Those old-time fairy tales.

On one of the PBSkids sites, there is a drawing game. You're supposed to draw a habitat for a specific imaginary animal. We did something different. Then you have a chance to write a story about the animal. Cora told me what to draw and what to write. You can see that hearing about red-hot dancing shoes and wolf-eaten grannies has not influenced her story-telling at all. Not at all.

(I'm told that in the story, Julia does come back to life. But "that story isn't part of this picture" - I tried.)

Four new reasons why spring has to be on the way

This morning was a good morning. I dropped Cora off at school and we went through our new ritual where she walks me to the lunchroom door, gives me something out of her "pocket", holds the door for me, gets one more kiss, and then runs back to her cereal. Then I went to my favorite neighborhood cafe for a coffee and a muffin (plus a bag of coffee beans and a baguette) and waited for the Co-op to open. There is something about going to the co-op that makes me happy about cooking. I've struggled with that this year, with finding the happy in the cooking, as exhaustion and cooking for a preschooler has taken a toll. But I've got it today, and I am happy about that.

(I have to point out: preschooler. Not toddler. I'm trying to break the habit of calling her a toddler, because she is so not a toddler. A mother of one of the 2nd graders who is at Cora's daycare for before and after schoolcare stopped me in the hall the other day to say she had had quite a conversation with my daughter, and can't believe how many words she knows. I know! It's crazy! I love it! She also winks!)



Today at the co-op they had something guarenteed to stop me in my tracks. Seeds. A big display of seeds.



It is only March. Early March. I exercised restraint and only bought four packets. Brought them home. Took their picture. Decided I wanted to be able to see them all the time until I get their little seed-butts in the ground. (The best joke in our house right now? "Guess what!" "What?" "Chicken butt!" Oh yeah. Incredibly funny EVERY TIME.) SO, of course, I taped them up on the cupboards in the kitchen.



Where I tape all the things I want to see everyday. Don't you?

(One day, probably in an alternate universe,
I will have two English bulldogs
and their names will be Muscles and Roosevelt. )

Princess small talk

This evening Cora convinced me to play princesses with her. This involved scrubbing the porch floor with damp paper towels, while she was Cinderella and I was Sleeping Beauty.

Cora/Cinderella: Sleeping Beauty, I'm glad you came over to my house today.
Me/Sleeping Beauty: Well, it's always nice to scrub someone else's floor for a change.
Cora/Cinderella: I have a fairy godmother.
Me/Sleeping Beauty: Really?
Cora/Cinderella: Yes. How many fairy godmothers do you have?
Me/Sleeping Beauty: Oh, I have three.
Cora/Cinderella: Well, what are their names?

And so on.

Career path? What career path?

(Me, circa 1979, possibly designing my "girl detective" business cards.)

Today I gave my seventh of nine presentations to incoming firstyear college students about the academic expectations at the institution where I teach - about 10 of these sessions run concurrently and a large percentage of incoming students attend. The two main points of the presentation are the classes they need to take to graduate (aside from their major) and how college will be different from high school.

There are two sets of statistics I like to quote to them. One is that the average college student changes his or her major three times over the course of their undergraduate years. The other is that the average person will have seven discrete changes of career in his or her working life - and two of those probably don't exist at the time you are in college.

They seem to find this discouraging - along with the fact that in college you don't get time in class to do your homework. And, that homework? It isn't crossword puzzles of vocab terms. (Horrifying!)

Anyway, this has set me to thinking back and remembering all the careers I imagined for myself over the years. I'm leaving out "girl detective" - a Nancy Drew inspired choice - and mainly thinking of once I hit high school and through college.

So, my aspirations included: UN translator, marine biologist, oceanologist, bookstore owner, teacher, writer. (Writer: check. But that has hardly been a career. A vocation, yes. Definitely NOT a hobby. ) (Teacher: check - or maybe I get a check-minus for only being part-time? Without that precious published book, it's as far as I am likely to get.)

Career paths actually walked: bookstore clerk and then asst. manager, library services, technical writing, graphic layouts, marketing manager, adjunct professor, and virtual database manager (a new one! also part-time, like the teaching).

But tonight I was especially thinking about "bookstore owner" and I was remembering that I actually spent quite a bit of time, as an undergraduate and shortly after graduating, drawing up layouts of my store, thinking about programs I would have. So, this is back in 1992-1993, and Chris and I were figuring out where the cafe would go, where there would be a space for live performances, making sure there was room in the kids section for kids to actually flop down and look at books, where authors would stand to give their readings. And so on.

Don't get me wrong - I like what I am doing now. I'm pretty happy with my working life (though it could pay more, and hey part time people like health insurance too). But tonight I'm feeling a little sad about dreams gone by or dreams held in abeyance. I am pretty sure I've missed the boat on UN translator - the languages I used to be pretty fluent in are slipping away. But I'm not quite ready to completely close the door on the bookstore dream. Not yet.

