Tag Archives: Eleanor

Team Why Mommy, Science, and At Least I Tried…

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I have to be honest, I don’t love science.

I have fond memories of drawing pretty pictures of bacteria slides and plant cuttings in my 5th grade science notebook. But quizzes on genus, species, blobbedy, goobeldy gook, etc. etc. etc.? Not so much. Dissecting a fetal pig? Not number one on my list of most awesome activities ever.

BUT – I really wanted to participate in the Team Why Mommy Virtual Science Fair.


Maybe it’s because my own mother had/has cancer, but I feel an affinity for any mother who hears terrifying news, undergoes treatments ranging from uncomfortable to unbearable, and still finds it in herself to look her children in the eye and say, “don’t worry, don’t be scared – I’ll be fine.”

I don’t know Susan from Toddler Planet personally, but we both write for DC Metro Moms, and we both shared a treasured friend in Jean from Stimeyland.

So when Stimey (Jean) sent out the e-mail about supporting Why Mommy (Susan) on the day of her surgery with posts about two of the most important things in her life, children and science, I thought I could come up with something that would be fun for my kids and not too painful for me.

Previously, this is about as close to science as we had ever been:


In light of this, I wasn’t going to jump right into anything involving beakers and chemistry. I figured Earth Science was a better bet.

So this morning we set out on a bug finding mission.

I live in Reston, VA which is literally “the sticks.” It’s 20 minutes outside of DC (without traffic) and I’m not kidding when I say that the woods are right outside our door. We are surrounded by forest. So of course, we are surrounded by bugs.

I grew up in downtown DC, I went to college in the Bronx and I never planned on living anywhere but a city. So of course I now live in the woods. It’s Murphy’s Law. Or something like that… Either way, I’m not exactly a nature person, but I do appreciate the walking paths in my own backyard and the lovely little piece of nature that would have once made me wrinkle my nose in distaste. Dirt is so…dirty…

Anyway – it’s been unseasonably hot and I couldn’t face an hour walk through the woods, so I figured we’d just hit the closest playground and crawl around looking at yucky insects.

Here are some pictures of what we did:








No – you didn’t miss anything. There was very little bug seeking when swings and good climbing trees were right in front of us.

BUT there was a spider web in one of the trees:


What – you can’t see that? You are blind. Whatever – that was totally Earth Science right there. Spider webs are an example of the perfection to be found in nature.

And my sensory boy Oliver got very hands on with the clumps of pollen covering his beloved mulch.


But I didn’t want to fail our mission. So I got serious. I told the kids that on the way home, we were looking for bugs – no ifs, ands or buts. And everyone got on board.

We left no stone unturned:




But after three years of battling armies of ants in my house, watching screaming children run from the bees buzzing around my front door, and bathing my family in insect repellent every time we leave our home from April to October, I can honestly say that we didn’t find ONE FUCKING BUG.

Please excuse the expletive – but that’s how I feel about the Reston bugs right now. Fair weather friends indeed! When it’s all about scavenging fallen grains of rice and scaring children and sucking human blood, they’re EVERYWHERE. But the minute I want to snap some photos they turn all shy celebrity, hiding from the paparazzi.

Not cool, bugs…not cool at all.

But we did FINALLY have one brief moment of success on our way home:



That’s a worm!

Worms are gross. And totally Earth Science, thank you very much.

All in all – it was fun in spite of the general failure. And I took a few pictures of my kind of nature:





Now THAT’S more like it.

This was a lighthearted post about children delighting in the world around them and – well, yes – the science of it. But the reason for this post is far from light. I could never do it justice with my own words, so I’ll conclude with the end of Susan’s last post before her surgery. About how she will make her contribution to the future lives of women…people…all over the world:

We need the research.

I will do my part. Tomorrow, as the six tumors are removed from my body, they will be flash frozen in vials designed to keep them usable by scientists and medical researchers. The doctors will use what they need for me, and then the rest will be sent to the IBC Biobank for future research or out for the Target Now Complete testing, one of the first to look at molecular markers that may indicate additional options for my treatment. I’m trying to make the latter work out, but if not, I’ll send it to the Biobank in hopes that it will help someone else.

