the pieces of my life

Doodles has an old remote control that we gave him a year and a half ago when he became fascinated with all things with buttons. He loved to press the buttons. Now, however, he knows that it’s supposed to do something and he suddenly realized it doesn’t work.

Yesterday, he came into the living room with his remote and sat in his chair. “I want to watch TV!” he said. He started pressing buttons on the remote. “I want to watch TV! I press buttons. I want to watch TV!” I went into the next room to take care of something, and moments later a little person comes trotting in. “Mama! It needs new batteries! It needs new batteries, Mama! Can I have batteries?”

Where do they get this stuff?

There’s only one thing worse than dropping off one of the absolute loves of your life off at day care. And that’s dropping her off twice.

I really wrangled with sending Sweetie Pie to day care. The fact is, I’m an incredibly lucky person and the only reason I work is because I enjoy it. If I chose not to work, we’d be fine. Actually, with two children in day care, we’d be better than fine because my work won’t cover the day care costs of two children because it’s three days of day care and two days of work. Let me explain.

When Doodles was a wee one, I thought I’d stay home with him. Being a stay-at-home mom was what I was going to be. A SAHM in the terminology. My mom, when I was six, went back to school and I think that 90 percent of moms mother in direct response to their own mothering (and the other 10 percent lie about it), so of course, I want to be home for my kids. I had put Doodles on a waitlist for day care when I was just a few months pregnant, just in case. I’m not sure what kind of “work emergency” I was going to have, but there you go. And then, three months into mothering Doodles, I had a “work emergency.” I was going crazy. I wasn’t cut out to be a five-day-a-week at home mom. I loved (and still do love) Doodles more than life itself, but I was going postal home all the time. So when an opening came at the day care, I jumped at it and Doodles started going twice a week and I began freelancing as a writer and editor. I felt horribly guilty about wanting to work and send my child to school, but that’s what worked best for all of us.

Fastforward two years. Doodles loves his school. I knew that I’d want to return to my freelance life, so the minute I found out that I was pregnant with Sweetie Pie, I put her on the waiting list at Doodles’s school (the infant room is the toughest one to get into, but I had priority because of Doodles and let me tell you, I’m the only one who put a kid on the waiting list when she was a mere five weeks in utero. Day care found out I was pregnant before almost anyone else). At the same time, we arranged for Doodles to up his day care to three days a week starting that September, on the advice of his pediatrician. She pointed out that with a newborn at home, we wouldn’t be able to give Doodles to activity he needed and that school would be a safe place that would be all his–no babies interfering. Because I knew that putting a second child into day care would be easier than putting the first in and because I had more work than I could really accomplish in two days, I went ahead and signed Sweetie Pie up for three days a week.

Only one problem: I was wrong. I don’t want to send Sweetie Pie to day care. Not three days a week, not one day a week. Putting the second child into day care is no easier than putting the first one in. In fact, it’s harder because I don’t feel like I need a break. First of all, I’m a much more relaxed this time around. Second of all, I haven’t had any of the postpartum anxiety I had with Doodles. Finally, I know now just how fast it all goes! She’s going to be big before I know it, and I don’t want to miss any of it!

But here’s the deal. Doodles really does love school. I mean loves it! And he really does get more there than I can give him. At his age, he likes lots of art projects, song hours, story times, play time, dress up time, and there’s no way I can keep up with him and take care of Sweetie Pie’s needs. Oh, I could give Doodles a lot at home and I know that many moms do, but it’s not in my repertoire. Frankly, I get annoyed when I spend twenty minutes setting up a craft project just to have Doodles tell me 30 seconds later that he wants to do something else. And honestly I don’t want a 2 1/2 year old going crazy in the house during the winter. Winters up here can be rough and I’m not taking Sweetie Pie out in 20 degree weather so Doodles can burn off energy.

So what do I do? We have to pay for Doodles’s day care, but with Sweetie Pie home, I can’t really work. And then there’s one other factor. Almost all of the moms I’ve spoken to tell me the same thing: While it’s nice to be home with your kids when they’re young, it’s more important to be home for them when they’re older. Kids need you after school in elementary school and middle school. Now, I don’t know if this is true or not, never having raised an older kid, but it sounds like it could make sense. My freelance work rocks. I enjoy it. It’s flexible so I can work odd hours if I have a sick child. It pays decently. And it’ll be the perfect schedule when Doodles and Sweetie Pie are in preschool/elementary school. I’ll definitely want to work when the kids are in school and let’s face it, finding meaningful, well paying part-time work is just about impossible, and that’s exactly what I’ve got. But the thing is, if I stop working now, my contacts will be stale in three years. Working now ensures I’ll have work later when I need it. So I think of my work now as an investment for the future.