If I could go back in time...

I would make sure that 2009 came with a subscription to the Bourbon of the Week club.

Who's with me?

Over waffles this morning

Cora, who has been staring at my face says, "Mama, what's that?" and reaches out to poke the side of my face with a sticky finger.

"That's a mole."

"What's a mole?"

"It's a kind of spot you get sometimes when you get older."

"Hooray! I love spots!" She's bouncing up and down in her chair, clapping.

Well, isn't that easy to say when you're still under three and don't even freckle?

When the 2.5 year old insists...

...that the chicken should be dipped in the peanut butter and the apples in the ketchup, it is best just to nod, be glad she is eating everything on her plate, and try very hard not to imagine the taste.

Diamonds in the rough

Saturday night Cora fell asleep before 7pm, which enabled me to get the last 20 papers graded (whew, and ack). She woke around 11pm, and again around midnight when I came up to bed, but all in all a really good night.

Then came Sunday night and the two-hour bedtime battle. Now, I know that there are many mamas out there who would love a bedtime battle that was only two hours, and many who would love even more the way things usually go in our house, but last night really almost broke my patience.

Okay, it did break my patience, and eventually even the duct tape was starting to look a little fragile. We had stories, we had songs, we had wailing, we had weeping, we had more songs, we had flailing about, we had clinging. It was a miserable affair that ended with us just sitting in the chair under a blanket, in the dark, quietly, waiting to see who would fall asleep first. Thank goodness the papers were already done, because I had zero energy afterwards for anything more than boiling water for a hot buttered rum.

But in the midst of all the angst, there were two especially memorable moments for me. At one point Cora insisted that before she could go to sleep she had to fix my hair - or, as she would say, "I have to make you a haircut!" This basically consists of her telling me which way to look while she lifts up my hair and lets it fall in my face. This went on for about three weeks. Then she looked at me, holding my face in her little hands, and said, "Now you look so beautiful!"

Earlier in the day we had watched most of The Nutcracker Ballet - did I mention she is also now a ballerina? - and so, once we had moved on to the sitting quietly in the dark phase, she kept putting the blanket over her head. Finally, I had to ask her what she was doing. "I putting on my mousie mask, but you no worry Mommy, I not real mouse, I just pretending for my ballet dancing."

With each of these moments I felt a pang of regret that the rest of bedtime had been so miserable, for both of us, and a foolish wish to encourage the sweet moments to last longer, and a little chagrin about that last one. But most of all I felt grateful to be reminded that underneath the wailing, whining, crying, flailing, and screaming that surfaces once a week or so, there is still my sweeter-tempered, imaginative baby.

No no NaNoWriMo, not this year

Well, yeah, I thought about it. I got a little fired up. And then I looked around at reality. I just don't see how the household could function with me spending all my spare time trying to pound out 50,000 words worth of novel. I wish it could, but I don't see it happening.

Alternatives: January could be my own personal NaNoWriMo, as I wasn't given a J-term assignment this year (don't even get me started.).
November could be the month I get my new poetry manuscript in working order (see above.)

But, jeez louise people, I probably won't even get all my pumpkins carved in time for Halloween, let alone a major creative project.

Spring and all

Is that the name of the poem that WCW begins with talking about how the weeds on the way to the contagious hospital are starting to grow again? Because, I think that's kind of the day I'm having, where really the best thing you can see is that the weeds are coming back! What luck!

A couple weeks ago I picked up a couple seed packets while we were at Target, thinking it was a good start on my big plans for the garden. Well, it looks like that might have been it for the garden budget this year. I'd wanted to try out that newspaper-mulch-compost cover idea on one big weed-infested flowerbed, but I think instead I'd better start hoping for some pretty weeds.

A while ago I managed to clear a part of one of the many weedy, overgrown flowerbeds out back and I put in delphiniums, cosmos, and marigolds. The cosmos are coming up now. The marigold seeds were two years old; they were, I think, the tenth or eleventh generation harvest from seeds originally bought even before we bought this house. They do not seem to be coming up. I am sad about this. Also about the rosebush, a gift at Cora's birth, that seems to be well and truly dead. I planted batchelor button seeds around it, just in case it changes its mind.

Inside this little patch, separated from its weedier neighbors by a little wire fence, I also placed the little bunny statue my grandma gave me. Everytime she goes out back Cora wants to water "the bunny garden" and she was crouch next to the fence and pet and talk to the bunny. She likes to say bye-bye to the bunny when we leave by the back, too.

Today out front I put in the straw flowers, standard zinnias, and some miniature zinnias. I noticed that only one of the two coral bells is coming back, ditto for the Jacob's ladder, all the creeping phlox seem less robust than usual, the lavendar is making a valiant effort, and the stringy whatever-it-is flower is also trying very hard to look lively. There are some long patches of bare ground lining the walkway to the house, and I don't think the other packet of delphinium is going to work there.