I’ve checked ClinicalTrials.gov for inflammatory breast cancer trials, and signed up for Avon’s Army of Women to be notified when a researcher is looking for people to participate in studies of new treatments, complementary medicine, or information dissemination, online or in my area. It’s important, this research, and the Army of Women is gathering 1 million women together who are willing to participate, locally in person or online, with and without cancer, so that the scientists can study what causes, and what cures, cancer. If you can, please join the Army with me — and say yes to just one study this year if the opportunity arrives in your in-box.

We need the research. And we need it now.

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ELSEWHERE:

On Wishing True…

ArtLab ruffles

On As Good As Cake…

Didn’t I Feed You Yesterday? giveaway!

The Stars Aligned…

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Okay – so it’s not the BEST picture of me ever, and my eyes are a tad half mast… But the fact that all of my children are in the picture, smiling and looking at the camera… We’ll that’s just never happened before. I assume that like a solar eclipse, it will be a while before I see the likes of this again. But it gives me some hope for holiday cards in our future.

Here are some others that didn’t quite work out:




And the best part is that it was Easter, so everyone actually looked nice and I hadn’t just arrived home from the gym or not showered yet. Most photo ops seem to occur when I’m not interested in being captured on film.

Here’s a bonus one of me with Eleanor:


I mean – a mother-daughter picture in which we both look nice? Unheard of!

Anyway – I was inspired to make a little effort this weekend since I just finished a book by a very glamorous and lovely lady named Laura Bennett. If you watch Project Runway, you’ll recognize her as one of the Fashion Week finalists who dressed up for the workroom and wore stilettos throughout all of her (count ’em – SIX!) pregnancies. I’ll be posting a review, a short interview AND a giveaway this week – so watch for that. And try don a cute outfit and splash on a little lip gloss next time you’re running out to Target. You’d be surprised at how much better you’ll feel about yourself. Besides -you never know if your kids will agree to pose for a picture. It could happen…

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ELSEWHERE:

On Wishing True…

Cox & Cox

On Style Key West…

Harlequin style

Naps…Shmaps… Part Two

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You would think that after Monday, I’d learn my lesson…

This happened in the playroom at 7:00 p.m. (P.M.!) yesterday.





And I thought they were just playing quietly… Not good – 8:00 p.m. bedtime was a nightmare. But they are pretty cute.

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ELSEWHERE:

On Wishing True…

Sunshine from Annechovie

50 Signature Handbags

Naps…Shmaps…

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We’re not tired!

We don’t need a nap!

We CAAAAAAN’T sleep!

We’re not tired!

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.





*Yes, in fact, the table WAS in position for some sliding before they passed out.

Why doesn’t anyone around here ever listen to me….?

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ELSEWHERE:

On Wishing True…

Madelyn Jordan Silk Embroideries

On Style Key West…

Learning to love purple…sort of….

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised…

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It was so warm and sunny today that I put the kids in short sleeves. But we had a small problem. Eleanor doesn’t have any short sleeve shirts that fit.

Oliver still fits in his shirts from last summer since they were a bit big on him back then, and George has Oliver’s old stuff. But Eleanor needs all new clothes.

So I thought we’d just swing by Target to pick up some tee shirts that she could wear with her jeans. No big shopping trip – just a few things to tide her over.

I found three shirts that were just adorable. And of course none of them wowed her. They were a little boring I guess:





But she did find one top that she REALLY liked:


I suppose I should at least appreciate the fact that it’s “one of a kind.”


Just like this one:

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ELSEWHERE:

On Wishing True…

Paintings from Kate Long Stevens


Lamp Love

All in the Name of Liberty

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*This is technically “part three” in a series of Liberty of London for Target posts I’m doing today. If you’re interested, part one is on Wishing True and part two is on Style Key West.

Long before I had my own daughter, I would marvel at some of the truly hideous outfits I saw little girls wearing. Especially when the parents accompanying them were dressed so tastefully. Where was the disconnect? Why did they put their daughters in hot pink bedazzled Barbie halter tops? What possessed them to think shiny polyester dresses in Easter colors made for appropriate “fancy” clothes?

Now that three year old Eleanor has taken an interest in her own wardrobe, the pieces are starting to fall together.

Bottom line: little girls have atrocious taste.

