Sand, sun, hotdogs, new underwear

Four days on the Cape: that was my deal. A little family vacation, nothing fancy and nothing requiring plane travel. No long drives (insert story here of childhood suffering on 1,000 mile journeys in my parents' Volkswagon Dasher) and only kid-friendly activities. We did well, really. About as well as could be expected. We remembered the kids ibuprofin this time! But we forgot... all of Scott's underwear. Had to be something, didn't it?

Provincetown being Provincetown, there are many options if you find yourself shopping for men's underwear, but those options were... not exactly what Scott typically wears, if you see what I mean. We thought about our dilemna as we ate hot dogs at John's Foot Long on the pier, and then we decided to drive to TJ Max in Orleans. Yep: we drove all the way down the Cape and went to TJ Max. And it wasn't that bad. Audrey got new flip-flops.

We had some great time at the beach, some meals that we got to eat before Calvin had to be removed from the restaurant, and no one got sick. I'm calling it a success. And I discovered a certain strange new optimism in myself when it came to thinking up stuff to do with the kids. I found that I could summon up a wild, almost reckless enthusiasm for kid activities. Counting trees. Collecting bugs. Weaving scarves out of seaweed. Anything!! Just get us to bedtime. Wear them out. Give them what they want. We're not just killing time here, we are murdering it.

Oh, and here's another great "learn" from our trip as a friend of mine likes to say: humans can safely eat sand. You can absolutely eat sand; Calvin ate BUCKETS of it and he's fine. So just go ahead if you've ever wanted to try a spoonful.

Reading, chalking and looking for trucks with Gramma Jean

We're all about Gramma, of course, but Dad coming home from his trip is also headlining tonight. And Gramma Jean is willing to stay outside and supervise chalking!

Is that the mail truck? Wait... I think it's Fed Ex. No! Call the papers! It's the men in brown! UPS! Gramma, if the street sweeper drives by after this I'll be so psyched I'm going to, like, need a diaper change. This is just incredible.

Gramma, I have to tell you that although the ninth and tenth readings today of The Big Orange Splot really had energy, this eleventh reading is taking it to a whole new level for me. You are totally making it your OWN! Love it, love it.

Audrey and Margaret create another garden together

Just as they did last May, Audrey and her Aunt Margaret planted a garden out on our big rambling 10 x 10 foot estate complete with raised bed. Margaret, Larry and Ruth came through Boston during the time of Mom's visit. This year, they were on their way back from Ruth's college graduation which I also had the distinct pleasure to attend. (Marlboro College graduated 64 this year. At a ceremony that size, you can't help but feel you know everyone personally by the end.) Back in Arlington, Margaret helped Audrey put in a few lettuce starts, as well as some spinach, chard and herbs. Seeds have been planted in pots, and Audrey checks them carefully each time we're in the driveway for signs of progress.

They were at their gardening work for about two and a half hours, in steady, drizzling rain and there seemed to be no flagging of energy -- impressive for a three year old, and an adult spending that much time in the rain with said three year old. I watched appreciatively from the kitchen window, glad that they had this time together and happy to see that Scott's raised bed-- held together by over a 100 screws and buckets of engineer sweat, our very own piece of Shaker furniture left to "cure" in the yard-- is now full of edible plants.

I hereby solemnly swear that these plants will get the water and attention they need.

Oh, the conference swag!

What do Kate Spade and Northrup Grumman have in common? Absolutely positively nothing except that both companies give away BAGS to attendees at events that you and I will never be invited to. But I’ve got a connection, and a whole lotta swanky Tyvek totes from defense contractors to carry my Whole Foods purchases (DON'T BLINK or you'll miss the locally-made goat cheeses!). Scott just came home with a suitcase full of conference swag and it’s all very glam, in a military-industrial-complex sort of way.

While you won’t find a bottle of Calvin Klein’s latest scent in your grey-black camouflaged tote from NG, you might get a cool little wind-up robot, or a rubber duck in snorkel-gear (Navy SEAL duck? No clue). Or a coy little camo cosmetics bag that will allow you to freshen up on the go without giving up your location (in the Stop ‘N Shop parking lot).

Leafing through the magazines that came with all this kit, I couldn’t help noticing how compelling-- how riveting-- the language is in advertisements for tanks and M-16 scope mounts and robotic arms. I think the makers of baby and kid gear could take some lessons. Seriously: throw down some vocab that will speak to the parents of small children. Make me believe that my very survival depends on your product. I give you just a few example from the spring issue of Defense Standard:

Mission Assurance Delivered. I don’t know where we’re going or why, but I will buy anything if you tell me that we’re on a Mission, and that Assurance is going to be Delivered. Just saying that makes me feel like things are under control.

