I’ll take dollar-store solutions for $200, Alex.

Praise the sweet baby jeebus - Gracie has very nearly finished her recipe book project. She finished copying the last recipe last night; tonight she just has to create a table of contents, put the book together, and create some sort of cover! WOOOO!

But mama might be the only one jubilating. After I picked SheWhoNowHatesPeaches up from After-Care, we grabbed some dinner to-go, raced home and ate it, picnic style, and Gracie assumed the same position at the kitchen table where she’s been for the past week. She did pretty well: I might have reminded her eleventy hundred times to focus, but she didn’t complain until almost 9 p.m., as she was finishing up her last recipe. That’s a three-hour marathon of homework and recipe copying right there. And I don’t think we could have done it without Bee.

See, Bee came home from dinner at her dad’s house with a mischievous look on her face. The reason became clear as she waved her hand in front of my face. “Look what I have, Mom!” she said. I could see a tiny, toy calculator clutched in her fist. “It has a neat trick! Look what it can do! But you have to look really close! And press this button!” Ah. I knew exactly what was going to happen, being a graduate of Saturday morning cartoons and a childhood of my own. But I played along. I put my face next to the numbers, pressed the button, and got a face-full of water.

Bee laughed so hard she fell down on the ground. I guess giggles are heavy!

The Gracie-child, was busy yelling, “What? What is it? Can I see?” from her perch at the kitchen table. “Sure you can,” I told her. “Bee figured out how to make her calculator spell words using the numbers. But the numbers are small, so you have to look very close.” I couldn’t believe Bee held her composure as well as she did. The kid was holding the screams of laughter mostly inside, but her eyes were practically shooting laughter.

It worked.

A nearly finished project, a tasty picnic dinner, and a much-needed break filled with pranks and laughter – not a bad way to end a day!

In which there are no good solutions.

So many times these past few weeks, I’ve given myself little motivational pep talks that all seem to come down to the same thing: “Just get through it. It’s May, you’re all busy, just push through this last month. One more month, Katie, and then it will be summer break and things will be easier. Just push through it. One more month, Katie, just get it done. Just May. Push. Do it.” Last weekend was Mayfest and Gracie’s dance competition. Next weekend is Gracie’s University Interscholastic Learning day-long geekapalooza competition. This Saturday was supposed to be the girls’ bridging ceremony for Girls Scouts before that got cancelled. And in between is Mother’s Day. Rather than ask for the girls basically all weekend (the bridging thing didn’t get cancelled until practically last minute), or try to swap weekends with everything going on, I figured it would be easier to take a day for myself on Mother’s Day to relax, enjoy the peace and quiet, and then have a big celebratory dinner and presents after the girls’ got back from their dad’s house. That was the plan.

Okay, now, in the middle of all of this – performances and weekends and Mothers’ Day – Gracie was assigned her big project for the semester: choose a project to go along with their James and the Giant Peach section. They could create a peach-themed word search, re-enact a scene in a skit, create a commercial for the book which could be filmed and emailed to the teacher, or make an illustrated cookbook with at least 20 recipes. Go ahead and guess which one my over-achiever picked. No, not the commercial. (That’s what I would have guessed.) She chose the cookbook. With all the recipes. Do you have any idea how long it takes a 9-year-old to copy down a recipe?! A VERY LONG TIME! In fact, after she got exactly one single recipe copied in an hour, I texted her dad and warned him that Gracie had this project, that it was due a week from Thursday, which meant she would have to get most of it done on the weekend. His weekend. Because she was only getting one recipe done per school night.

Gracie was happy to do the work. I helped her get what she needed – she started researching recipes while I stitched together the inside pages of her cookbook. (If we were going to “publish” this, we were doing it right!) I helped Gracie plan out her page layouts and then I got her set up at the kitchen table so I could remind her to focus. She got two more recipes copied Wednesday night, and another one done after she got back from dinner at her dad’s house on Thursday. Three days and only four recipes copied down and illustrated. Oy.

I reminded Gracie on Friday morning that she would need to get it done at her dad’s that weekend. It was the only weekend she had to work on the project. I resisted reminding her dad about it because, you know, we had already talked about it.

Sunday afternoon. I had a big roast beef dinner cooking. (Hey, I could either cook for myself or fight the crowds at the restaurants. I would rather cook for myself and clean the kitchen myself and not spend the night waiting around with fidgety children.) I get a text from Gracie, who has apparently hijacked the Ex’s cell phone. “Can I just do 10? And do the rest there?” She had only finished six recipes. Not finished at least copying all the recipes like she was supposed to. She had all weekend, there was an hour left, and what the heck?! I told her I was sorry that she wanted to go outside and play with the kids, but she was supposed to be done – she would need to keep working on it until she was finished. Then her dad took the phone back. He said Gracie had worked on it “all day and yesterday too.” When I asked if she had really only done nine recipes all weekend, when she had done four the three nights previously, he said he guessed that was it, but it wasn’t for lack of effort. The girls walked in the door a few minutes after that.