When Eleanor was just a newborn, I combed Ebay for Janie and Jack’s London Town line. It came out a year before I knew I would have a daughter, so I didn’t buy any of it. I have fond memories of pressing my nose up against the store window while I clutched my first born boy, tears running down my face, as I admired those darling plaid jumpers and embroidered cardigans… But Ebay delivered! I found every piece in the collection from the red rosebud embroidered top to the plaid gaucho pants. I couldn’t wait to play dress up with my new doll. But wait I would, since I knew better than to dress an infant in such finery. I only purchased the 3T sizes.

And this was our year! She turned three in October and as soon as the weather began to cool, I gleefully showed her the rich wool and soft cotton.

Her response? “That is not for me.”

Excuse me? Since when did she have a say in what she wore? Didn’t I have time until the inevitable teenage girl battles over low rise jeans and bra-less tube top ensembles?

Apparently not. And after copious tears over the gaucho pants (on both sides), I had to admit defeat. Look for my Ebay listings next Fall.

Sadly, this was not an isolated incident. Every shopping trip involves at least one conversation where I ask her what she thinks about something adorable and she tells me, “it’s terrible.” Seriously – that’s the word she uses. Where do they get this stuff?

I recently wrote about our children developing their own personalities and how they should be free to choose “who” they want to be. That? Was a load of crap. Eleanor’s fashion sense isn’t developing well. And I really wish I could just enforce tasteful clothing, like I enforce good nutrition and bedtime schedules. Oh – who am I kidding, my kids won’t eat anything but cheese sandwiches. Why would I think their wardrobes would be any different?

The most recent of our mother-daughter debates took place yesterday when we drove to Target to see the new Liberty of London line. I had already viewed most of it on the Target website and was enchanted by the dresses for little girls. One of each please!

Eleanor did not agree. She looked at this…


…and promptly sniffed her disapproval. She then pointed at this:


Out of EVERYTHING in the girls’ section, she picked the shiniest, sleaziest polyester. In sunset colors with a rosette AND a bubble skirt.


And she meant business.


She really wanted that dress.


Luckily for me, there weren’t any in her size and I didn’t have to lie. Crisis averted. But it’s just a taste of the years to come…

But I’m smart. And I have a plan.

Eleanor is madly in love with our six year old neighbor Jonas. She begs for him to come over and play, and when he leaves she dissolves into tears. When he is here, she spends half her time asking me why he’s not talking to her and insisting that I come tell him to pay attention to her

What am I? Her wing man? Seriously Eleanor – he’s just not that into you.

But it does kind of break my heart when she gets all excited about showing him her pretty dress and he could care less. She smiles and flourishes, “LOOK Jonas!” And he just gazes at her blankly, obviously thinking, “what am I looking at.” Oh Eleanor…get used to it…you’ll be dressing up for men for years and it will never change… (Barring the low rise jeans and bra-less tube top of course, but that’s another conversation for another time.)

So here’s my plan. I’m going to ask Jonas’ mom (a good friend of mine) to bring over the Liberty of London dresses one day and say they’re from Jonas. I may even pay Jonas to tell her he loves them on her. And I totally think it will work.

But what about the future you ask? What about the more important disputes over indecent apparel? Well – I have a plan for that too. I have no intention of being the bad guy. When she walks downstairs wearing a skirt that barely covers her bottom and a challenging glare, I’ll just smile. Then I’ll say, “you look nice honey. Just go say goodbye to Dad before you leave.”

Pearls of Wisdom

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One of the things we all do when we become parents is dream about what the future holds for our children. We think about who they are going to be. Or more accurately – who we want them to be.

Every night when I was pregnant with my first baby, I thought about all of the qualities that I wished for him. I wished for kindness and generosity. For self confidence and intelligence. For humor and charisma. For talent and creativity. And happiness.

Then he was born and I just wanted him to sleep.

But in my heart, all of those wishes lived on – and still do. And I tried to do the same for my other children. I had the same hopes for my twins, though a bit less focused.

By the time I was pregnant again, my first child was still a stinky sleeper, and I tended to pass out the minute my head hit the pillow. So there were no thoughtful lists chanted nightly for the twins and their own triumphs of character.

It was then that I gave myself license to tuck those dreams in a pocket where I knew they would be kept warm and alive. Even if I couldn’t recite them by rote. Maybe if I wanted them enough, they would be imprinted in all of my intentions, and it none would go astray. It would be a string of pearls that would never break.

