Something strange happened to us today. We saw a child playing with a toy gun in the sand box. Maybe that doesn’t sound all that strange to anyone else, but I can tell you in the history of being a mom, and two summers of taking her to the playgrounds I have never seen anyone with a toy gun. Waterguns, maybe, bubble guns, more than a few times, but a toy gun modeled after a real one whose only purpose is to make a click sound when you pull the trigger, never.

My first reaction when I spotted him in the adjoining sandbox to where Ellie sat was just surprise. I pointed it out to my partner, Tim in amazement. We joked a little bit about what a visual oddity it is now to see, especially compared to how prevalent they were in our childhood. He said he of course played with guns all the time when he was a little boy. Then I sat back and watched things play out. He was pointing at this little Asian girl who apparently was not too keen on this game, and ran over to her mom, who reached her arm across her daughter’s chest, looked square into the boys eyes and said “she doesn’t like guns.”

The boy trotted along, into the sandbox where we sat now, and dangled the gun at his side just surveying the scene. Ellie stared at his face, then her gaze traveled down the length of his arm to what he was holding, then back up again to the boys face. She stared in what appeared to be utter confusion. I wondered if she knew what it was he was holding, or what the real thing did. She doesn’t know what death is, of course, she’s heard the words “choke” and “die” before but doesn’t really ask about it.

So I assume she was just confused, then shrugged it off and turned her attention back to her sand birthday cake she was making. When she wasn’t looking, the boy stepped back, pointed the gun at her and fired repeatedly. It gave me a sick feeling in my stomach and I wondered where this boys parents are and why they haven’t come to collect him yet.

Later on, home again, Ellie tucked away sleeping safely in her bed, I reflected on the whole scene. Why is it that we are so sensitive now to the image of a gun pointing at our kids? Is it because 30 years ago, we’d see toy guns all the time on the playground and not every night on the news and on T.V. shows? It’s something to think about.

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This morning Ellie was eating her oatmeal, when she sits straight up and says,
“I miss Dane.”
Touched by her thoughtfulness, I walk over to her and put my arm around her.
“Awww, I know, I miss them too.”
“And, Dane’s not going to be at school today?” She asks earnestly.
“You’re right, Ellie. He’s not. He’s in California. He’ll be back next month.”
“Yeah.” Ellie says sadly.

* * *
We live directly under the flightpath of planes leaving JFK. Since we’ve been walking to the gym about every night, she notices these planes with their lights flying overhead. “There’s Dane!” She’ll exclaim excitedly! Every time- to and from the gym, and sometimes during the day if one catches her eye.

“Dane is quite the world traveler.” I’ll say.

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D e a r L e a r n e d A b y s s ,

What do you do when your sick/tired child has completely spun out of control, and you know if you follow through on your threats to start taking things away should they emerge from their room again, you will just be adding fuel to the fire and their head might start spinning like a whirling dervish, steam come screaming out the ears, until the whole mess shoots off their shoulders like a bottle rocket?

You think I am exaggerating, but this girl, when she gets mad, she gets absolutely out of control of her body. I swear to God, I can FEEL her mania. I have been there, I guess we all have, but I know exactly how she feels when she is losing control because that is exactly how I would behave if I could get away with it and not be thrown in the looney bin.

Her voice starts out screaming- loud and commanding but then as she becomes more and more frantic, it becomes breathy and shrill. There is major hyperventilation going on, and my once sweet, affectionate little charmer is crumpled up, collapsed. A little ball of pain and suffering right there on the floor in front of me, and what do I say but, “Okay, I have to take Muno away now.”

It is 10:28pm, the girl has a croopy cough, I’ve told her she has to get off the couch with Mommy because she wasn’t laying still or closing her eyes (a position of luxury we granted her because of the violent coughing in her bed.) She’s exited her room 8 times screaming, gone though every “warning animal” in her glass jar (they are lined up on the shoe cabinet in the hall) and now Mommy’s gotta threaten with the big guns. “Muno’s gonna have to go away..!”