I am just… I don’t even know. Mind-boggled. Just…at a loss. I somehow got Gracie to plan and sew together book pages, create page layouts and get 4 recipes completed in the two hours that I had her on Tuesday and Thursday night after her dinner with dad, and the 2 1/2 hours that I had her after school on Wednesday night. Her dad, in the two days and a night that he had her, only made her do 9 more recipes. I asked Gracie how long she spent on it Friday (none), and Saturday (an hour or two before going to the neighbors). The Ex didn’t feel compelled to make her do more than that. He didn’t come up with a plan of how he expects Gracie to finish her very important project – more than half of it – in the two nights that I have her after school, or the one night after her dinner with him. You know – in addition to dinner and showers and her usual homework. Sure, she’s nine; she is old enough to know what she has to do. But he is also the parent, and part of a parent’s job is to make sure your child is getting things done and to teach your child to budget their time. What lesson did the Ex think he was teaching Gracie when he didn’t make her focus on her schoolwork? That schoolwork is only for mom’s house? That she can do what she wants (within reason) when she’s there? That weekends are for fun, and it’s more important to play on the weekends, even if it means staying up late and losing hours of sleep during the school week? I have no idea because he didn’t say communicate anything, other than he guessed she only got nine recipes done, but it wasn’t from lack of effort.

So what do I do with that? Usually we have a really good co-parenting relationship. He drills Bee on spelling words, and has them do their homework on nights when they have dinner with him, most of the time. But I just don’t know what to do with this. I clearly communicated that Gracie had to do her project this weekend because it was the only weekend she had, and she could only get one recipe written on school nights. And he…didn’t care? Thought it was more important to have fun? Forgot? I feel like he does stuff like this, that he is treating me like the safety net. Oh, I don’t have to make my kids do this or learn this because Kate will do it. I feel like wants to be treated as an equal co-parent, but without all of the responsibilities. Why else not care about her whether she did her homework, or come up with and communicate a plan of how it would get done?

What do I do with any of that? If I let Gracie hand in her project unfinished and get a bad grade, is that fair to show her that she can’t rely on her dad? Is it fair to Gracie that I force her to stay up 1-2 hours late each night because her dad didn’t make her do the work on the weekend? Is it fair to do that without making her work on it every available minute after school? I can’t make her skip afterschool because I can’t miss work. There aren’t any other activities that I could cut from her schedule this week.

I was still trying to figure out how to handle the situation when the girls walked in trilling “Happy Mother’s Day!” I was carving the roast beef, hoping to rescue my mood. “Go put your cards and your gift on the fireplace,” I told them. Except, no cards. Or gift. No acknowledgement whatsoever from the Ex about Mother’s Day at all. This is the message he’s teaching the girls about homework and responsibility and Mother’s Day. By doing nothing, he’s showing them that it’s not that important.

Happy Mother’s Day to me.

 

How I very nearly became the worst mom ever.

It’s a fact that Gracie is very nearly as voracious a reader as I am. She read an entire 300-page novel the night she got it, people. I mean, really - serious reader. Another fact: Gracie loves the Harry Potter stories. She loves the books, the stories, the characters, the movies, the Legos, the Lego Harry Potter wii-game… she’s passionate about all things Harry.

And so, it was not all that unsurprising that as we were driving to school from her doctor’s visit last week that, out of the blue, Gracie wistfully commented, “I wish there was an eighth Harry Potter book, Mom.” It’s something I’ve discussed with friends more than once, so I completely understood where she was coming from.

“Well, Rowling might write another books, kiddo, but I don’t think she’s going to,” I told her.

“Why?” she asked. Because she’s nine and she’s under contract to ask that question, I’m pretty sure.

“I think Rowling feels like she’s said all that she needs to say about that story for now,” I answered.

Dear Readers, I think I must have momentarily lost my mind. Or maybe it’s because I was once again going over lines I had said or read so many times before that I forgot who I was talking to – my daughter, who has only read the first three books. Because I found my mouth moving of its own accord. “I mean, what else would she write about? They already killed Voldemort.”

The silence seemed to drag on for 8,934,491 years. In reality, it was maybe only a second or two. Whatevs. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized what I had done – spoiled the whole damn series. What do I do?! What do I do?! I thought, awestruck and panicked by my stupidity.

Luckily, Gracie overthought it and shot straight past what I had said. “You mean with the basilisk fang? In…which one was that, Mom?”

“The second book. In the Chamber of Secrets. Oh! And also at the end of the first book, kind of, when You-Know-Who’s spirit is released into the air without a body.” Thank. God.

“Hey! Maybe they can kill Voldemort at the end of every book! Except they didn’t at the end of Book 3. I know! Maybe she could write about killing Voldemort’s friends! Like Peter Pettigrew!” Gracie was getting into her theories, now, excitedly rambling on. Me? I was in the front seat, determinedly not saying anything and breathing into a paper bag instead.

