Easy Reader, that's her name*

So, in between all the gore and knitting, my kid managed to complete the last of five Hooked On Phonics sets, which means that she's now reading at a 2nd grade level.



Um, yeah. Hooray?



She finished last week, and we've been taking a break from doing any "lessons" since then. I had started reading Pippi Longstocking to her a few weeks ago, so we finished that up during the time we used to use for her phonics stuff, and now we've moved on to Puff the Magic Dragon. I have to say, she's handling that book better than I expected, what with all the scary giant pirates and dying stars and stuff. Usually that sort of thing sends her screaming for the hills, but now she seems to be fine as long as I tell her ahead of time that everything works out okay in the end.


Meanwhile, she's been reading to herself for pleasure, without me having to encourage her in any way. We've got a basket of books next to the potty, and I know my services are going to be needed soon when she disappears and I hear her reading to herself. And last week she managed to read a new joke from the toy she got in her kids' meal, which she thought was just the coolest thing ever. (It was actually new to me, too, and pretty funny, at least the first 400 times: Knock knock - who's there? - repeat - repeat who? - who who who!).


She's still working through the Hooked on Handwriting stuff, although I haven't really seen that it's doing a lot to help her writing skills. We're filling up the house with the practice activities, though, so don't be surprised if you get an inappropriately-themed postcard from us with barely legible words on the back. Why someone decided to have "Viva Las Vegas!" as one of the cards in the practice pack, I'll never know.

Today she dragged out the Hooked on Phonics Master Reader set (which was stuffed behind a bunch of other stuff in my office) and wanted to look through it. It's a completely different format than the first module, and it's obviously geared toward older kids. Actually, it's obviously geared toward older boys, because the whole module has this sort of gritty robotic look to it, and a lot of the stories are about sports or scary animals. But there's a computer game, and the stories are on cool little cards instead of in a workbook, and there's a progress chart with stickers, so of course Little Miss Way Too Advanced For Her Age wanted to get started right away.

The new module is laid out a lot differently than the previous ones, and all of the actual lessons are in the computer game. There isn't a lot of explanation, at least in the first lesson, which assumes that you know what "syllables" are. That's not something Liza and I had discussed before, so we had to take a break to talk that over, but after that she was pretty quick to pick up the game. And she made it through the first story pretty well, with most of her stumbles more than likely due to the late hour when we attempted it instead of her inability to read them. So it looks like we'll be pressing on with this, at least whenever she asks to do it.

Lest you think I'm a total slavedriver, I will also admit that (at Liza's request) I've been using the library's Handy Manny DVD as a babysitter quite regularly over the past week or two. You'd be surprised how much flooring you can get laid in a bathroom during 90 minutes of "You break it, we fix it!" Plus, now the kid knows the names of most of the things in my toolbox, which was handy when Jason was working upstairs and I was downstairs and we needed someone to run tools between us. It's amazing how much faster things go when you've got someone to find the flathead screwdriver for you :)

* Don't remember Easy Reader? Morgan Freeman does. Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s_PuAqRQLKA

Great, so now we need a second mortgage

Oh, dear god, we're going to have to order 4,000 photos from her photo session in Kentucky.

On the first pass through, I think #44 is my favorite, with #42 and 27 (and 23, and 6, and 4, and, oh, damn, every other picture) way up on the list, too.

What are your picks?

Friday fun

Friday was the observation class for Liza's dance school, and boy, was that a whole bunch of bad dancing to watch. Four-year-olds are cute, but most of them can't dance worth anything ... and mine was the worst of the bunch. Check out her patented "ignore the beat, and the choreography, and the direction I'm supposed to face" approach to dance ... the recital is going to be painful.

After class we took a friend to the paint-your-own-pottery place to celebrate Liza completing the green level in her Hooked on Phonics set. It cost about the same as having a mess of kids over for pizza, and we get a (really ugly) lasting reminder of how smart the kid is!