To a soundtrack of desperate screams I pluck Muno from his comfortable position on the bed and plop him in the glass jar that once held her warning animals. With a defiant twist of my wrist he is sealed up in there good like a cucumber waiting for pickling! This brings me no vindication, however. (Surprisingly!) Not the slightest bit of satisfaction. I just feel sad for her that Muno is now in a jar, locked away from her and her cozy bed. I feel sad that it had to come to this, and she didn’t listen. I feel scared that her head might jettison off as afforementioned. She is out of control. We are in the throws of a tantrum. She is two. I stand my ground, because what else can I do?

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Ellie and Dane have been having playdates together for over a year. Twice a week, most weeks, whenever both his mom and I could keep the commitment, we’ve been doing a Tuesday/Thursday swap for 2 hours on each side. Just in the last month or so, it’s been changed to 3 HOURS a DAY (each for 1.5 hours at our respective houses).
You see, Dane lives downstairs. And just recently, Ellie fell in LOVE with Dane. (And I think vice versa!) And now when they play together, for Steph (his mom) and me, it’s like our children disappear! I hope, if you, reader, have had any experience with children you will now how not evil and utterly utopic this predicament is. We are free. For 3 whole hours, practically, other than feeding the kids. Admittedly, I am sitting in a much cushier and less-deserving spot than Dane’s mom, who just had a new baby in October and already had an older daughter. She still has to attend to her newborn, even while Ellie and Dane occupy one another’s time, but me, what do I do? Anything I want….get back to writing this blog! Do I make the best use of this newly gifted time, dutifully preparing the next meal or rigorously cleaning the section of house that only I myself occupy? Sometimes yes, but most often times, absolutely not, nothing resembling. I sit right down at my computer, edit and publish photos, browse the web, and starting now, well, write. Sound too good to be true? Wait for this next new occurrence I have to report:

Noa and Benji, the 3-year-old twins living next door to us, have now begun to extend invites to Ellie over at their house! This began a couple of weeks ago, and we just returned the favor last week, inviting the two to come over and play here, which went better than I could’ve imagined! I was hesitant before, them being twins and having their own little world between the two of them, that Ellie would either be the third wheel or left out. But as it turns out, it’s going well and they are asking more and more for her.

I am feeling on cloud nine recently with this rush of newfound me time that seems to be trickling down upon me more and more like heaven-sent miraculous minute-drops. And the next best thing about it, is that Ellie is getting to learn what it is to be a friend to other kids, for better or for worse. It’s not all about mommy and daddy anymore. I thought I would be sad when this day came… but look at this, I’m happy for both of us.

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Who knows how long the obsession with princesses will last for a little girl?

I was honestly hoping this day would never come, but inevitably, it has. And with the arrival of this new fanaticism, Elise has also leapt a precipice from an unfailingly sweet, adoring toddler, practicing enduring obedience to a more willful, shall we say “spirited” version of her former self. I don’t want in any way to sound like I am complaining. To me, she still remains the “easiest” (to coin a phrase other moms like to use) child I have observed in her age group. But as this new age progresses and mommy is increasingly getting glimpses of a more independent life (for both of us), I feel that it is time to turn the tone of this blog. This will no longer be all about Elise… It will still be mostly about her, but in the past year, I have felt myself holding back and missing out on opportunities to express my individual voice in this arena because it was going against the grain of the original “all-about-Ellie” record and report mentality.

So here we are. Same girl, same name, but new mommy… and perhaps at times Daddy, as he has recently expressed interest in contributing. With this new year, Elise is becoming quite the orchestrator; finding her voice and testing her emotional pull on everyone around her. I observe it in the home and also, now among her playmates. She is also an avid mimic. Always has been, really, but now I have to watch what I do, what I say and how I say it because no more than 5 minutes later, I will see her trying it out.

She has learned to pout. She has learned to refuse and to request (both vehemently). She has learned to battle. She has learned also, much to my dismay, to pose or ham-it-up for a camera. She has learned to inquire about my actions and feelings, which at most times, leaves me scrambling for the right semblance of an explanation. With all of these defining lessons, what brings me the most relief is that she also seems to be learning empathy, and gaining a good sense of humor about things. And just last weekend at a child’s birthday party, Tim and I were presented with a parenting moment where we had to teach her self-protection when an older girl was bullying her.

