The Stroller Ballet

I’ve written about Peanut’s love for all things that move, in the past. And although she’s become decidedly more girly over the last several months (adopting accessories such as necklaces, and insisting on having her “nails done”), she’s still heavily into cars, trains, and “firefighter trucks”. It’s an interesting mix, actually. I’ve begun wondering why there aren’t more books about female trucks painted glittery pink. Or, perhaps, glittery green (her favorite color).

This past week we visited my husband’s parents in Houston. Where everything is larger than life, including portions at restaurants, homes, and (of course) cars. Peanut had a fabulous time, and was extremely impressed with her Yeh-Yeh’s large SUV – possibly the hugest car she’d ever seen. Over the course of our time in Texas its size became an ongoing topic of conversation. Every day we’d discuss how big it is (particularly in comparison to Mama’s tiny Volkswagen). We’d talk about the color (black), and how much she loved it. I think we could have ate, slept, and lived in the spacious trunk, and Peanut would have been more than satisfied.

The final day of our trip, I decided to teach her the name of said truck. With enunciation, I urged her to copy my lead. Thrilled, she eagerly tested her new word.

“Mer-ce-des”.

Just a word – but possibly the most impeccably pronounced one I’ve ever heard Peanut utter.

Fitting, don’t you think?

This past month has been tough. For many reasons, too numerous to list on this blog. Mostly involving work, questions about Peanut’s speech (and whether she would benefit from some therapy – she just hasn’t closed the gap as quickly as we would have liked), and that ubiquitous search for balance. I’ve felt like my head has been spinning.

Good family and friends have been not only helpful, but essential. I’m thankful to have people And at times like these, I feel like it’s possible to find balance in the most monotonous things. I hate yard work, but overnight it seemed like 10,000 leaves fell on my postage stamp of a lawn. I needed to do something about it, and enlisted Peanut. Over the course of a unseasonably warm November morning, a Friday, we collected and stuffed 5 full bags.

A task with a beginning, and an end. Unlike most everything in life.

And she loved it.

Parenthood changes you inexplicably. Particularly in terms of those things you treasure and want to keep safe. Of course, I’m talking about the actual person you’ve produced. That’s implied. But there’s also so much more. Take, for example, Peanut’s little pink bunny. She calls it “Baby Ba” – a name that developed organically over time. I’m quite certain Peanut can say “bun-ny” at this point, but “Ba” implies a certain level of comfort – at least for us.

Baby Ba has always come with us, most of the time. I know you’re probably going to say that we should have never left the house with “her”, under any circumstances. But we needed “her” – on so many occasions. When Peanut started pre-school, Baby Ba expedited the adjustment. Baby Ba didn’t go into school, but travelled practically to the front door, then took a “nap” in the stroller (babies don’t go to school; only big girls. Obviously). Falls, cuts, and scrapes? Baby Ba comforted. She’s slightly more important than my husband; slightly less than my iphone (half joking).

Then, today, we forgot Baby Ba. At a restaurant. In the shuffle of moving a child and everything else from a table to the stroller. We were able to retrieve her, but not without some trauma. “I lost Baby Ba,” peanut wept. “I miss Baby Ba.” A quick trip to retrieve the missing bunny solved all.

But my lesson was learned.

Without Baby Ba our home would drop by at least ten decibels of peacefulness. So for now, she occupies a prime piece of real estate – Peanut’s arms.

On the couch.

This morning dawned absolutely perfect for the New York City Marathon. Clear and cool – yet still. I’ve been a spectator at the Marathon before, and found it incredibly moving. Today’s was particularly poignant for me, as my sister was running her first. Exactly one year ago we watched it together, and she said she planned on participating in 2011. At that point she hadn’t even run a half. But determination can provide a powerful motive. And combined with hard work, it seems that almost anything is possible.

We arrived at Central Park early this morning, and were able to see everyone from the wheelchair athletes, to the front runners, to the couple who exchanged vows on the course. I was impressed with how entertained Peanut appeared to be. (I fully expected a torturous five hours trailing her through terrifying crowds. Pleasantly, it was not so.) Jessica crossed the finish line shortly after 2pm. She did incredibly well, completing in just under four hours. Exceptional, in our opinion. And we’re all so proud. She also raised over $3000 for Hole in the Wall Camps, making a difference in the lives of seriously ill children.