Remind me to post a picture of the little Rembrandt with her masterpiece once it's back from the kiln. I sat on my hands and let her do the whole thing by herself (except the final tracing of the crown so you could tell what that lumpy brown thing on the front is), and boy, is it going to make a fashion statement in our kitchen. That thing is going to look like a cat threw up on it. Oh, well - as long as she's happy with it, blah blah blah.

I'm going to be away from the computer for the next few days, so don't start calling mental institutions if you don't hear from me, okay?

Self-portrait, February 11, 2009

"That's me wearing a dress with a flower on the front."

Yeah, genius, there are ways to fix that

Liza has had a cold for the past few days (hence the new quote on the masthead), and she's grown progressively more clingy over time, even as her cold seems to be getting better. We've gone from "let's snuggle on the couch" every few hours, to "I WANT TO CUDDLE!!!!!!" screamed anytime I'm doing anything other than moving at top speed. Meals have been especially bad, because after listening to her whining for 10 minutes while I fix the food and watching her wolfing down whatever she deigns to eat off her own plate, I get about two minutes of peace to eat my own meal before she starts attempting to climb into my lap at the table.

I've been indulging her - she's been sick, after all - but I passed my limit on cuddle extortion about 3pm yesterday. This morning as we were cuddling on the couch for like the fourteenth time today, I got exasperated.

"Look, I like cuddling with you and everything, but can you tell me why you have to beg for cuddles 1500 times a day?"

"Um, um, um ... I'm cold."

"Yeah, well, it's 19 degrees outside, and you're running around the house in just a bikini top and a mermaid tail. Maybe we could cuddle less and you could put on more clothes?"

"Oh, okay." She climbs down off my lap and heads for her room.

When she comes back a few minutes later, she is wearing wool socks ... and a bikini top and a mermaid tail. sigh

-

Liza tells a story

"This is the sky, and this is the sun. This is the deck, and the grass. This is a little squirrel hopping along, and see this red stuff over there? That's the squirrel puke. And this brown thing is a butterfly flying along with the puke bucket, and the squirrel puke just swings into the puke bucket.

The End"

From the mouths of babes

The last few days Liza has been waking up around 5am and wanting to sleep with us, which is fine with me, but she totally hogs Jason's side of the bed so badly that he resorts to sleeping in HER bed, just to get a break from the flying elbows and knees.

Tonight as he was getting Liza in bed, Jason told her that he wanted her to stay in her bed and not come sleep with us tonight.

"I know I'm supposed to sleep in my bed, but sometimes my body just carries me in to your room anyway."

"Well, if it carries you in there tonight, I'm just going to pick you up and carry your body back to your bed."

"That's okay, Daddy. I like when you carry me."

Two weeks without school or dance class?

She was home from her last dance class for less than two hours before she decided that all of her toys were boring and the most fun thing in the world was to tie one of her stuffed animals to one of my stuffed animals (a giant ostrich - don't ask), stack some Playmobil people on the back of the ostrich and drag them in circles around our house so they could "surf on the lake." Now she is running around wearing nothing but a see-through housecoat (don't ask) and a pair of mittens, randomly yelling "IT'S SNOW WORLD, EVERYBODY!!!!!!"

I knew that letting her eat that candycane was a mistake.

Gonna be a long, long two weeks around here. So, playdate anyone?

What should I do?

My Christmas cards are home, Jason won't be home for dinner so I don't need to cook, and MY DAUGHTER IS TAKING A NAP FOR THE FIRST TIME IN WEEKS.

(cue celestial chorus)

Wii Fit, here I come!

And I might knit more socks, too (sigh)

Here's a heaping load of indignity for you, guys!

Liza tends to shed clothes during the day, leaving a trail of discarded socks and other items behind her throughout the day. And half of the time she refuses to wear the items again, preferring to get a new pair of socks or a different skirt out of her room instead of just putting on what's sitting right in front of her. One memorable day I cleaned up six pairs of socks ... from just the living room.

At any rate, when Liza showed up in my office without her Christmas-y headband, I wasn't too worried ... I figured I'd just trip on it later or have to pull it out of the vacuum in a few days. But then I went downstairs and found what she had done with it ...