Thank god for that ability nine-year-olds have for hearing what we’re saying, but not listening to a damn thing. I guess it has its uses after all.

I’m doomed.

You know the saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”? Yeah, well, I think one of my apples didn’t even fall out of the tree. I think she’s stuck on a branch or something. She’s inherited my love for practical jokes, teasing, and hijinks and worse yet (for me), she can administer near-lethal doses already at nine-years-old.

It started about a week ago. I was devouring more of my very favorite book I’ve read all year, the devilishly brilliant Joe Hill’s NOS4A2. I was sprawled across my bed, reading furiously, ignoring all other responsibilities while trying to squeeze in as many words as I could before the sun went down and I had to close the book for the night. Hey – you go read it with kids in the house and then try calling me a scairdy cat. Go ahead. I double dog dare you.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. So Gracie walks in and asks me what I’m reading. I answer, distractedly, because I’m not really paying attention to anything but the words in front of my face. Then she asked what it was about. So I told her. It’s about a girl who can fall down rabbit holes (no, not literally) and find things. Only her rabbit hole is a covered bridge. And one time she accidentally trips into a bad guy, Charlie Manx, who kidnaps little kids and sucks their soul to keep his…um…fresh. Ish. This totally messes with the kids heads, turning them into bloody little monsters (and really, that’s being nice), before spiriting them away to his lair, Christmasland, in his Rolls Royce Wraith. Gracie tried reading over my shoulder, and noticed the Christmas music playing wherever this bad dude was, like some creepy kind of magic, and begged to read it when I was done.

Of course she wanted to read a Joe Hill book. Apple doesn’t fall blah blah blah.

“No way, baby girl,” I told her. “You’re nine. And your dad would kill me.” But I was thinking that I wouldn’t be too annoyed if she picked the book up and read it behind my back. Not that it was particularly age appropriate, but what better way to get the kid to love reading than let her read whatever she wanted?

I thought that was the end of it. Or maybe I was just too absorbed in that Willy-Wonka-crazy-elevator of a ride piloted by Joe Hill that I wasn’t paying attention. You know, to the fact that Gracie also likes practical jokes. And teasing. And hijinks.

Maybe I should have.

So this weekend, as we were climbing into the car, I turned the key and what comes blaring out of the stereo? Christmas music. I nearly wet my pants. Gracie, however, was laughing hysterically from the back seat. That little stinker put Christmas music in my CD player!!! To scare me! ON PURPOSE!!!

I am so doomed. That kid is only nine and she thought of this. What am I going to do when she’s a fully-grown prankster?

Saturdays filled with sunshine and sneakiness (Part 2).

We were off! We successfully navigated two-hours worth of science fun, we had lunch (surprisingly fairly priced) at the museum cafe, and Gracie had changed into her spandex shorts, bright yellow t-shirt, and yellow tutu. And no one even stopped us as we walked out the door. I kept waiting for someone to accuse us of using their parking and stealing away to Mayfest. Maybe bright yellow tutus are a little more common in the cultural district than I think. Maybe our blue member-admission wristbands were part invisibility cloak – who knows. I just know that we walked out the side door and down the alley-ish street between the convention center and the stock show buildings and no one busted us. Man, did that sunshine feel good!

I am, however, totally blaming that “Quick! Let’s bust out of here before we’re noticed!” mindset on why I didn’t stop to take a picture of the signs that pointed the way to the gun show. Yes, only in Texas will you find a gun show adjacent to the city’s largest carnival and annual open-air funtimes. Because HOW COULD THAT GO WRONG. Ahem.

So on and on we walked, and Bee whined for the first time that she was tired of walking, when we came to the major road that stands between the convention center/museum grounds and the park. Now, if I had’ve crossed the busy, busy street on the other side of the side street we were on, I would have noticed the throngs of people walking from the field across the street down the secret side road to the fair grounds. Instead, I thought the cross walk down the road a ways looked more promising. Which is how we came to take a half-mile detour through the botanic gardens. It wasn’t that bad, and the kids were troopers, and we did get to see some very nice flowers and trees and irate guards. Oh, yeah – him. We had taken the path through the gardens so we weren’t walking right on the busy, busy street. Then we had to cut back out to the street through their parking lot, past the guard in his little shack near the parking lot entrance. I know he was just doing his job, but he was convinced that I had parked in their lot and was stealing it for Mayfest. I kept denying it and eventually had to show him our magical blue bracelets to confund him. I mean, to explain. When we got out to the road, I saw that what I thought was a cop stationed there crossing people over was actually a motorcycle cop waiitng for a funeral procession, and that the lights we had been at were the best place to cross. Good thing we’re god at adventuring.