So, here we are. I can’t bear the idea of sending my Sweetie Pie to day care three days a week, nor can I bear the idea of disappointing Doodles and cutting him back to two days a week. So Sweetie Pie starts going this week two days a week and Doodles will continue three days a week and I get a precious day alone with my little baby.

Monday was Sweetie’s first day. Doodles and I dropped her in the infant room. I took Doodles to the toddler room, which is right next door and then went back to hang out with Sweetie a little bit. I had ramped Doodles up slowly when he started but I don’t have that luxury with Sweetie Pie: I already have four jobs I’m working on and I haven’t even contacted all my regular clients yet. So Sweetie Pie will be doing full days.

Before I left, I fed Sweetie and cooed at her. I made the teachers promise they’d let Doodles visit her (I feel better knowing she’ll have a familiar face there). And I went about my day. After two hours, I called the school.

“How’s Sweetie!” I asked.

“She’s doing good,” the teacher said. “So, has she taken a bottle before?”

Uh…yes, actually she has. Adam gives Sweetie a bottle when Doodles and I have our mommy-Doodles alone time. And other various family members have given her one. Now, Sweetie isn’t a big fan of the bottle, but she will take it.

And yet, at 1 p.m., my phone rang.

“Hi, Jenny,” the day care director said. “Sweetie won’t take the bottle and she’s screaming. Do you want to come down and feed her?”

Luckily, we live fewer than five minutes from the day care so I got there right away, snuck past the toddler room, and found Sweetie as happy as could be in the director’s arms.

“Let me try feeding her a bottle,” I said. Sweetie grinned at me, took the bottle, took one swallow, and then started screaming.

“Yep, that’s what she did for us,” the director said.

I popped Sweetie on and in five minutes, she was cooing contentedly. I left her again, to finish up my day’s work.

So now what? Do I go to day care every day to feed Sweetie Pie? One of the teacher’s had a little luck feeding Sweetie in the bouncy chair at the end of the day, but I don’t know if that will work on an ongoing basis. Maybe Sweetie Pie senses my ambivalence.

I do feel better about day care in general. When I went to pick Sweetie Pie up for real, they said they brought her into the toddler room, and Doodles immediately said, “That’s my Sweetie!”

I’ll get through this. I know I will. But my little bitty Miss Pie–who is already in her size 3 diapers and grown out of half of her size 3 to 6 months clothes–is getting so big so fast. And Doodles is a real live kid now. Slow down! It’s all speeding by way too quickly.

My little Sweetie Pie is already doing her own thing! Her first tooth has broken through–and instead of doing one of the two front teeth like every other baby out there, Sweetie Pie chose to begin the teething process with a tooth in the back left of her mouth. My little non-conformist baby!

Adam says he worries that someday he’s going to apply for a job or something and he won’t get it because they’ll say they don’t like him because of something they read about him in my blog. Just to give a little more ammunition, here are some Adam stories.

1) While leaving the Christmas Eve party, my kind, kind friend said, “Let me wrap up some treats for you to take.”

I said, juggling Sweetie Pie, trying to calm her, “It might be hard right now. Adam and Doodles are staying–why don’t you give some to them to take.”

Fastforward a couple of hours. Sweetie is asleep on me. Adam and Doodles come bounding in the door. Adam says, “D. offered to pack up some cookies for us, but I told her not to bother since we’re leaving town anyway on Monday.”

I was most distressed as I yelled, “I’m here by myself and you turned down COOKIES?!?” Does anyone else out there see just how wrong this is?

2) In Miami Beach, we went out for ice cream. I got a waffle cone dipped in chocolate with sprinkles on it because I love cones, chocolate, and sprinkles. Doodles had a plain cone and he wanted to lick the sprinkles on mine, which I’m fine with, but I do like my sprinkles. We went back to the ice cream store a few days later, and this time I got Doodles his own sprinkle cone. Of course his own sprinkle cone isn’t as good as someone else’s so he didn’t eat the cone. I turned to talk to my cousin and I notice that Adam is cleaning Doodles up. And the cone is slowly making its way in Adam’s hand toward the garbage. “Don’t! Don’t! DON’T!!” I yell, as I dive for Adam’s arm. But I’m too late and the sprinkled chocolate cone is in the garbage.

“I heard you say ‘Don’t!'” my cousin says.

“How could you throw that away?” I wailed.

Adam looks at me like I’m crazy. “I’ll buy you another cone.”

“It’s not the same,” I say, as I head for the counter, to get one anyway… except that Doodles’s sprinkle chocolate cone was the LAST ONE! And did Adam show an iota of remorse? Yeah, right!