That right there is the photo of a cat weathering a huge indignity with as much pride as she can muster with a huge red bow around her neck. How Liza managed to get Bella to hold still long enough to get this on, I have no idea. What that cat puts up with ... poor thing.

While I was taking photos of Bella, Zach was laughing his head off - did you know cats can smirk, too? - so it was only fair that he be next in line.

I think he looks pretty dapper, but Zach didn't agree.

"Oh, this is so embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? You haven't even seen the beginning of 'embarrassing,' boy."

"You aren't going to post this on the computer, are you? Because the squirrel already laughs at me enough as it is ..."

What to say, what to say?

Preparing for the big recital - note the official Ballet Bun and light makeup that (mostly) concealed where she and Penelope attempted to headbutt each other Friday night. Try not to notice the worried expression.

I had to pry her off of my leg so I could help distribute programs, and by the time she was supposed to perform I was only giving about 30% odds that she would actually make it on stage. She made it, though, as did everyone else in the class, and they all made it through the dance. As was to be expected from a class of 3- and 4-year-olds, it was pretty painful to watch, but at least now we've got it over with.

Here's most of it, should you be interested. Liza is easy to spot - she's the one on the left of the front row standing stock-still for most of the song**.

But hey, at least she didn't bolt!

And the Big Girl Ending - Ta-Dah!

I got so many inquiries about the legwarmers I made for the girls as Christmas presents, I may just have to start making them to sell. What do you think?

**I told Liza how proud I was of her performance, and I asked her what it was like to be on the stage. "I stood there," she said, and I asked her what she was thinking when she stood there. "I wanted to go jump off the stage." Actually, if you watch the video closely you can tell she was scanning the crowd looking for someone (us? cookies? Santa? who can tell?), and that it was taking every bit of her effort to keep her shit together. THAT'S why I'm proud, not because she managed a couple wrong-way twirls.

I've spent the past three years telling her that being brave doesn't mean you're never scared, it just means that when you're scared you go ahead and try it anyway. I guess it finally got through to her. Brava, baby girl.

Go to your room and stay there until I write a blog entry about how naughty you were

Apparently five minutes is too long to wait for cupcakes that have just come out of the oven and are 350 degrees and were specifically placed off-limits until they were cooler. I left the room for two minutes to pee and this is what I found when I got back.

Good thing this wasn't the pan of treats to take to school, or she'd be in her room for the rest of the evening.

Wait, what do I do now?

Today was the yearly clan gathering at Jason's aunt's house, and Liza was in rare form. She leapt out of the car and charged straight at Jason's uncle to give him a hug, and I think she stopped moving for about five minutes for the rest of the afternoon (and that was to eat some ice cream, so I'm not sure it counts). She played tag. She played football. She played cornhole. She threw leaves at her cousins. She played hide-and-seek. She went down to the dock to look at the fish. She watched her cousins climb trees, throw footballs, chase each other with rakes, and taunt the dog. She called out for Aunt Susan to come play with her approximately 453,000 times.

I, meanwhile, got to eat dinner while sitting at a table and having a conversation that didn't have to be shouted over a sniveling child. I helped clear the table without dragging along the weight of a child velcroed to my leg. I sat with other mothers and crocheted while we talked, for goodness sake.

She gave everyone at least two hugs and kisses before she would leave today, and I think she would have smuggled a couple cousins home with her if she hadn't been too tired to think of it.

Really, really not used to this.

Really, really glad we've finally gotten here.

Some days the extra effort just isn't worth it

I make a smiley-faced gingerbread man shaped peanut butter and Nutella sandwich, and she makes it a double amputee and declares she's done.

Bah. Humbug.

Grace

I read this post last week, and as much as I hate to admit it, I could totally relate. There are days when I am the greatest mother on the planet, and days when I am lucky to get through the day without taking a swig or a swing at anyone.

But you know what helps? Knowing that I'm not alone. Knowing that there are at least 24 other people in the world who read that post and identified with it enough to leave a comment for her.