So! Back we walked, with minimal complaining – good thing it was so nice outside – and eventually we arrived at the fairgrounds. And what better way to revive our spirits than to find this as soon as we walked in:

LLAMA! I immediately texted Kim because she has a thing for llamas. It’s…a long story. Anywho. We used our Marauder’s Map to find a ticket booth to procure some coupons (oh, they are using the sneakiness, too, to get us to spend more money) and walked allllll three miles across the fair grounds to find Gracie’s stage. While we waited, we walked through the kid zone that was right next to it and the girls, to their dismay, realized they are too big for the kiddie rides.

That pictures tricks you into thinking she almost fits. Until she moves and you realize that Bee-girl at some point has grown into all legs and looks quite colt-ish – even when she’s falling off the springy-thing because she is far, far bigger than the little peoples for whom it was designed. We walked around some more and made fun of how many tickets they were charging for the human maze and the bounce house obstacle course and I almost let Bee ride the mechanical bull, except she was just a few inches too short. My girl was hot and tired and feeling very in-between.

So we went back to the dance stage and Bee sat down on the bleachers, mesmerized by the different schools showing off. Gracie and her friends practiced and giggled and acted way too tweenagery for my taste as they huddled off to the side. It was like they didn’t even know us, or something. Hmph. You would think people in bright yellow tutus wouldn’t feel so superior, but them’s the breaks, I guess.

(And here is where I would post the picture of Miss Gracie and her gang, but do you know – I didn’t take one still shot of them all dressed up. D’oh! I have an entire video of their dance, but do  you think I can get a still shot from it this morning? Of course not!)

The Ex was stuck in traffic and missed the show. Ms. G. came through though and showed up with minutes to spare, with her friend who reminds me very much of my cousin Heather. We watched the performance and oh! I was so proud of Gracie and her friends. Even though six students were missing, no one would have known. They hit all of their moves and covered for every person missing. They covered dance moves and filled the stage. I don’t know if Miss Kiki had them practice for that contingency, but no one even mentioned it beforehand, so I guess the girls weren’t worried. They looked so professional up there and they nailed it. They were so proud of themselves, and so was I!

Afterwards, we celebrated with some funnel cake (of course!) and Bee got more of the confectionary sugar on her than she did in her mouth, I think. But I liked the look. Nothing says CARNIVAL! like a kid coated in sugar.

We floated up and down the pathways and eventually made our way over to the rides. Ferris wheels, zip lines, and – our favorite – the bungee jump.

I have never seen a person so elated as I did Miss Bee on that bungee jump. She was joy personified! Everyone else was doing tiny little somersaults – maybe – but Bee was doing aerial flips and upside down splits and generally making her mama nervous that she was going to run away and join the circus as a trapeze artist. (She could do it, you know – she was that good!). Even the really nice guy who kept giving Bee a boost to get her springing up high again was calling her Tinkerbell by the end. And apparently I’m not biased at all because she got a round of applause at the end. Dude!

So, all in all, it was a successful outing. We were tired and exhausted and worn out by the time we trudged back to the car (even though it was a much shorter walk the way back). We were sunburned a little, though not bad, and best of all the car was still there when we got there. A good, good day. Then again, most days filled with sunshine and sneakiness usually are.

Saturdays filled with sun and sneakiness (Part 1).

I have been dreading Mayfest ever since I heard that Gracie’s dance group was performing. Mayfest is a bunch of fun squished into Fort Worth’s fabulous Trinity Park near the Trinity River in downtown’s cultural district. It’s a great place for it…except getting there is horrendous. I made the mistake of trying to go to the zoo (also in the cultural district) one year, not knowing it was Mayfest. I won’t tell you how long we sat on the highway, except that there were tears involved and they weren’t all the girls’.

See why I was a little apprehensive about the whole Mayfest thing? We would be driving towards the chaos and confusion, and to make matters slightly more complicated, Gracie’s group wasn’t performing until 2p that afternoon. We could go early, and hang out for four hours (which, ugh) or we could go at a more normal time and sit and traffic for those same four hours. Yeah, not that difficult a choice.

So I came up with a rather brilliant plan: we have a membership to the science museum. We could hit that when it opened at 10 a.m., use their free parking, and then we could walk the half mile to Mayfest! For the win! It would be a loooong day for the girls, and the whining about the loooong day and the loooong walk would make for a loooong day for me, too. But it was better than stressing over the traffic and parking situations.

Wow, was that the right call. This – this is the parking lot, er, the highway at 9:30 in the freaking morning:

There were three miles of that back-up for us to wait through before we got to our exit. Thankfully it passed pretty quickly. And then parking was a cinch – we even got the primo spot under the shade tree. Woot!

As an added bonus, the museum was mostly empty. Turns out, no one else wanted to brave Mayfest traffic unless they were going to Mayfest. They didn’t have our sneakiness. Mwa ha. So the girls turned the museum into their own personal playground.