No denying it, she is growing up, and with each fleeting day, I have learned the old cliché about life passing before your eyes is indeed true. Tim says it just means we are getting older, because the older you get, shorter is your perception of a how long a minute is. I buy that. This winter it seems to reflect that more than ever before: I wake up, feed her a couple times, then it’s time for her nap. She wakes, it almost immediately gets dark, feed her again, dance, bath, Tim arrives home, we put her to bed. Every day has seemed like this without much break in the routine except for one life-saving and miraculous thing: The PLAYDATE.*

*More on that tomorrow.

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Before Ellie could barely speak two words, she used to do something very peculiar. She was way into Elmo, as most babies are at that age, and so from time to time I’d find her YouTube clips from Elmo’s World on my iPhone and play them for her. There was one clip in particular that would make her break down and sob uncontrollably. It was the one of Andrea Bocelli singing a goodnight aria for Elmo. It didn’t have a sad tone, at all… Andrea Bocelli was helping Elmo reflect on all of the fun things he did that day and the friends he shared those experiences with. But for whatever reason, it caused her eyes to well up with tears and the crying to continue until the video was over or shut off (if I was feeling merciful) and a big hug was administered. The devil on my shoulder made me crack up a little bit at witnessing this display, but I didn’t put her through it any more after I could capture this bizarre occurrence on video.

Anyway, I think that little drama can be explained today now that she has words and a whole new realm of experiences to contest with. While Elmo doesn’t do it for her anymore, the end of her school day does. Miss Ashley, who is the wonderful teacher at Paper Moon preschool, takes the kids through a routine at the end of the day which involves singing a good-bye song called “Good-bye, Moonbeams”. It is during this song that Ellie’s now infamous performance begins- eyes again welling up with tears and buckets of sadness spill all over the colors floortiles. As other children rush, delighted, into the arms of their respective mothers, I tromp over to my crumpled little ball of a daughter and have to peel her sad, deflated little body off of the cushy tile and into her stroller.

Lisa: i’m sure it’s less about you
me: haha
Lisa: and more about that she likes preschool
me: yeah i know
The kind of crazy thing now is thinking like- I am now making her memories for her.
you know… I am kind of controlling what her memories will be.
Like, for example, I sort of remember my preschool teacher…certain things.
It’s kinda weird to think about.
Lisa: yeah, yeah.
me: and I am forcing friends like Lulu and Burke on her! not really, but the mom has all that control.
makes me think about the Schneeblys… if my mom LIKED Mrs. Schneebly. Probably not I bet
I KNOW she didn’t like Mr. Schneebly. she thought he was a NUT
Lisa: you HAVE to take control. it’s totally normal. if she doesnt like the kids i’m sure you’ll notice.

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There is no problem trying to get Elle to eat fruit. She loves it, and all kinds. At 7:00 in the morning, I, however don’t always feel like having anything besides my kona blend coffee. Today I invented a quick before-school breakfast beverage that I like to call “Pink Moon Milk”- just because the school she goes to is called, “Paper Moon Preschool” and the teacher calls the kids “moonbeams.” Trying to stick with the theme on school mornings.

Ingredients:
1 cup milk
6-10 whole strawberries, cleaned & quartered
1/2 cup low-fat plain yogurt
1 tablespoon honey

Directions:
Add all of the ingredients into a blender. Process until smooth, serve immediately.

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Ellie began school today and I had no idea how to fill three hours.

On another venture- I’ve been trying to make less negative statements at home for directing her in a helpful way. It’s very difficult. While the spaghetti was cooking, I observed Ellie handfeeding the dog her bowl of food. All well and good until I checked back 5 minutes later and the entire contents of the dish were now floating in the big old water bowl. I began to say: “Ellie, we don’t dump Maycee’s food in her water-” but I stopped myself.
“Ellie, Maycee’s food has to stay in her food dish.” I gave myself a pat on the back and continued, “Maycee won’t eat it if it’s all wet.”
“But… she’s eating it.” Ellie explained.
She sure was, that dog. How can you argue with that?

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