BrooklynGirl

Master Manipulator

The Boy sidles up to me and puts his head on my shoulder.  "You're the best mommy," he says, patting my cheek.

"Thanks Buddy, you're the best son."

"I love you Mommy."

"I love you too, Buddy."

He looks up at me and smiles.  Then the smile becomes a smirk.  "Can I watch a show?"

I feel so...used. 

A Turkey of a Day

This has never been my favorite holiday.  My earliest memories of Thanksgiving are of my grandmother chain-smoking Merits and swilling VO Manhattans while my brother and I tried not to bump into anything in her house that was jam-packed with breakable tchotchkes.  

As I got older and relatives passed on, Thanksgiving became a small holiday celebrated with only my immediate family: my parents, my brother, and me.  It felt very mass produced and unspecial: Butterball turkey, Pepperidge Farm stuffing, Ocean Spray canned cranberry sauce, Jolly Green Giant frozen corn, (unbranded) mashed potatoes, and Mrs. Smith's pumpkin pie.  By high school and college, my brother was jonesing to get out and meet up with his friends as soon as the meal was over, and I was irritated both that I felt obligated to stay at home and "celebrate" with the 'rents (even if that celebrating was just watching TV) and that I didn't have friends who were up to anything interesting.

As I got older still, I resented the imposition of Thanksgiving travel: spending time and money for a lame holiday non-celebration seemed silly.  I understood that Thanksgiving was supposed to be about expressing (or at least feeling gratitude), but mostly I was left feeling grateful that I got to leave my parents' house and get back to my real life by Sunday at the latest.

Then, with a nod to the inconvenience of traveling with children, my parents began to come to us (my brother or me) on alternate years.  Or so goes the theory.  Predictably and somewhat lamely, something always comes up at the last minute and my parents wind up not making the trip.  I found out they weren't coming earlier this week when my Spidey sense started tingling at the grocery store, and I called them to make sure they were still coming before I blew my food budget in their honor.

And so here we are.  Our Thanksgiving Day plans are the same: we'll dine with my in-laws tomorrow, just without my parents.  As there is some history of trip cancellations, I wasn't planning to tell The Boy or The Girl that their grandparents were coming until they were actually underway so they're not disappointed, but I am. 

I feel like I have so much to be thankful for, but I don't know how to channel that into a Thanksgiving Day celebration that is special and meaningful.  And I feel absolutely absurd that I am whining about this when there are people out there forging celebrations with so much less.

 

Present Books

The Boy is developing an obsession with the toy catalogs that seem to arrive in the mail daily.  He calls them present books.  He flips through them for hours (okay, minutes, but in toddler time, it seems like hours) and makes demands about what he wants for Christmas.  Right now he's lobbying hard for a $300 ride-on train which he has absolutely no chance of getting unless it turns out Santa really does exist and has his own shopping budget.

The avarice arrived quickly.  He didn't really get Christmas last year.  He knew that there was someone named Santa who had something to do with toys, but he didn't understand the whole bit about asking for presents.  He had started to get it by his birthday in August when he made some gift requests but mostly just focussed on having a party with all his friends--the one thing we couldn't give him since we had just moved away from them. 

I'm trying to deflect the focus on Christmas a little by talking about Thanksgiving, but The Boy's no fool.  He sees the Christmas decorations (already up in so many places) and knows what's up.  It's going to be a long holiday season.

Ugh. Also Gah.

The 18 month sleep regression has begun.  

The Girl has not been a perfect sleeper, but she's a vast improvement over The Seemingly Nocturnal Boy--especially since she got her own room.  But earlier this week I noticed that bedtime (usually some stories, a bottle, and some singing lasting 15-20 minutes) was creeping up toward 45 minutes.      

18 month sleep regression flashed in my mind's eye, but I tried to ignore it.  Not now, I pleaded.  She's only 17.5 months!  She's only been sleeping well for 2.5 of those months!  And The Boy has a cold and won't be going to school!  