One minute I’m hearing Gracie yell, “Hey, Mom! Look at what I can do!” And the next I look over to see she’s stolen the beach ball from one blower and moved it to another so she could show me she knew how to manipulate the force. May the Fourth be with you always, Gracie-girl. She’s a smartie, and she knows it (she geeks out).

Then I let the girls spend about an hour making paper airplanes and floaters out of paper plates and paper snow cones and masking tape. It’s their very favorite part of the science museum, and I like to let them show off their natural abilities in physics. Their inventions always outfloat mine. [Perhaps I'm too busy being distracted by Pennywise whispering in my ear, "We all float down here." Mmm, you think?]

While we were there, a hottie who was there (alone) with two small children stopped me to ask if I had gone to the game the night before – I had on my Red Sox shirt. “Nah, but I watched it,” I admitted, bemoaning the loss. “I’m from the Boston area,” the guys says. I broke into a smile and told him the name of our town, and then he told us the name of the town near mine that he was really from – down here it’s all “Boston” until you realize someone will actually know what you’re talking about. It was nice chatting with someone from back home, even for a bit.

Then the girls were ready to move into the dinosaur exhibit. I hung out outside while they dug for dinosaur bones, and then we moved inside and worked on dinosaur puzzles and dressed them in feathers, scales, and tiger stripes. We made dinosaurs turn into frogs and birds and giraffes (oh my!). And then the girls took turns pretending to be squished by dinosaurs.

I think Bee’s is the best – it’s the dead-tongue loll that adds the perfect touch. Auntie Rhi won best caption award for claiming Gracie looked like she was waiting for an innocent dinosaur to stroll by so she could grab on and yell “EVVVVIDENNNNNCE!” Indeed. That girl would definitely do that for evidence. And then present it to Mulder or someone with a big shiny bow tied around its neck.

It was a fun morning – the perfect pre-party as it turned out. The girls weren’t tuckered out at all. In fact, they were even more excited to start our adventure and go track down the mysterious Mayfest grounds that I only kind of knew where to look.

Quote of the Day.

I am starting to doubt that I am teaching my kids what’s really important in life. To wit:

The scene: Gracie was opening birthday cards and had just opened one from Auntie Kim. It’s important to note that on the front of the card is Daffy Duck. Like, really important.

So. Card is pulled out of envelope.
Gracie: Oh. Ronald McDonald.
Me, utterly confused: Huh? Where?
Gracie: Right there. Ronald McDonald.
Me, rather alarmed: That’s DAFFY DUCK!
Gracie, unconcerned: Oh. Well, I get them confused.
…
Me: How?! One is a white-faced, red-haired creepy clown, and the other is A DUCK!

Yeah, I would have downloaded the entire collection of classic Looney Toons, but I thought that might make for some pleasant (mandatory) viewing on the plane ride during vacation. There are days I feel like an utter failure as a mom. Ronald McDonald, my knee.

They will learn this important life lesson and they will LIKE IT.

None of us, really, are morning people. We at Casa de Katie like our sleep, and, barring that, we like to mush through our morning routines in quiet. Those sweet little girls of mine stare at me, dazed, when I tumble and drag them out of bed. They mumble their breakfast requests when I ask, and snip at me, annoyed, when I ask them to repeat it because there was no way I was going to understand that garble. My ears are half-asleep, too.

I leave the girls to get dressed, reminding them to hurry, and start the coffee, the breakfasts, and make my lunch. The girls zombie-stutter their way to the kitchen and eat, still quiet and mumbley.

But then! Oh, then comes the witching hour: teeth-brushing time. On a good morning one of the girls will finish her breakfast early and then the teeth brushing and hair fixing routine is staggered. But most mornings? Oh no, most mornings are not good mornings. Both girls are sent to their bathroom to brush their teeth and then their hair. And that’s when they find their voice.

“MOVE OVER!”
“UH ENH AH ET!” ["I need to spit." Obviously.]
“WHY DO YOU ALWAYS…”
“BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAHBLAH!” [Did you hear a mocking whine there? I heard mocking. And whining.]

It’s constant and punctuated with tears and slams and whining and the sound of my nerves cracking. I can’t make one girl brush her teeth while the other brushes her hair because hair-fixing is practically an Olympic sport for one of my childrens (cough:Bee:cough) and she would never get out the door if I didn’t make her brush her teeth first. The other one spends approximately 15 seconds running a brush through her hair, so that doesn’t really stagger things as much as a mom might hope.

And you know, I was thinking about this while I was putting my shoes on this morning and trying hard not to lose my cool, and this is something the girls better figure out now (as I all too kindly lectured them later). They’re going to have roommates and boyfriends or girlfriends and hopefully one day they’ll find the love of their lives and get married. They’re going to have to do this “shared morning routine in a small space” thing for most of their lives. So they better learn how to handle it now. Morning routines are a dance that should be done with as much kindness (and as little talking, in my opinion) as possible. And besides, isn’t that kind of the point of siblings? Aren’t they the ones who break you in and teach you how to share space, how to give and take, to work out problems and frustrations successfully? That’s one of the many things my siblings taught me. The lessons I learned from sharing a room with Kim for nearly all of my childhood is the reason Gracie and Bee share a room now, even though technically they could have their own. (Shhhh…don’t tell them that. I won’t give in, but I’ll have to listen to it until my ears bleed.)