And I think it has been. They’re all still there, permanently knotted on the strongest of fibers – gleaming in the shadows of my pocket. I don’t need to memorize what is in my heart.

It’s been over three years since the last of my babies were born, and I’m now starting to see glimpses of my dreams in their eyes. I smell them in the soft scent that no longer whispers baby. And I feel them in the squeeze of small fingers around my own.

They are becoming people.

And as much as I frequently cup my precious wishes in my palm, I know that it’s out of my hands. I can’t keep my children in a pocket. They have to decide who they are going to be, and it seems that starts as early as…well, now.

It would be so easy to label them. He’s the sweet one. She’s the feisty one. He’s the gentle one. But they change daily – sometimes to my liking and sometimes not.

But you always loved to paint. Where is my little artist?

What do you mean you won’t wear the pretty dress? Dresses are your favorite.

Since when did you stop liking Barney? Nevermind – that’s fine, thanks.

In these small ways, they assert their growing personalities. They try them on like scraps from a dress up box. Cherished one moment – then dismissively discarded. Thoughtless. Artless. Fickle. And free.

But we have our favorites and sometimes we interfere. Put on the pink one – it’s your best color. For all of our good intentions and pride, we so often try to box our children into neatly labeled cubby holes…the nice one…the pretty one…the smart one… And we even do it to each other as adults. Maybe that’s where we learn it – from our own parents. The circle of life. The beat goes on.

And maybe that’s fine. Perhaps it’s necessary to be guided to our strengths. But that’s some power we parents have. And Power is never far from its evil twin, Responsibility.

I honestly do think that as I provide that necessary guidance to my children, I’m just as responsible for following their lead. And protecting their right to choose.

It used to drive me crazy when people would label my twins. She’s the sweet one and he’s the character. Or to assume that my oldest was supposed to suddenly be a mini man at 18 months just for the fact that he’s an older brother.

My daughter has proven everyone wrong. She was the sweet one. She was the quiet one who was often ignored while her twin brother writhed and screamed with reflux pain. I like to imagine that placid little baby getting miffed. The squeaky wheel indeed!

She didn’t stay angelic for long. She is the larger than life child. She sings and dances through the day. She demands her due with a jazz hands finish. But just like that little girl with the little curl, when she is good she is very, very good, but when she is bad… She stomps her feet, hands planted firmly on hips. Her “YES I can!” is less self affirming call to action than blood thirsty battle cry. She is fierce.

But I envy her.

And don’t we all? Don’t we all look at our children and envy their potential. Their bright, shiny newness. Their quicksilver ability to morph into anything they want to be.

I want to foster that. Sure I have to say no sometimes. I have to be firm. But I don’t want to take that ferocity away from her. Especially when I so often wish that I had it myself.

My cousin was apparently much like my daughter at that age, and my mother remembers some good advice that was given to my aunt and uncle. The grandfather who was well known for his “spare the rod, spoil the child” attitude about discipline shocked everyone by warning, “just don’t break her.“

Pretty wise if you ask me. And I would say that same advice transcends its original subject. I don’t want to break any of my children of their ferocity or their quirks. As inconvenient as these traits may be for me – it’s my responsibility to protect their individuality.

I was reminded of my string of wishes recently when my grandmother passed away. She left Eleanor a pearl necklace that had once belonged to her own daughter. It was old and fragile and in need of some refurbishing. And when Eleanor is old enough I will have it restrung for her. Like a mother’s dreams for her children, the necklace will be passed on with love.

Everyday, I wrap my own dreams and wishes around my children. But in the end, it’s their choice how to wear them.

Oh the weather outside is frightful…

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…aaaaand that just about sums it up (we don’t have a fireplace to find delightful – damn 1970s townhouse architects).

Honestly – I do love snow. I do! I love seasons. Really! I’m always the first one to say that I’ll suffer through a couple of freezing, sleeting months if I can experience autumn leaves and pink cherry blossoms and yes – sparkling white snow blanketing the neighborhood. I wouldn’t say that I’m a Winter fanatic, but I find snow lovely and cozy. And the snow we had right before Christmas this year was downright festive.

I really couldn’t imagine living somewhere without seasons.