3) Walking aimlessly down Lincoln Road, Adam starts singing–for some reason that I can’t remember now–“My cutie has a first name, it’s C-W-E-E-T.” I had to point out to him, actually, it’s an S. We spell our daughter’s name with an S. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s what I meant.”

4) A few weeks ago we went to a synagogue play group. Adam and I took separate cars because he was going to take Doodles to a birthday party for the son of a friend of his afterwards. At the synagogue, there was a book fair upstairs so I excused Sweetie (with an S) and myself to go upstairs and do a little shopping. About a half hour later, Adam comes to find me. “I think Doodles and I are going to head out now.”

“Oh,” I said, “is Doodles getting cranky?”

“Nah,” Adam replied. “Doodles is fine. I’m getting bored. I want to go.”

Um, hello? Because I enjoy my time in music class. Or gymnastics class. Or for three hours at the playground. That’s right. It’s all about what interests us! Ahem.

(I know, I know: he’s really a great dad and husband. He wakes up with Doodles, bathes him at night, puts him to bed, does the majority of the laundry, takes care of the garbage, the cars, and all things mechanical, and all sorts of saintly things, but really, how boring is that to read? So I won’t bother to mention it.)

I’m so not alternative. I saw the greatest baby t-shirt at Ricky’s on Lincoln Road. It said, “I’m so f*ing cute.” And it would have been perfect for Miss Pie. But I’m gutless. I’m afraid of the playground moms. I’m afraid of being skewered on the town’s parenting e-mail list (yes, my town has an e-mail list for parents and let me tell you, the parents in my town–present company included–aren’t shy about voicing their opinions). So if you see me and Miss Pie out and about, just know that I’m at least thinking, “She’s so f*ing cute.” And you know what? She totally is!

Our party history with Miss Pie has hardly been a stellar one. A good friend invited our family to a Christmas Eve open house. I couldn’t wait! Every year, I try to invite as many people as I can to our house for Hanukkah. We invite Jews and non-Jews alike. Similarly, I hope to expose Doodles and the Lady Pie (or, as she may simply be known, the baby of a thousand nicknames) to as many other religious traditions as I can.

I like Christmas. I really do. I like Christmas as only a non-Christian person can. When this friend said we could help put some ornaments on her tree, I immediately volunteered to come up with an ornament-making project for our kids. I love Christmas cookies. Egg nog lattes are to die for.

So I was so eager for the open house. What a festive night! I dressed Miss Pie up in her finest and myself in my not-so-finest (I plan on wearing the same five shirts over and over for the next year and then once Sweetie Pie is done breastfeeding–and spitting up–burning them all and buying some nice new stuff). Doodles was excited and even Adam was in a party mood.

The party was awesome. But Sweetie Pie was not. About forty minutes into the party she started to howl. And howl. And howl some more. Not breastfeeding, not walking, not nutin’ would calm her down. I finally gave up and walked her home, at which point she promptly calmed down and fell asleep. Apparently my wee one is easily overstimulated. Either that or she is not as openminded about being a Jew at a Christmas party.

So while I was very excited for my cousin’s now annual baby friendly New Year’s Eve party, I was not optimistic about the evening. Our evening routine for Miss Pie has become that she starts to scream, I lay her in my bed, breastfeed her until she falls asleep, and then I sit trapped in bed because I don’t dare leave her alone as I know she can wriggle right off. So I warned my cousins that I could very well spend the entire evening in their bed with Miss Pie, holding court.

I’m not sure if it was being lavished with attention by my cousins (Jennifer and Oliver rule at baby wrangling) or if she’s just more comfortable with secular holidays, but Sweetie Pie was a dream. She fell asleep in the bouncy chair we brought over, and once she woke, I transferred her to the mei tai where she slept for the rest of the night. Jennifer’s mother kept saying to me, “She’s fast asleep; don’t you want to put her down? Are you sure you don’t want to put her down?” but she was so sweet against me and as the mei tai ensures no interference in the champagne-glass-to-mouth motion, I didn’t see the point.

Doodles did equally well at the party, staying up until the heretofore unseen hours (at least unseen since he was about five months) of 10 p.m. and then he crashed out on some pillows in the living room. Adam and I got to have our babies nearby and still have a baby-free night. It was perfect! I hope everyone else had an equally wonderful holiday.

We’re spending this week at my parents in Miami Beach. It’s always nice to come home, but let me tell you, packing for a family of four is waaaay different from packing for a family of three. For starters, when we were three, there was always a place for all of us to sleep. Now, we pack a travel trundle for Doodles. Before, I could cram all of Doodles and my stuff into one bag; now it takes two bags. Doodles toys could comfortably fit in my bag with my books. Now an entire bag is necessary for Doodles’s toys and snacks as well as all of Sweetie Pie’s paraphernalia.