So I took away five minutes of bedtime for the yelling and screaming and unnecessary mocking (15-yard penalty…whoops, wrong bloodsport). I talked to the girls as I drove them to school about the importance of being kind even when we’re tired. I understand why they do it, but that doesn’t make it okay. They mostly ignored me and I let them. I know part of it will sink it. And as they grow up, a little more will sink in, and a little more.

And right around the time when they’re watching their friends at college melt down because OHMYGOD their roommates!, maybe they’ll start to see the wisdom of being forced to brush their teeth side by side in a tiny little bathroom instead of giving in and letting them use mine. They might not say it out loud, and probably not to their mom, but that’s okay. The lesson will still be there. And maybe by then my nerves will have recovered.

The likes and dislikes of Gracie at nine years old.

Gracie, Gracie, Gracie. I know you are more than ready to be done with eight. You’re over it. Used it all up. You sucked every single useful thing out of eight, and I’d say it’s lying used and discarded on the sidewalk except you and your nerdtastic ways have probably found a way to preserve it with some sort of math-powered independent energy source up on the shelf. And probably coated it with glitter for good luck. But still, STILL I am not used to saying “nine.” My baby is nine. Whoa. Possibly it has something to do with the fact that TEN is next, but whatever. We’ll deal with mama’s crisis-in-waiting later. For now…

Ten Things Gracie Likes So Much She’s Willing To Do Anything To Be Able To Stay Up Late To Do Them

1. Earning extra bedtime. What, was that one obvious? Gracie, you love earning you some extra bedtime. When Ms. G. and I couldn’t figure out the right incentive to get you to focus on your practice STAAR tests? Awarding you 30 minutes of extra bedtime for an A was the trick that finally worked. If I really need you to pull things together and stop arguing? I threaten to take away bedtime. When I couldn’t get you to speed up your blanket-arranging routine at bedtime or, you know, let me leave before they were just. so. – I made you go to bed five minutes earlier if you really, really needed me there and what do you know! All of a sudden you were fine with letting me free if it meant you could keep those five minutes of bedtime.

2. Being all emo and storming off. This doesn’t happen very frequently – yet. But I know it’s coming. It’s like the storms of teeneragery doom are looming on the horizon. I can see them. I can make plans to batten down the hatches. I can run air raid sirens and drill all I want to. But they’re coming. For now, whenever we do butt heads, this is usually how you like to tell me I am wrong and a doofus and just WRONG! Did I mention wrong? Yeah. I guess I can’t be too complainy because you’re at least listening to my rule about not saying mean and hurtful words. At least not until your door is shut.

3. Full House. Fresh Prince of Bel Air (or anything Will Smith). Shark Week. Jeopardy. Wheel of Fortune. All new age brackets (Nine!! NINE!!!) means you are ready for all new TV shows. Full House might still be age appropriate (how else could you handle that level of cheese, babe?), but other than that, your tastes tend to lean towards scary and gory – you don’t understand why I won’t let you watch Jaws - and geektastic. Oh, and Will Smith because as you say, “Duh – he’s Will. Smith.” I am having so much fun introducing you to all of it! Going to see Jurassic Park 3D with you was one of my favorite moments this year!

4. Math. Don’t ask me – you didn’t get this from me, certainly. But you’ll just sigh out of the blue, turn to me, and say things like, “Math soothes me, Mom.” Um…good?

5. Scary movies. See earlier comment about hounding me to see Jaws. I let you watch Jurassic Park and you were hooked on the scary-funness of it all. There’s no way I’m caving on Jaws yet, but I’m working on finding other jump-out-of-your-skin-and-laugh shows for you to watch. You got Soul Surfer for your birthday, which satisfied your gore-quota if not the scary side of things. Maybe I can find some Are You Afraid of the Dark? for you?

6. Graphic novels. You’ve read Reina Telgemeier’s Smile a hundred million times. You got her other graphic novel for your birthday and read all 230 pages in 90 minutes. You borrow comics from the library, have written several of your own, read the graphic novelization of A Wrinkle in Time ,and are currently working your way through that version of The Lightning Thief.

7. Being political. You love taking sides on hot topics and will seriously discuss why you feel the way you do about home schooling or coming out or uniform policies or anything that’s mentioned. You recognize almost as many political figures as I do and will rattle off facts about them. Your crush on our president is adorable, Gracie-girl, but more than the “cutesy” aspect of it, I love that your opinions are well-informed. I love that you think deeply before you speak, and that you’re never afraid to change your mind. As long as we have evidence, mind you. You love evidence even more than math.

