Cupcakes

Tomorrow is the preschool Halloween party and I had to make something for Mitzi to bring. Funny how baking a batch of cupcakes could be stress-inducing.

I was really looking forward to this part of being a mom, the part when your child starts school and you can do things like cheer from the sidelines during a baseball game, help out during the winter festival, clap wildly for your little one decked out as a carrot during the spring performance. And of course, baking.

I like to cook and bake almost as much as I like watching cooking shows and reading cook books. I'm not sure I'm very good at either cooking or baking, but I like the idea of it, the creativity, the inspiration that comes with a dozen ingredients spread before me on a cutting board. Let the magic begin! Well, magic my cooking is not, though it's usually passable.

But when I found out that I had to provide cupcakes for the party, I was excited. I ransacked my cookbooks, focusing on one that offered up such gems as the sleepover cake (made with Twinkies, icing and assorted candies), the purse cake (two round cakes cut and assembled to look like a purse, with Twizzler handles), and doggie cupcakes (okay, that one's obvious). What might appeal to the 4 year olds?

In the end I decided to play it safe, baking regular Betty Crocker cupcakes, using frosting from a can, and adorning each with a sugar confection in the shape of a Halloween figure. How hard could it be? It wasn't, of course, but since I couldn't remember when or if I've even made cupcakes before, suddenly I lost my nerve, frozen in front of the bottle of vegetable oil and three large eggs. What if I didn't mix it all enough? (My giant Kitchen Aid stand mixer is still packed, and I've no hand mixer, so a fork was my method). What if I filled the cups too much and didn't have enough to make the requisite 24? I only have one pan so that was a real possibility. Then, did I have enough frosting? Would the sugar shapes really adhere? As it turned out, the cups were only a little overfilled, so I managed to get 24, with only two seeming sadly small; I made the frosting last; and so far we haven't lost a single shape. I can't vouch for their taste, but they are not bad-looking.

All the kids in Mitzi's class are responsible for bringing in either cupcakes or brownies; Cooper's class each brings in a bag of candy for their trick or treating; the 3 year olds bring in cookies. Thus, the whole-school celebration is supplied with enough sugar to fill Hingham Harbor. As I clumsily wrapped my creations in plastic and aluminum foil, I wondered how they would compare. Will other moms bake their own fancy confections? Will they buy the too-too-perfect offerings of the local premiere bakery? Will they just stop at the grocery store on the way to school?

I want to be good at this part, the way my mom was. She was always there during our school years, reading to classes or helping out in the library, donating her time, spirit and good humor. She gave us distance as we aged but never missed a tennis match or band performance. And we never thought twice about asking her at the last minute to whip up something for our class party. She never complained, never balked, never got caught unprepared. And she never seemed unsure.

I want to be good at this part, what I think should be a fun part of parenting. I hope my cupcakes are well received (Mitzi and Cooper sure enjoyed licking the bowl). They are not fancy, nor will they be exciting, perhaps, to the modern preschooler experienced in birthday parties at Gymboree or Build-A-Bear or the science museum (or, for some kids in my town, catered professionally to the nines). But my cupcakes were baked in earnest, hopeful as I am that my kids will always come to me for help, be it schoolwork, baked goods or to kiss away their tears. Their first school party. My first batch of baked goods. A new chapter has begun. I hope we're up to the challenge.

At least now I know how to make cupcakes.

Letting Go, Part 1

Mostly we forget that, as parents, the purpose of our role is to get our children ready to leave us.

When they're babies or toddlers it's easy to avoid thinking about this eventuality. After all, there are diapers to change, puzzles to solve, balls to bounce, and finger paint to squish on white paper. Who has time to ponder the future when our babies are not in our sight all day, every day?

But then they do go, to day care or preschool, then off to the big kids' school where they are on their own most of the day. What they do with their time remains a mystery, even to the parent of the most garrulous preteen.

When they're not with me, my concerns are pretty basic. I wonder if they are safe, behaving, making friends, having fun, learning a few things along the way. That's pretty much it.

None of us want to see our kids in pain. Some of the hardest times for me are the times I see one of my kids struggle with his or her peers. And I'm sure it's not even a struggle for them, since most of the time they work it out. But for me it's a struggle, agonizing to watch.