When I visited Chris’ family in Arizona for the first time and listened to their friends exclaim about not being able to survive our East Coast Winters I thought, “yeah, well you enjoy that ‘but it’s a dry heat‘ holiday season – I’d rather revel in wool sweaters and sip hot cocoa after an invigorating walk through freshly fallen snow.

But that’s easy for me to say since here in DC, we get maybe one or two big snowfalls per year. We’re not usually buried in snow for almost two weeks.

And as I go through photos I’ve taken over the past week, I can feel my attitude changing.

So I present to you a brief travelogue of our journey through the past week’s snow festival:

1/31

Yeah! Snow! Let’s go sledding!



Or perhaps a snowball fight?



Thank you Oliver for being the second Hood child to break a camera. Eleanor – You’re up!

2/5

Can you believe it’s snowing again? And the camera didn’t break – so we can take MORE pictures!




Nice hat.

2/6

When is it going to stop snowing? Our children are disappearing into the drifts…



2/7

All I have to say is Winter Wonderland. Behold the majesty.




And behold my son who can’t feel the cold. Actually, he can feel the cold – he just has his priorities.




2/10

The snow is starting to get old…yet Oliver still insists on going outside fifty times a day (okay – more like five but when you’re slowly going insane from not being able to leave your house, you start to exaggerate). Where is everyone else anyway?

Eleanor is sick


And cultivating some really crazy bedhead


Chris is cooking (and apparently drinking…)


Kate is taking pictures since she doesn’t like to have her unshowered in pajamas look documented, and George is melting down from cabin fever.


2/11

Giant icicles have started falling from the roofs.


Where are the news reports about widespread impalings?

2/12

Today the furnace stopped working. Yeah – more sweaters! So festive…

2/13

The furnace has been fixed, but now the dining room lights and kitchen outlets aren’t working. Weather related? Or the result of Chris’ roiling psychic energy?

2/15


Losing track of the days…it’s started snowing again…I’d like to say that I’m not baking yet another batch of cookies because of the weight I’ve gained while house bound. But the truth is, I’ve run out of chocolate chips.

Day 13 of Snow Prison: We have come to accept that help is not coming. Survival now rests on our own shoulders. Provisions are running out and morale is low. Straws were drawn for a volunteer to venture out in search of food. As the snow falls steadily and the temperatures drop, we try not to wonder when it will end. The waiting is the hardest. But that is all that is left for us now. To wait. And hope.

To all of my other snowbound comrades: Stay warm!

To all of you smirky warm weather residents: Suck it!

Rookie Mistakes, Crazy Talk and Being For-dick-a-less

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Okay. So I’ve been a mom for over four years now. Pushing five. And I’m pushing forty myself. I babysat my ass off when I was a teenager (and much later into my twenties than is considered normal). And I actually remember quite a lot about about being a kid myself.

Yet – none of that seems to matter. I still make rookies mistakes, I hear myself spouting bizarre statements with earnest sincerity, and on occassion, I act like a complete tool. All regarding my children of course (shut up Chris).




I’ve had some real winners lately, so I thought I’d post a random sampling today.

First the rookie mistakes. All of that experience with small children under my belt, and I still:

Leave a full and OPEN bottle of bubble bath sitting next to the tub while I duck out to grab the shampoo.


Buy bath markers (Why do I keep doing this? It’s like I have amnesia every time I browse the bath aisle at Target, “OH bath markers – that looks like fun!” sigh)

Leave the house without diapers even though my three year old twins are only 50% potty trained.

Leave an open jar of peanut butter on the counter while I run downstairs to switch the laundry.

Assume that if I don’t hear a peep from the kids for a long period of time they are playing nicely, and enjoy the little break from the chaos (because we all know what I usually find when I go looking for them…)


Leave an open jar of Vaseline on the counter while I run downstairs to switch the laundry.

Leave an uncapped tube of toothpaste sitting on the counter while I run downstairs to switch the laundry.

(I also have amnesia about the kids getting into everything that should be far out of their reach. And I do a lot of laundry.)

Then there are the crazy sounding things I say without a hint of irony:

Hmmm. That’s strange…I can only think of one recent one. Maybe it’s like that amnesia thing above and I’m just saying the same crazy thing over and over without realizing that I’ve said it before. Anyway – here it is:

We NEVER pee on people.