Then I went and looked at the side yard. Wow. Two years of basic neglect and I'm actually kind of surprised to see anything at all growing over there. I can't tell yet if the clematis has survived or been replaced by a look-alike weed. The anemones are halfway through their blooming. The sedum is going bonkers. The striped creeping phlox is doing its best, as is the ground cover carnation-like flower.

Today, I think, is my transition day. Going from the idea that I will have beautiful, or at least totally mulched, gardens this year, to the reality that I will have a few really nice looking spots and a lot of spots I am totally dissatisfied with. And, I think once this transition is complete, I'll be able to come to terms with that dissatisfaction in a way that doesn't make me feel like I might run into a contagious hospital at any moment.

News of the world

Remember that section of William Carlos Williams's long poem "Asphodel, that Greeny Flower"? The one that talks about getting the news of the world from poetry? About how "it is difficult/ to get the news from poems/ yet men die miserably everyday/for lack/of what is found there"?

Mary Oliver has a new book of poems out, Red Bird, that I just got from the library. This morning after putting Cora down for her nap I opened the book at random, to see what news there was for me. Here is what I found on page 45:

Watching a Documentary about Polar Bears Trying to Survive on the Melting Ice Floes

That God had a plan, I do not doubt.
But what if His plan was, that we would do better?

The basic difference between an adult and a toddler

I would be very disappointed if I received this in the mail from Payroll.

Cora would be delighted.

And sometimes it's just perfect

Tonight, after dinner (quesadillas with dipping sauce - mild salsa), Chris left for choir practice. Cora was still eating her little piece of mint chocolate she got at dance class, and with each bite she said, "mmmmmmmm" and put her hand on her heart and wiggled in her chair. In fact, before he left, Chris asked if he could have a bite, and she said yes, but then looked at her chocolate so sadly, that he decided not to take a bite.

The problem is always, at this point, how do you get the baby into her jammies without a big showdown?

Lotion!

First we put lotion on our hands and arms at the table. We agreed it would be hard to do legs at the table. So, we sat on the rug and put lotion on her feet and legs, and then a new diaper, and jammies. We read a new book from the library - Binky - then we found Cora's binky and baby Tidoo. We went upstairs and read What's Wrong, Little Pookie? and then Yummy, YUCKY, and then The Mitten. We sang "The Riddle Song" ("I gave my love a cherry that had no stone..." aka the cherry-chicken-story-baby song).

I asked her if she was ready to lie down with Tidoo and Buddy Dog and her pillow, and she said yes. I laid her down in the crib and covered her up and said goodnight and stepped towards the door...and she popped up, saying, "Mama!" My heart sank. This is usually how those 45 minute singing marathons start.

But she just stood at her crib and lifted her face up. I said, "Do you need a kiss?" She nodded, we kissed, and she lay back down!! I covered her up again and said good night and that was it! She's asleep! No crying!

So, what was the secret? The lotion? The chocolate? The stories? The order of the stories? Oh, if only I knew!

In my universe

In an alternate universe where I am wide awake and feeling clever, this would be a perfect time to start grading that stack of papers. Unfortunately, I am stuck in this universe, where it is 10:30pm, Chris is out at a concert, the baby has just recently fallen asleep (just as I fired up disc two of the Fellowship of the Ring...babies love orcs, right?), and although it would seem that all I have accomplished today is the dishes, I find myself feeling pretty dull indeed.

Okay, there are a few other things I did today. I finished the mystery I’ve been working on for a few nights (Ayelet Waldman’s Death Gets a Time-Out - I like her mommy detective). I downloaded yesterday’s pictures from the camera (see below). I made most of dinner (Chris made his signature potatoes to go with the pork chops and fennel). And, this morning I took Cora for her flu booster. Which, of course, led directly to a baby that pretty much wanted to be held most of the day.

Going out for the booster shot was no easy errand. The errand itself took less than 40 minutes, but there was quite a bit of prep time involved. Outside it was 20 degrees (with wind chill, about 14), which is the coldest weather Cora has ever had to go out in. So there was a lot of layering to do, and adjusting the car seat straps so she would actually be wedged and clipped in there, swaddled in fleece as she was.

Once we were out and on our way to the car I realized that after wrapping up the baby so well, I was still just wearing a t-shirt, jeans, a sweater, and clogs with no socks. And my first thought was that I would never let Cora go out in the cold dressed like I was dressed. Maybe it doesn’t take so long to turn into a mommy after all. Cora didn’t seem to mind or even notice the cold at all.

Yesterday I decided to have a sick day - I’m sure eventually the students got over the heartbreak of a cancelled class (and no doubt this has led them to believe they will get papers back next week). I needed a break, Chris needed to work in the morning. It was nice to get in an extra breakfast with Cora. Breakfast time is often one of her best times. After she eats she is still in a really good mood and will sit in her chair and play with the table toys and talk and watch me type for quite a while. Pictures to be added later - Blogger seems to be having technical difficulties.