8. Joining allllll the things! The other day you got out of the car and said, “Wow, I’m busy today,” with that kind of contented sigh that told me how happy you are with your life right now. You’re part of a competitive dance group that meets during the after-school program, you have book club and chess club that also meet during after-school, and you’re involved in three competitive academic groups – music memory, spelling club, and essay writing. (Competitive writing?! Why didn’t they have that when I was little?!) I love that you’re a joiner, that you recognize that the more groups you join the more friends you make, and most of all how responsible you are about making sure your homework still gets done without complaining. If anything, Gracie, you relish sitting down to do homework because you were too busy to do it earlier. Geek.

9. Reading out loud. I love that you’re a reader, Gracie. I love that we still read together almost every night on the couch. I hate that I have to fight you to read the chapter out loud. Because apparently you also love reading out loud. Show-off. So far, a compromise with odd/evens is working out for us. But I love those nights when you’re tired and you’re happy to cuddle on my lap while I read out loud to you. Heaven, Gracie. Having each of my girls cuddled into my sides while I read to them is my heaven.

10. Like I said – cuddling. You love cuddling while we read. When we watch TV together. I get a giant hug each morning after breakfast, and every morning when we all wake up. You are a cuddler – and I am soaking up all I can before you really become a teen and realize that they, that’s ain’t cool.

 

10 Things Gracie-Girl Thinks Are Absolutely, Totally, and Irrevocably the “S” Word. (That means Stupid.)

1. Finishing tests. Sigh. Ms. G. and I were pulling our hair out worrying over how to get Gracie to finish her practice tests strong. Gracie would get to the end of the tests and poop out just when she saw the finish line. Thank god we figured it out a few weeks before the real deal, but it still gave us more than a few gray hairs.

2. Me picking out her clothes. It doesn’t matter if I’m talking about clothes shopping or throwing together an outfit in the morning – I know nothing. Hell hath no fury like a tween not in control of her outfit.

3. Feeling all the feelings. Ohhhhh there is a strong possibility we are not going to survive the next few years. There are times when Gracie is tired or overwhelmed or just…feeling things…and she gets all teary and over-emotional and melts the heck down. What really breaks my heart is that she’ll blubber through the tears in the most confused voice, “Mom, I don’t know why I FEEL THIS WAY! I don’t even know!” Good god – mommying is not for the weak of heart. No one tell her it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

4. Not seeing her two BFFs from daycare. Being in after-school programs means that Gracie only gets to see her lifelong sidekicks on Fridays. I think that makes for a pretty kickass end of the week, and usually Gracie is too busy to be too bummed about it, but there are Fridays when I get an earful about how she never gets to see them! (Like – ever!)

5. Reading in her head. I mentioned how much Gracie-girl loves to read out loud – but that doesn’t just hold true when we’re alone. Any time she’s reading, Gracie prefers to share with the class. Whether someone is trying to watch TV, or her sister is doing her homework, or any number of things – Gracie just doesn’t get why she can’t read out loud and we can’t just ignore her. Oh, if only it were that easy sometimes, Gracie-boo.

6. Wearing weather appropriate clothing. Why won’t I let her leave her coat at home? Or wear shorts when it’s 40° outside? Or pants when it’s 90°? I know I’m pretty lax about what my kids wear – want to wear that cape to Target? Or those plaid tights with a spotted skirt and a patterned tshirt? Knock yourself out – but there are times when I have to be a mom. And good golly do my kids not like that.

7. Chewing with her mouth closed. I try to remember that Gracie’s horrible allergies play a part in this. Breathing is nice, after all. But so is not having to listen to that smacking at the dinner table. Oooh, I’m cringing and burying my ears into my shoulders just typing this. But along with being perm-stuffy, Gracie is also eight nine, which means she notices she’s doing it absolutely none of the time. So I like to help her out by reminding her eleventy kajillion times a meal. Sigh.

8. Veggies. Any veggies. Oh, she’ll eat cucumbers until I tell her she’ll burst, or carrots with a gallon of ranch dressing. And just about any type of corn. But that’s about it. Not roasted cauliflower, or any type of green bean, or spinach, or kale, or squash, or broccoli, or tomatoes. To her credit, Gracie will try just about anything. But if you make her choose between finishing three bites of veggies or going without dessert, she’ll happily forgo the sweets. Every time.

9. Disappointing her people. Gracie has this really annoying habit right now of wallowing in the depths of despair if she’s let someone down. “I don’t deserve to have a better night/stay up late/have dessert!” she’ll wail. And it drives me bonkers. “Did Harry wail that he didn’t deserve the Marauder’s Map back when Lupin offered it? No! He knew he had earned it and recognized that he would make better choices. Now suck it up and stop whining!!” Er, um, something.