Hold on…I just remembered a couple more:

[When one of them wanted to help me bake cookies] “Okay – you can help…but you have to wear underwear. It’s like – my only cooking rule.“

[George loves to play in our sliding door closets] “Come on George! It’s time to go. No more playing in the closet – we have to leave. No – I’m serious – it’s time. Get out of the closet now. I said now. I said come OUT of the closet George!“

As for acting like a complete lunatic…I think my personal best was a debacle at nap time last month.

First, I should explain that George and Eleanor still need their nap. They are complete monsters (I mean more than usual) when they skip it.


But they went through a phase of refusing to settle down and sleep. During that time, they would just play in their room.

This would have been fine if they played quietly and acheived some modicum of “rest.” But they didn’t. Whatever I heard going on one level up sounded like a scene from Fight Club. They literally shook the house with their…whatever it was they did.

And the worst part was that what they were doing seemed to involve taking off all of their clothes, including their diapers. And having accidents. On the floor. Like puppies.

I seriously thought I was going to lose my mind, and eventually, I kind of did.

I decided it was time to lay down the law – no more Mr. Nice Guy – the madness would end.

So you can imagine how well that went.

First, I told them very calmly and quietly that if I heard one more sound from their room, they would be in A LOT of trouble. And they were to keep their diapers ON. If I came upstairs to find naked children and wet patches on the carpet, there would be spankings (a punishment I rarely enforce but often threaten).

They just laughed at me.

I closed the door, thinking “yeah – we’ll see who is laughing the next time I’m up here…“

Minutes later when I felt the first sonic boom, I was up the stairs and in their room, ready to show them who was boss. I yelled and fumed and made my scariest face possible. All while re-attaching diaper tabs.

I then gave them “one more chance” (because I’m a soft touch) and promised spankings the next time I had to come upstairs.

They just laughed at me.

And of course it was less than 10 minutes before I returned for a little demonstration of tough love. THIS time it was no more Mr. Nice Guy.

Which ended up being true when I saw how they had ripped apart the room. Their crib mattresses (on the floor as we still need to get them toddler beds) were over turned and sheets and blankets lay in heaps. The CD I had put on was skipping and the lamp was on its side. And of course, they were naked.

They saw my fury – and they just laughed at me.

I very calmly and quietly told them that it was time for spankings. And each of them got one very hard smack on their bare bottom. Unheard of from their previously gentle and soft spoken mother.

There was howling and unintelligible toddler cursing as I re-diapered and dressed them. But by the time I made my way back out of the room, I heard something that made my blood boil.

They were laughing at me.

Knowing that you should never approach a child in such a rage, I closed the door and waited until I felt that rolling boil return to a slow simmer. Then finally when I thought it was at a safe room temperature, I returned to the devil spawn.

I found them gleefully trying to rip curtains off the window. And that’s when the whoop ass can was opened. I didn’t spank anyone, but I raged and bellowed and pulled every single object out of that room.

First removed the entire curtain rod and tossed it into the the hall. Then I repeated the process with every book and toy I could find. Then came the sheets and blankets. Then the mattresses.

The twins watched in silent astonishment as I dragged the table, lamp and CD player out as well, and then finally pulled a clock off the wall.

I left the room completely bare (not too difficult of a feat since it’s a tiny room without space for a dresser – but still).

Then I walked out, leaving them in their diapers to either sleep or entertain themselves for the next hour.

This time they did not laugh.

In fact, they cried for a long time, and it took all of my willpower not to go to them. Instead I waited until they fell silent. Then I crept back in and put blankets over their sleeping potato bug bodies.

And I felt like a terrible mother.

Later when they woke up with no sign of resentment or remorse, they watched as I put their room back to rights. They commented on the various items and showed me where to put them.

When I put the clock back up on the wall, George said, “mommy throw the clock?“

And I had to kind of laugh at myself. I mean – what purpose did that serve anyway? I punished them by denying them their clock? Ridiculous.

So I said as much: “Yes George, that was ridiculous. I won’t take down the clock again.“

George repeated “For-dick-a-less?” And a new Hood family word was born. Because they often refer to things as being for-dick-a-less.

“But what about the diapers?” you ask. “Do they still take them off at nap time?“

No – they don’t. But it took one more outrageous act to stop that practice:


For-dick-a-less…but effective.