Once, when Mitzi was about 18 months (mentally going on 14 it seemed to us sometimes), she approached a group of much older girls -- 8 or 9 year olds, maybe -- on a near-empty school playground. Never shy or afraid, Mitzi walked right up to them, uttering her usual "Hi guys!" and waited for their welcome. Either they didn't hear her or they dismissed her. She waited, shifting from foot to foot, for a response, her easy smile fading to confusion and then disappointment. After a few minutes she headed for the slide, and almost instantly her sadness disappeared.

I, on the other hand, was seething as I watched. I wanted to yell at those girls, "Look at my baby! Don't you see her! Answer her! Be nice!" Instead, of course, I rocked baby Cooper and cried a little inside. Mitzi hasn't stopped being friendly because of it, but I clearly haven't forgotten.

Then today, as we dropped the big kids off at nursery school, I wilted a little again. Normally, I walk them to the school door, Cooper dashes inside to hang up his back pack, then is off to the playground with barely a glance or a goodbye for us. Mitzi starts in the same fashion, but has to come back once or twice for goodbye kisses. Today, though, as I pulled away after our goodbyes, I saw her sitting by herself, kicking at the dirt, looking at the dust fly in the air, ignoring the happy screams of the kids around her. So I stopped to watch. Was she sad because we didn't do the extra kisses? Because Miss Heather shooed the kids into the playground so fast? Because she didn't see any of her friends? Because her friends didn't want to play with her? I sat in the idling car for a few minutes, then decided it was ridiculous. Not only was I blocking the road, Ellie and Joanna needed to get home for naps and, likely, my often-moody 4 1/2 year old was pouting over something (real or perceived) and would get over it in her usual speedy fashion. I reassured myself that her teacher was there to help her solve a problem, if one existed. That's part of why Mitzi is in preschool. She has other adults and resources to help her, to teach her, to open new doors for her. I mean, I could've parked, rushed into the playground, cuddled her, and tried to help her feel better, but that would've been insane. So the babies and I went home.

And that's when I realized -- not for the first or last time -- that my kids are bound to leave me one day. I'm sure they will always need me in the way that I need my own mother (gee, it's time for our daily call!), but not in the way they did a year, two, three ago.

And that's what the point of parenting, is, I guess, the primary part and, I'm learning, one of the hardest parts too. I want my kids to be independent, to be strong, confident, unafraid of life's challenges, resourceful. But a little bit of me wishes they didn't have to grow up to do it.

Sock, Diego, and other words of importance

There are a few things that most parents obssess about as their babies grow -- what and how the baby eats, how and when the baby poops or pees, how and when and where the baby sleeps. Another obssession is language development. New parents can spend hours with other new parents discussing this topic, much to the chagrin of nonparents. The first word milestone is one of the most exciting to witness, mostly because we have spent months loving, cuddling, feeding, changing, reading to and interacting with a drooly, smiling, but, on the whole, mysterious bundle. With that first word everything changes. Suddenly we are face to face with a little person soon to be capable of self-expression in the clearest terms.

Mitzi was an extremely early talker, uttering her first word (sock!) before she was nine months old. She hasn't stopped talking since. By her first birthday she was crafting complete sentences and using, with ease, vocabulary words like "pedestrian". We thought it was cute and, since she was our first, we had no idea that it was unusual. She chattered on and on, pausing to breathe briefly when Cooper was born. As he has done in so many areas, he followed her lead, talking fairly early and well. Ray and I still don't know why these two magpies learned to verbalize the way they did. We just sort of took it for granted it was in the genes. (Although I wonder if my English teacher background and my own nonstop speech contributed to any of it, since I was home alone with them for so many hours when they were babies. I needed someone to talk to!) Mitzi and Cooper only stop talking when they are asleep.

The along came Eloise, and out theory was shattered. Like her siblings she spoke early (the predictable Ma-ma). We were excited but not suprised. We expected the usual blabbering by the time she turned one. We were looking forward to listening to her imitate the strangely adult speech patterns of her siblings. We were eager to hear what she had to say and how she would sound saying it.

But children are unpredictable and unique. I guess we forgot that. After her first Mama, Ellie's words came slowly, dripping from her lips from month to month like molasses, new syllables emerging from behind her Binky just when we thought she wasn't going to say anything different. She sure could express herself whenever she wanted, and she certainly knew how to get what she wanted, but the vocabulary just wasn't there.