10. Being told you can’t do something. I need to qualify this one – if I can show you how I arrived at my decision, show you the evidence and the logic behind the decree, well then you’re just fine. But if you don’t agree with me, or if you think I’m being whimsical – look out, world. You like to negotiate around things and prove people wrong. No one better tell you that you can’t do something unless it’s for a bloody good reason. It makes for some difficult bedtimes when we’re going to bed early because I am tired, but I can’t fault you too much, Gracie-girl. It might make for some tricksy parenting, but it’s going to make you one hell of a force to be reckoned with when you’re a grown-up. And I rather like that.

An open letter to my daughter on her ninth (NINTH!) birthday.

Dear Gracie,

Happy Birthday! Did you hear that? That was you not answering me back for the first time this morning. I tried several times this morning to wish you a happy  birthday, and each time you replied, “Not until 10:51 p.m.!!” So, that’s a thing this year. Apparently. Not that that stopped you last night from flinging open the front door last night when you got back from your dad’s, and singing – operatically - “HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MEEEEEEEE!” – at the top of your lungs, with an arm flung out for effect. Yes, your flair for the dramatic is certainly (ahem) maturing right along with the rest of your personality.

In fact, last night’s mini birthday celebration was a wonderful display of Gracie At Nine: your dramatic entrance – oh how you love the drama, and somehow know exactly how much I can handle before I tell you, “Beep, beep, Gracie,” to get you to tone it down. Your willingness to clean the living room so we could open presents – you are always ready to help me with whatever I need, whether it’s cleaning, cooking, or whatever I throw at you. I think part of it is your tendency to lean towards kiss-ass (well, it’s true!), and part of it is that you love being the guy people count on. (Both rather like someone else I know.) The way you savored each present and thought each one was the very best – from each pair of socks to each dollar bill to the pair of Heelies that made you flip. the heck. out. You tackled your sister and I with hugs so many times it’s lucky we didn’t get rug burn! But that’s the way you are, Gracie-girl, always so quick to love those around you, to love them fiercely and with everything that’s in you. Of course, you still argued with your sister over who had the best spot in front of the cupcakes when we sang happy birthday, and I got after both of you for arguing, but HELLO, McFly – you’re eight nine! A little arguing with your siblings is how I know you’re not some weirdo pod-child! (“I know, right?” I can hear you saying. It’s your favorite phrase. Unrelated, your favorite word you informed me the other day, is “technically.”) But even after the squabbling, you quickly went back to your default mode: goofy with a heavy side of laughter. You were moonwalking and sliding all over the place like Bambi on ice when you tried on your Heelies. And that you let your sister try them after you were done made my heart grow a few sizes, Gracie-girl. You are a GOOD KID. Don’t forget that when you’re feeling blue.

And, yes, you do have some rough days from time to time. I’ve seen tweenagerdom peek its ugly head out from time to time. Thankfully not too often, because I’m afraid I don’t handle it very well. Don’t worry – I’m working on it. I’d like to escape these next several years with minimal bruising. Unsurprisingly, you came up with a workable solution. (Is there any code or problem you can’t solve? Seriously – CIA agent in training.) When you and I start butting heads, when both of us are angry and our stubborn selves have been activated, we both retreat. Sorry, baby – you definitely are just like your mama in that regard. But one day this past year, I heard the door to the room I was cleaning open up and a piece of note paper came flying in. You, Gracie-girl, had written me a letter about how you were feeling. And asked that I write back. And so that is how we talk now when both of us are upset. It’s rather ingenious, and I am so proud of you for coming up with a solution that works for you and for us. It’s one of the many, many pieces of evidence (another one of your favorite things – evidence) that shows me you are going to be brilliant when grow up and take over the world.

But as mature as you’ve become this past year, Gracie-girl, you’re still my goofy-guts. You’re still a kid. A fabulous one, yes, but a kid all the same. You might have spent half of your sleepover pulling pranks and riding scooters and having Nerf wars…but the other half you spent playing dolls with your friends. You haven’t met a fart joke you didn’t like. After your initial reactions of “Oh my god, that’s GROSS!!!” at all of the, yes, gross jokes in your cards from Auntie Kim, Grandpa, and Uncle Joey (“MOM! They’re ALL…just! ewwwwww!!! WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!”) you dissolved into laughter because it was hilarious. Because you’re a kid. You might have read an entire freakin’ novel last night before bed, but you also rejoiced over your covered wagon Lego set. You’re fabulously, gloriously nine.

And I’ll tell you something else, Gracie – a little secret. It’s you. You are what makes you so fun. What makes life around you so fun and filled with laughter. You are the gamechanger; you are what changes the tempo of any room you are in. You are what changes the mood of any room you walk into. You have this gift, sweetheart, of making us all laugh with you. Okay, yes, and sometimes at you; I confess. You are one of those special people who have this gift to light up the entire world. Absolutely you make my world spin round.

In all the best possible ways.

Happy ninth birthday, Gracie-boo. I love you with everything I have. Always.

Love,
Mom