Know what else helps? Talking with the mothers of my daughter's dance classmates, trading horror stories about what each has been up to (or NOT up to), a one-upsmanship contest you don't really want to win. The ones with slightly older kids give me a preview of the joy and hell that's yet to come, and the ones with slightly younger kids reassure me that every kid in the world becomes evil at approximately the same ages. This is really the first time I've had the chance to do this - after three and a half years I finally have a kid who happily trots through the door to a class and lets me sit outside and knit for 55 minutes straight while yapping with other moms. Let's hear it for commiseration!

******

Last night my Simple Abundance meditation was about "grace." There's a lot tied up in that word, but the way I understood it for me was the ability to make it through the day with the fewest unhappy moments. Not always getting everything I want when I want, and being okay with that. Not exactly compromising, just being willing to be flexible.

On my good days, that's exactly the kind of parent I am. Kid doesn't want to get dressed? Not a problem, stay in your pajamas for an extra five minutes, then race me upstairs and we'll see who can get dressed fastest. Work on the computer only when she's asleep or at school, pay attention when she asks for it as many times as she asks for it, set aside the housework or the bills or the Lazy Mama stuff until she's entertaining herself. Accept every twist and turn of the day with grace and graciousness. Bend over backwards to work around the NO! and the whines and whatever other ugly habits she has this week. Get everyone to go on a hike to look at fall leaves and experience not one minute of whining from anyone of any age.

On the bad days, well, it would really be best if I had a babysitter. Yell at the kid when she won't get dressed (or eat, or brush her teeth, or let me comb her hair, or put on her shoes). Forget cajoling - the groceries aren't going to buy themselves and I am sick of asking her over and over to get out to the car. No, I will not wipe her bottom one more time, she's almost four and can do it perfectly well herself. The cat hair has reached crisis levels, the credit card company is going to get grumpy with us if I don't pay bills soon, and by god I have packages that have to get in the mail TODAY, so by god she'd better just sit there and watch another Sesame Street while I get some stuff done. Fume and complain and moan when things don't go as planned. Develop stress headache and barricade self in sewing room after dinner, hoping funk will be solved by application of fabric sizing fumes from my stash. By her bedtime she's lost all privileges, so no books or computer or songs before bed, thanks to her lack of cooperation and my unwillingness to jolly her along throughout the day.

Luckily, I'm not at the bad end of the spectrum more than one or two days a month, and I've learned how to recognize the symptoms and head off the worst of it before ill-advised things leave my mouth. And Liza has learned that I'm very serious when I tell her that the day is going to go very badly for her if she doesn't start doing what I tell her to do.

Starting today, I'm making a conscious effort to live my life with more grace. I want to be the fun, flexible mom, not the shrill harpy who yells to have everything her way. I have written "GRACE" on my wrist, in the place I've used for a reminder board since I was in elementary school and needed to remember to bring in homework or gym shorts or whatever. Hopefully, seeing it there will help bring me back to the center when I start to get all crabby.

We'll see.





In the meantime, this is what my floating place looks like - peaceful and serene and beautiful and empty.

And there's an old friend there, too.

That's a new one

Because I thought the kid might like to be able to spell more than four letters of her own name ...

"Okay, see these words I wrote? They say "Elizabeth Virginia Woods." Now, what is your nickname? What do we normally call you?"

"Elizabeth Virginia Woods!"

"No, I mean, what do I call you when I tell you I love you?"

"Sweet Pootie!"

I would like to go on record that I have never, not once, called her that, and neither has Jason. I've called her lots of other things, both printable and not, but that's not one of them.

Where she gets this stuff, I'll never know.

(and yes, this is an obligatory NaBloPoMo "I have to post even when I have nothing to say" post, probably the first of many this month)

Mobile Dandelion Eradication and Glossolalia Transmitting Unit

Or, my daughter can now ride her Big Wheel all the way around our (huge) block, but only if she stops every two houses to pick weeds, and if she croons nonsensically at the top of her lungs while she pedals at top speed in between weed stops.

We're quite the sight, especially since we haven't removed the annoying clicker from the Big Wheel, so not only does it rumble along, it clicks loudly enough that you can't hold a conversation within 15 feet of her.

Gonna make us the most popular family on the block, that Big Wheel.