I tried not to compare, but as evidenced here, I couldn't help it. I was a little worried, guilt-ridden because I didn't read to her as much as I did to the others, because I didn't get to spend as much time alone with her since I had my hands full with the 2 and 3 year olds, because her smallish vocabulary was clearly a product of mother neglect.

What an ego!

Obviously those things can contribute to a child's development, but children are who they are, not who you need them to be. I reminded myself that Ellie was not uncommunicative -- she knew how to use her hands to express her needs and clearly responded to what was said to her -- she just didn't talk that much. As my mom pointed out, coming on the heels of two talented chatterboxes who spoke for her whenever they could, why should she bother? I eventually relaxed and enjoyed her self-created sign language that intermixed easily with the old and new words she used. I remembered that toddlers can't often multi-task, especially when learning new skills. While they practice walking, their brains are so focused on putting one foot in front of the other without wiping out, that often their language fails them, not because it's lost, but because they're busy with other things. Later, they come back to previous skills and practice these over and over until they eventually can talk and walk at the same time.

These days Ellie says quite a bit. She will repeat our words back to us, of her own volition, on command, and when you wish that she hadn't overheard what you just said. She also invents new ways of using language. Her favorite show is "Go, Diego, Go!" Naturally, a favorite word is Diego. In our house, "Diego" can mean many things, from identifying the boy on the show to "leave me alone!". It is currently Ellie's favorite expletive:

Me: Ellie, get off that table before you break your head!
Ellie: No!
Me: Ellie, get down now or you are having a time out!
Ellie: DIEGO, Mommy!!!

See, you understand her perfectly too.

I don't know how she does it!

This past weekend I babysat for about 24 hours for Jen, with the help of my very experienced mother, and I needed to call in sick to work on Monday!

I'm sure you just get used to it, the craziness, the tiredness, the whining... but I have to say, I'd rather listen to the whining at the office! And I love my nieces and nephews more than life itself (all nine of them). But I just don't know how stay at home mom's do it, specifically I don't know how Jen does it - 4 under the age of 4 - I'd rather stick needles in my eyes and do long division.

But if I did have to do it, Jen would be a great role model :)

No Time To Blog

I've been a mom for almost five years. In that time given birth to four beautiful children, three girls and a boy (though not in that order). In five years I've changed approximately 18, 000 diapers; read "Goodnight Moon" over 5400 times; wiped 14.2 gallons of spitup and/or vomit from my clothes and the floor; and recieved 924, 851 unsolicited wet kisses. For me, hugs are as abundant as stuck-out tongues and I've yet to give a bath in which I don't also get soaked.

It's a sticky job, but one I wouldn't change. Except for the fact that I have no time to do much else, let alone work on this blog.

Right now I'm enjoying the peace while the oldest two are at preschool and the younger two have settled down for their afternoon naps. I could be folding laundry, cleaning up the morning mess, cleaning the basement, but it's just too darn nice to have an hour to do nothing at all.

So I blog.

I could call my sister, who has been on the receiving end of my audio blog for many years now, but she has a paying job that requires her attention at least some of the time. Same for my husband, who is patient to a point when I call him up during the day for no reason:

"HI honey, what are you doing?"
"Working. How are things there?"
"Oh, fine. Cooper is sitting on Ellie, Mitzi is snacking on her fingernails while she tries to glue together some of Barbie's shoes, and Joanna is hoping no one steps on her. The usual."
"Okay. Is there something you need? I'm really in the middle of something here."
"No, just looking for an adult voice."
"Gotcha. Okay, I'll call you later!"

Being a stay-at-home mom can be an isolating life, though it doesn't have to be, certainly not all of the time. My oldest is not quite five; the youngest is 6 months. Some days it's hard to leave the house, let alone attend or arrange playdates. We go to the playground where I chat with other moms or grandmas. We socialize wherever we go, but I miss the prospect of having a converstaion that doesn't revolve around "Go, Diego, Go" or the difference between conifers and deciduous trees.

I know some day I'll miss this time of silliness and few responsibilities, when we can do nothing except arrange stickers on paper or see how many goldfish crackers we can throw into a soup pot from across the room. Some day my teenagers will slouch off to school with barely a goodbye; they'll wave me off in favor of their friends; they'll forget to call for days from college. I'll play remember when with Ray, and we'll both wonder why it went so quickly. So now I try to enjoy the innocence and laughter and curiosity and energy these four kids have, letting it rub off on me as much as I can.

Most days, I have no time to blog. Most days I'm having too much fun.