Today's utterly failed nap time seemed like a further indication that things were quickly coming unglued.  And tonight's 1.5 hour bedtime battle confirmed that, indeed, we are regressing all over the place. 

I went through this with The Boy so I know that it will pass.  Good Lord, let that be soon.

You Be The Parent, Potty Training Issue Resolved

Wow.  The unanimity is overwhelming.  Tree peeing seems pretty reasonable to me--and in this particular park there are many spots that are out of the way (where dogs also pee freely)--but before I was even contemplating potty training, I came across some anti tree peeing screeds that scared the bejeezus out of me.*

Fearing the retribution of those less enamored of toileting in the great outdoors, most of the time, I have a portable potty in my bag (or thrown in the bottom of the stroller).  The Boy has had some limited exposure to tree peeing, but he is already a big fan--such a big fan that (as many of you cautioned) that is often his preferred potty venue.  This can be embarrassing when he very loudly insists that he must drop trou in front of his pre-school (which is housed in a quaint, white-steepled church).  Thus, I try not to reinforce tree peeing unless there truly are no other options.

*The particulars that started those "discussions" are pretty different from the scenario I presented, but nonetheless, the venom directed toward the outdoor pee-ers (and their charges) is pretty striking.

You Be the Parent, Potty Training Edition

After an arduous morning at home, you have persuaded your children to get in the stroller and go to the playground.  Minutes after you arrive, your underpants-wearing three year old announces that he has to pee.  There are no restrooms on site.

The playground is a 5-minute walk from your house and is abutted by public woods.  

Do you:

A) Pile everyone back into the stroller and double time it home;

B) Escort your son to a nearby tree (@ 50 feet away from the playground) and encourage him to drop trou;

C) Whip out the portable potty you always have on hand for such an occasion; or

D) Knock on the door of the house closest to the playground that is inhabited by a mother who seemed nice the one time you met her previously.

As always, I eagerly await your reply.

Thank God

I went to bed before they called the election.  I was tired, and fighting off a cold (the cold appears to have won), and apprehensive about the eagerness with which Democratic victories were declared with zero percent of precincts reporting (I'm looking at you CNN).

The Girl was up in the middle of the night, and as I was rocking her back to sleep in her dark and quiet room, I relished the media blackout.  It had to be over, but the world didn't feel any different.  After I put The Girl down, I hesitated to check the computer: if it was bad, I knew I wouldn't sleep.

I'm glad I checked.  

In the words of that great female visionary and super cool explorer, "We did it!  We did it!  We did it!  Hooray!"

 

Simple as ABC

Even though I know there won't be any news about anything until tonight, I keep cruising by my Yahoo news page just to make sure I'm not missing something. I was kinda sorta horrified to come across this.

What the hell, ABC?  The Callie/Erica storyline was the only thing remotely interesting you've had going on this season.  Might be time for me to find out what else is on at 9 pm on Thursdays.

Progress

It was hard to hate the suburbs this weekend.  Halloween was lovely: a small and manageable parade "downtown" and user friendly trick or treating in the neighborhood (with full size candy bars the norm for treats!).  The Boy was hepped up on sugar; The Girl was largely oblivious; and The Husband and I were persuaded by the quaint factor.

Of course, when I encountered some neighbors chaperoning their trick or treating children and those neighbors happened to be wearing McCain-Palin buttons, I assumed they were just rabid Republicans, like so many folks here.  I didn't realize until later that they were in costume as Sarah and Todd Palin.  Ahem.

Saturday we achieved what had heretofore been unachievable: a delightful evening out.  We had a babysitter, delicious food, a drink or two more than was strictly necessary, and a cab ride home.  It was lovely.  Less lovely when The Girl woke us up with some explosive diarrhea at 2 am, but all in all, not bad.

Oh, and we signed the contract to sell the apartment.  I won't believe it until we close and this being NYC (or I guess that being NYC), that probably won't happen until early 2009, but it is progress.  Progress towards what remains to be seen.