Of course I began getting the same itch I did last year – the thought that perhaps I could do this, at some point. But marathon running can be a metaphor for so many other things – blogging, work, life. Persistence, tenacity, attitude. Hope. It’s the reason for late nights, diligence. The reason for pressing on.

From a physical standpoint, I may have it in me. We’ll see.

In the meantime, congratulations Jessica. We love you.

For all of you curious, the moo cow did make an appearance yesterday.

(And yes, I am officially obsessed with my new iphone and Instagram)

I clearly remember writing all sorts of letters in my young(er) years. In fact, even throughout college – it’s how I corresponded with my room mates over summer break. It seems like another lifetime (I suppose it was). And now, things are so different. Of course, being connected can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you view it. Regardless, it’s our reality. And that of our kids.

So it’s incredible how, for a girl growing up in the digital age, a trip to the mailbox can be supremely exciting.

Even if her hand is filled with NYC parking tickets.

You may have read my post on Nemo, and how useful he’s been in maintaining some semblance of toddler discipline.  If not, you can find the full rundown here. (I said “some” semblance. Peanut continues to act utterly wild about 97.6% of the time.)

Nemo was really ingraining himself into our lives, and I was, admittedly, becoming attached to the little guy. He was part of the family. Then, last Saturday, my husband woke up, and checked on him. “Nemo’s not looking good,” he said. Sure enough, Nemo had taken on a grey-ish tone. Over the course of the day I monitored him, but by late afternoon Nemo had met a premature end.* In the interest of Peanut I decided to leave the fish in its tank overnight, a decision I’m not entirely proud of. It’s slightly morbid, and a little gross, certainly. But you may have done the same thing (had it inspired your toddler to actually listen). And really, it turned out ok. “Ne-no’s sleeping,” she pointed out. All was well.

By Sunday, I knew I needed to find a new Nemo, and quickly. Preferably one who looked exactly the same. Of course, this proved to be a virtual impossibility (Peanut had selected the one completely unique Goldfish out there). As per the pet store employee, my options were to wait for a new shipment of fish the following Thursday, or go with something different. Terrified of presenting Peanut with an empty tank, I chose the latter, a completely orange fish (Nemo #1 was black, white and orange spotted). I brought him home, and managed to accomplish a quick switch without Peanut seeing.

That evening, before bed, we did the normal routine. Dinner, bath, then to the room for books and bed. With bated breath (mine), Peanut climbed onto her little stool to inspect the tank, and her pet.

Smiling, she looked to him and said, “Ne-no change color. I choose Ne-no.”

“Night Ne-no.”

And I exhaled.

*We’re still not sure exactly the cause of Nemo #1’s demise. I’m happy to report that Nemo #2 is in good health and spirits.

She may not eat it. Any of it. But she certainly can make a “face” out of Quinoa (on half a grape). This was, in her own words, an otherwise unidentified “girl”.

Creativity at its finest, I suppose.

Peanut’s a fan of cars and trucks and trains and things that move, in general. Not the “typical” girly toys. We’ve come to embrace her engineering ways, however, and encourage it as part of her personality. In fact, Peanut often brings a bag of choo-choos to any destination. Some for herself, and some to share (a more recent development).

Earlier this week we were at the park, with some friends, when Peanut spotted several older boys “racing” their matchbox cars (think around 3 or 4 years old). Intrigued, she approached them, Thomas in hand. Fully prepared to join in, she sat down, and attempted to play. “You can’t play with us,” one boy stated, matter of factly. Peanut mis-heard him, and nodded her head, saying “yeah”. “No,” he said again. “No girls allowed”. She had the train, but not the gender. These were little kids, of course; they don’t necessarily know better. And children can be mean (even the nice ones). At any point in the future, Peanut might find herself on the other side of this equation. Still, my heart sank.

In reflecting, the entire experience makes me think of this article. My husband shared it at one of those moments when he thought I was being too much of a “helicopter parent”. It’s not the most flattering term, and something I try not to espouse. But I do believe many of us struggle with some amount of hovering. As mothers (and fathers), we’re constantly walking the line between sheltering our children, and allowing them to experience some of the harsher realities of life. What’s the perfect balance, I wonder? Certainly, kids need to fall down, and get back up on their own. From a physical and emotional perspective. But how do we decide when, and to what extent?

This week, this day, an ice cream cone seemed to cure any broken heart. So that’s what we did. My version of winging it, I suppose.

Which is perhaps the best we can do, as parents.