I was quite worried about the flight down. When Doodles was little, we bought him his own half-priced seat on the flights so he could fly in comfort in his car seat. However, buying tickets for three adults (yes, my two-year-old son now pays full-price for his plane tickets) during high season meant that poor Sweetie Pie was stuck on my lap for the whole trip. I didn’t know how it was going to work out. And let me say, the flight down was rough. But Sweetie Pie wasn’t the problem, if you know what I mean. Mister little full-price-ticket Doodles also no longer needs a car seat on an airplane. You keep a two year old in his seat with his seat belt fastened. Go on. I dare you! Luckily, since I had my hands full with Sweetie Pie, Doodles was Adam’s problem. We flew Song, and I lament the fact that they are going out of business it was a stellar flight. For those of you flying with children on your lap, you can play video trivia while bouncing a child on your knee.

Anyway, we’re here now and enjoying ourselves immensely. Doodles and Sweetie Pie’s great-grandparents threw a Hanukkah party today that was quite lovely. Most of the grand/great grandkids were in town, so it was a large festive affair. Doodles performed, Sweetie Pie beamed. Of course, the minute we took Sweetie Pie away from the party and back into the car, she started to scream. Oh did she scream. A gasping-I-can’t-breathe kind of scream that puts panic into any mom’s heart. She screamed the entire thirty minute ride back. The only other sound that could be heard in between her gasps were the sounds of… Doodles snoring. Yes, my son can indeed sleep through anything. It was a most impressive feat.

And now we’re all tired even though it’s ridicuolously early. Sweetie Pie is asleep in bed and I asked Adam to watch her for five minutes while I brushed and flossed. I came back to find my “I don’t need that much sleep” husband passed out. He lies here now in his clothing and I don’t have the heart to wake him to change. I could tell you more, like about two-year-old present greed (my child actually shook he was so overcome by the present exchange) or my beautiful daughter practically got catcalls when we were walking down Lincoln Road today, but instead, I’ll join the rest of my family in their sleep. Good night and happy Hanukkah!

Um, my blogger is in French. Is it just me? Some weird glitch? The url is blogger.com still. Luckily I think I could make my way around Blogger in my sleep, so this shouldn’t be a problem for us. (Although it just occurred to me that a French spell check isn’t going to do me much good and I’m too tired to do a manual spell check, so you’ll have to deal with errors today.)

Edited on 12/29: It was Adam, not Blogger. I’m using his laptop and I said, “It’s so weird; I went to Blogger last night and it was all in French!” Adam merely said, “Yeah, I know. For some reason my cookies are set to French.” Huh?

My child is advanced for his age. That’s the only explanation. Because according to the Gesell book, Your Two-Year-Old: Terrible or Tender (duh! terrible!), the terrible twos don’t start until 2 1/2. Doodles is only 2 1/3. But we’ve hit the terrible part head on. Oh, be still my heart, he must be gifted.

Today, for instance, we had some friends over for a playdate. Everything they touched was not just “No, mine!” but it was bloody murder crying, screaming, “No no no no no!” When J. took the C magnet from the fridge, Doodles chased her hysterically. So she gave him the C and took the W (which apparently is a letter she likes better anyway). But then the W became the letter to be, and the tears streamed down his face as he–gasping–demanded the W. Getting dressed or changing a diaper has become next to impossible. Everything is “self! Do it self!” unless of course we’re holding Sweetie Pie, in which case it’s “Mommy do it!” He knows he’s not allowed to touch Sweetie Pie’s bouncy chair, so he pulled that all time famous big brother move of slowly moving his finger closer and closer to the chair until it was about a centimeter away. He looked at me and gave a big grin. If he had known how to say, “I’m not touching it! I’m not touching it!” I’m sure he would have.

Foods that he had been eating he will no longer eat. The one sippy cup that he drank his milk from is no longer the right sippy cup and we need to play a guessing game to figure out which cup is the acceptable cup. He whines. Nonstop. He doesn’t want to put on his shoes. He doesn’t want to go to the singalong. He doesn’t want to say home. He doesn’t want to have lunch.

Sigh. But he’s still my sweet, wonderful, beautiful Doodles and I know that this will pass. I just wish it would pass a little faster.

Adam was late, trying to get Doodles to bath so he could get to a class he takes. Doodles was at the refrigerator, playing with his magnetic letters.
Adam: Doodles, come on! It’s time for your bath.
Doodles: Daddy! I’m working!
Needless to say with a response like that, Doodles bought himself some more time.