*****
Glossolalia = speaking in tongues

Dumbing things down

One of the things I enjoy about Liza is that she wants to know everything, in detail, and she's patient enough to sit through the explanations. It's also sort of maddening when I have to tell her for the 14th time in a week why the road sign at Fitch and Cook is laying sideways next to the road, but at least I'm getting good at that one.

The past few days I've been trying to explain to her about the election, what it is and what it means. Trying to reduce national politics to a level a 3-year-old can understand is, um, interesting. Add to that the fact that Liza has been on a kick where she wants us to describe the appearance of every single person we mention in a conversation, and you end up with a pretty interesting explanation. And when you add in this week's tic - "Tell me more!" - and my relative lack of knowledge about the candidates, and it gets downright strange.

"Well, there are two guys who want to be president, and every grown-up in the country gets to help pick which one gets the job. Each of them believes the government should do different things, so we're supposed to vote for the person whose ideas are closest to what we believe. One of the guys is named John McCain, and he's got light skin and white hair, and he looks kind of old. The other guy is named Barack Obama, and he's got dark skin and short dark hair, and he looks kind of young."

"Tell me more!"

"Um .... Oh, and Obama's ears stick out kinda funny, too."

"Which one is going to win?"

"We won't know until after the election. Heck, we may not even know then."

This morning we spent half an hour looking at election stuff online - she wanted to see pictures of the candidates, and then we looked at pictures of their wives ("Michelle has a pretty blue dress!"), and shots from the debates, and way too many pictures of Joe the Plumber. We looked at a chart that showed trends in predicted election results over the past few months, and we talked about how one line was sort of going up and one was sort of going down, and the higher the line was the more likely that person was to win.

How much of this she understands, I don't know. She asks relatively intelligent questions about what we talk about, so I have to think she's getting at least part of it. I think mainly she's just pissed that she has to miss school tomorrow because of the election ... can't let democracy get in the way of Play-Doh and snacktime, you know.

Weather update

So after a few too many days of the weather looking like this...

(Yes, that's snow. It always snows before Halloween, at least in Cleveland.)

... the weather broke today and it was in the upper 40s, which meant that our neighbors were raking leaves in their sweatshirts and the kids were running around in shirtsleeves. We're all wackos around here.

Especially me, since my response to the "warm" sunny weather was to ... clean the basement. Yeah, that makes sense.

Well, actually it kinda does, because I was planning to clear as much space as I could so that Liza could have a small indoor playground once the weather turns nasty for good. We've got the little plastic slide, and I think I should be able to locate the rafters in the ceiling of the basement so I can put in anchors for a swing or trapeze. It will be tight, but I think it will work. Heck, by February she'll be so desperate that anything will be acceptable, so my standards aren't high.

Anyway, after a solid hour of trying to clean out the Black Hole Closet Under The Basement Stairs, I was trying to keep Liza entertained and out of trouble. Look, it's Mommy's wedding dress! Let's open the box to make sure the mice didn't get into it! Look, it's Mommy's trombone! Let's open it so you can take a look at it! Heck, let's take a break and play for a while, shall we?

I'm fairly certain that it hasn't been out of it's case since we moved ... to Kentucky ... in 2003. Yes, I know I suck. It was fun to haul it out for a while, though, and Liza was duly impressed.

You can see where this is going, right?

You should have seen the look on her face (and mine, too, probably) when she managed to produce a tone on the first try. It's not like it's hard or anything, but come on, she's 3 1/2 years old. The mouthpiece takes up half of her face, for god's sake!

I'm not claiming she's a prodigy or anything - sort of sounded like a hippo in heat, to be honest with you.

But come on, how cute is that? My little Bone Babe in Training ...

awwww

10:30am

My daughter is sitting downstairs by the front door, wrapped birthday present in hand, waiting to go to her first-ever birthday party that's just for the kids. She's so excited she's vibrating.

Only problem?

The party doesn't start until 12:15.

If anyone hears some screaming from NE Ohio around 2:30, that'll be the sugar rush letdown from the party. It's gonna be an ugly, ugly afternoon.