet, or doesn't want to tell.

Blessed be our children and the roller coaster on which they take us. I never knew love like this until they came, and I'm resigned to bawl with every new stage.

How did time just pass me by?

I'm having a bit of a problem today. I'm on post-birthday-celebration letdown, after celebrating Larissa's fifth birthday on Sept. 11. I'll take a tangent here for just a second and say that it was a really fun day once she stopped whining.

We went to Disneyland and did a whole bunch of stuff, and she got to ride on Splash Mountain for the first time. Loved it too. In fact, she went three times and achieved her goal of getting soaking wet. I haven't enjoyed that ride that much ever before. Everyone called her "princess" that day - not sure if that's done on birthdays only, but this is the first time I notice, so perhaps. People wished her happy birthday left and right, and she couldn't figure out how they knew. She was wearing a birthday button (I'm getting one next time it's my birthday!) Instead of pointing out that obvious fact, I told her it was because in Disneyland there was a lot of magic, and that's how people know. She'll figure out I flat out lied to her in a few years, but for now magic is fun.

We stayed until parade time, and that's where the whole button thing became so great. She was greeted during the parade by Pinocchio's fairy godmother, by Cinderella, and by Ariel, from all the way up on top of her float. It was just great. I think I enjoyed it even more than her...

Anyway, back to the hard time. My baby is now five. When did that happen? It seems like yesterday I held her for the first time and heard the doctor say "it's a girl!" Now my baby is indeed a little girl, no more a baby, no more a toddler. She's clever, articulate, and a chatter box. She has a sense of what she wants, how she wants it, and the vocabulary to let me know and justify it. It becomes harder and harder to argue with her without resorting to the traditional "because I said so." She's a princess. And she's so vain, but then I suppose most five-year olds are.

Tomorrow she starts German Saturday school. And on Monday she goes to Junior Kindergarten at Serra Catholic. And that means I get to drop her off curbside, she gets to wear a uniform, and from now on she'll be wearing shoes at school. Gone are the days of bare feet, sand in her hair and water play. At least during the academic year. Summer camps are looming in our future, as are extracurricular activities and homework. Gone are the days when I had to change her diapers, cuddle her to sleep, and sing her a song while we rocked on the chair. Gone are the days when I could dress her as a doll without arguments. A whole new era starts on Monday, and as time continues to pass me by, I just hope for glimmers of memories that I'll be able to keep, since remembering every second of every day with her is not possible.

I'm starting to understand how the last child is the one to get away with murder (I hope I don't do that with Katarina). Katarina is fulfilling that need to cuddle my baby, since she's still my baby. But that is coming to an end too, albeit a bit slower than with Larissa. She's my toddler, but she's my baby. And I've given myself a mental deadline for her to truly transition into toddlerhood, at least in my book. Once she starts talking clearly, I'll have to accept that the baby stage is over. In the meantime, I'm enjoying her baby words, her sentences, and her unexpected flashes of clever speech. And I'm not particularly enjoying the diapers, but since she's still quite happy with a wet bottom and has very little interest in changing the status quo, I'm resigned to clean her butt for a bit longer and hold on to this stage for a few more months.

The next three years will be crazy, having to split the drop off and pick up of the girls in two different locations, 20 miles apart. But for as long as this lasts, my baby will stay at the daycare, where babies go, and where we moms can hang on to a bit of this time that goes away so quickly.

There are days when I "can't wait" for so many things: Larissa to start Spanish class in school, Larissa and Katarina to have their first daughter-father dance, Katarina to be out of diapers and us out of diaper expenses. The truth is that I can wait. That I want to wait. That I want to soak my brain in these days when my kids challenge every fiber of my being and test my patience to the very limit, these days when they're still dependent on me and make some things difficult. I can wait. Because I want to experience it, enjoy it, cherish it, and ultimately remember it.