Object the Snail

Perhaps you have ascertained by now that Harper Anne is a pretty funny kid. She says funny things all day long and sometimes I write them down and forget to give context, so I'll find a scrap of paper and it will have a quote like "I don't WANT to be my own independent country! I want to be Lightning instead" scribbled on it and I won't for the life of me be able to remember what in the world she was talking about. She has resurrected her strong desire to be called Lightning after having kind of forgotten about it for a few weeks. If I forget to call her Lightning she will (after having been told she is not to correct me again because I gave her the name Harper Anne and if I want to call her Harper Anne I will because I am the Mommy and that is that) click her tongue and find the "Cars" dvd case and tap on it while raising her eyebrows and whispering dramatically, "You mean....." When I do remember she is delighted, so I try to remember. She found a tiny little snail shell at the park a couple of weeks ago and named it Object the Snail. Object was actually an appropriate name because the shell appeared to be full of dirt and not slug, though Harper insisted Object was just taking a really long nap. Object took part in many fun activities before being abandoned for Car the Pumpkin, a small stuffed gourd she has been tending to since Sunday. This morning when she awoke she came into the kitchen as I poured her oat milk and gently reminded me that he had been up for 5 whole minutes and I still had not told Car the Pumpkin "good morning". So I did. I even gave him a good morning kiss.

It's been a full week so far. On Monday we went to the new and improved Children's Museum. The outdoor water extravaganza was incredibly popular with Harper and Hudson. The grocery store in Kidtropolis was also a hit.
My mom has been here for a couple of days while the husband is out of town deposing. Yesterday morning we went to the park. I took lots of pictures one-handed because Helena insisted on being cradled in the other arm. This park is HUGE and yet we kept ending up right at the perimeter--why is that?
And today we went to the zoo with our friends June and Trammell. We rode the train and just generally enjoyed being outside on such a lovely day. There were MANY field trips which made Harper cranky and when I asked her why she was bothered she said, "There are too many school children and I think if Helena starts crying they might try to hit her." After I assured her that I could probably protect Helena from a kindergartner with a pugilistic bent, she was able to enjoy herself somewhat. Here is a picture of that girl who is growing so fast.

of stains and stewardship and utilitarian calculus

If you had asked me before I had kids if kids should be allowed to play in the mud, I'm certain I would have answered in the affirmative. That was before I knew that mud stains are next to impossible to get out of clothes. If you had asked me before I had kids if I would care if my kids' clothes were covered in faded mud stains, I'm sure I would have told you that such things don't matter, and that I would never be so fastidious and vain as to care if my kids walked around in mud-stained clothes. As much as I love the idea of my kids frolicking and playing near a babbling brook (it was actually more of a ditch, but whatever) the truth is, Harper unintentionally stained a brand new pair of shorts, and Hudson muddied the only pair of shoes that fit him. Yes, they had fun. But I spent the whole time feeling clenched up at the time I was going to have to spend getting stuff clean and finding new shoes. And screeching at them to "stand BACK! Not IN the mud!!" I was THAT mother. The one in the commercial who makes her kid play in a plastic bubble so he doesn't get soiled. Part of me tries to remember that the shorts cost $8 and the shoes were 75% off and only cost $10. But if every time we go to the park it's going to cost me $18, is that worth the fun? I really just don't know. I want my kids to have self discipline but I don't want them to have an overburdening sense of responsibility at this point. I don't want them to think I am mad at them if they accidentally get mud on their shoes, but I do want them to realize that someone is having to clean up the mess.

We also have an issue at mealtimes because the dining area in our apartment is carpeted. That's right. Wall-to-wall and light beige. Now, while I agree that developmentally, it is all very good to let very young children drink out of regular cups and feed themselves independently, it is simply not good use of my time to get carrot juice and couscous out of the wall-to-wall light beige carpet. I do let Hudson drink out of a cup at lunch, but I hover and lurch if it looks as though it might spill. And we do have a drop cloth under his booster seat so that he can feed himself without too much consternation on my part. But again, if you had asked me before I had kids, I would have said something like, "The messier the better!! How else will they learn??" It's funny how cavalier you can be when you've never picked grains of couscous out of wall-to-wall light beige carpet. I also tend to take their clothes off if they are eating something that stains (red bell peppers and raspberries are impressively permanent) and Harper was still using a bib up until around a month ago.

So, there you have it. I'm open to shock and dismay, stain removal tips, and admonishment to just loosen up. I am also aware that the goal is kids with unstained character (well, perhaps stained and washed clean is a more theologically accurate metaphor) and I certainly want to have my focus on that and not silly distractions like a few brownish-white polkadots on a pair of bright green shorts.

Girl With Curious Hair

It's the title of a collection of stories by David Foster Wallace, the author of Infinite Jest, who gained a certain notoriety by committing suicide last year at age 46. Apparently it is very, very sad to be a creative genius. I've never read anything by him but would like to at some point. I've been reading an article about him in the New Yorker for around a month now. The articles are too long, or perhaps it is that fancy New Yorkers have more reading time than we Texans. When I am old and gray and nodding by the fire, as Yeats would say, I will read esoteric, rambling fiction. Speaking of being old and gray, I was having a conversation about weddings with our friend Izzy, age four and one half, a couple of weeks ago and she wondered if I would like to come to her wedding someday. I assured her that nothing would make me happier. She seemed pleased then, after a moment's reflection said, rather matter-of-factly, "Unless you are dead." Indeed.

Speaking of curious hair, I got mine lopped off. I don't have a picture of it yet but it is short, probably the shortest my hair has ever been. There are two types of curly hair--good curly and bad curly. My two eldest children have Good Curly, as do my friends Seana and Christine. It is the kind of hair that makes lovely ringlets. There is also Good Wavy, exhibited by my friend Brenda. It's hair that can be wavy OR straight with very little effort. As a child, I am told that my hair was Good Curly. As an adult, and once the high school perming madness grew out, my hair was relatively Good Wavy. When I began having children, my hair became BAD, VERY BAD Wiry, Poufy, Enormous Hair. It does not want to be curly or straight, it simply wants to be a Brillo Pad. So I got it cut off with hopes that the Brillo padness would waft gently to the floor and be swept away. No such luck. Again I am enslaved to the Chi.

Helena is now nine weeks old. She still sleeps for long stretches and is just generally pleasant. She is starting to smile and coo a little. She does get a little fussy between 5-6pm and the only thing that makes her happy is to be held. It is unfortunate timing. She doesn't mind reclining in the Boppy as long as someone is sitting next to her and talking directly to her. That can't really happen either so she ends up pretty sad. I try to end the time of sadness by giving her a bath, which she loves. One night, she was floating in the warm water in her little bath hammock thing AND the husband was vacuuming nearby AND I was talking and singing to her AND she found her fist to suck on. She was so blissed out--it was a baby nirvana.

Harper and Hudson have really been enjoying play-doh. And the book Katy and the Big Snow by Virginia Lee Burton. And I am tired so that will have to be all for today. Here is Hudson telling you where to go to find the elephants.And pretending to be Daddy. If you go to school long enough, you too can wear this jaunty tam-o-shanter.