They Don’t See Us. But We See Them. Protection Without Detection. This isn’t baby monitoring; this is full-on infant surveillance. Plug in this sucker and you will not only be able to see and hear your child, you will also be able to plot his next move.

Enhanced Situational Awareness. Now available in fingertip-sized brain implant. What every mother of a preschooler on the playground needs.

Power... Speed...Agility...Stability...Protection...Endurance... OMG, I would totally buy that diaper bag!!!!

A surprise nap for Audrey, and Calvin spent the day trying to self-destruct

Today included the unexpected sweetness of sharing a nap on the couch with Audrey. She hasn't napped in almost two years but this afternoon, when Calvin was finally down for his nap, I felt a wave of fatigue hit me and I told Audrey I simply had to lie down on the couch for a few minutes and "rest my eyes." After trying to peel my eyelids back for a minute she asked if she could cuddle with me and-- surprise of all surprises!!-- promptly fell asleep. After a short snooze, nose to nose with Audrey, I was able to extricate myself and worked for about an hour while BOTH of my children slept. What peace! It'll never happen again!

And Calvin. He has no fear of falling, no respect for gravity, his actions are not informed by a sense of caution at all. I don't even know how to communicate with such a being-- my whole life is about managing anxiety. Today he fell on his face or the top of his head no fewer than four times, and attempted a jump from the top of a playground structure that prompted me to stuff him under my arm and say, "That's it! We're leaving! Everybody back to the stroller. I'm done."

Picture me at the top of the slide, smiling and cooing, waiting to assist Calvin on a safe trip down. He runs up the stairs. He runs toward the top of the slide. He runs-- still standing!! not slowing down at all!!-- down the twisty slide. His neck is not broken but if you think this is helping me put it all in perspective than you must not have met me. I'm not sure we're ever going to the playground again. I've cast myself forward to Calvin's first driving lesson and our explanation-- as no sense of self-preservation will lead him to this conclusion automatically-- that it is customary to slow down when taking a corner.

In the bathtub tonight I was still washing out bits of mulch that got pushed up into his nostrils when he ran out the backdoor, straight off the end of the porch and into the flower beds. Then a few seconds later smacked his face on the flagstone patio. This was after jumping off the couch and landing on the crown of his head while I tried to talk an RCN technician (the combination of screaming on my end and heavily-accented English on his made the conversation tense for everyone).

But we're doing all right. Bookending all these kamakaze maneuvers, the first thing Calvin did upon waking and the last thing he did before bed was to give Audrey a kiss.

Duh Boids: Calvin works on his English

"More. Now. Again." (accompanied by sign of index finger jabbing into palm. to indicate food, music, books, anything)

"Cracker!" (Scott said this week that although man cannot live by bread alone, Calvin is giving it a try.)

"Ah-ME!" (mine, I want some, give me that, let me do it)

"Help me! Help me!" (whenever he's being pulled off or out of or away from something)

"Kitty" (any object of desire but especially his blanket. We trace this to Audrey's treasured "kitty." Calvin has made it an all-purpose term of endearment.)

"TWO!" (more than one. many. the desired quantity.)

Cat (dog or cat, skunk or squirrel)

Hati (elephant. Calvin speaks Hindi!)

"Boid." (self-explanatory)

And now for mother's self-congratulatory favorites:

"DANK-oo, Mama."

"Peeeesh."

And winner for all around Mommy-blogger, gosh-darned-if-it-didn't-make-you-gag adorable:

I said to him this morning, "Yes, exactly!" when he brought me his two shoes to put on, and he smiled and said, "Yeah! A-wacky!"

I promptly died of delight.

Back to work? We're on it.

For the past several weeks I’ve been on a mission to “rebalance” as we say and add significantly more writing and paid work to my life, while remaining the primary care-giver in our household. Not surprisingly, I’ve found this a challenge and I’ve got a few things to say. Ready? Here we go:

I take issue with the idea, supported by a surprising number of people, that it’s possible to work and take care of small children simultaneously. My guess is that the people who say this have either a) never worked or b) never taken care of a small child. Yes, you can try to work while your children wail and do everything in their power to get your attention (Calvin finds that biting the inside of my thigh is particularly effective) but I challenge you to do anything worthwhile-- writing, for example-- under such conditions. Distracted does not begin to describe it.

And still some will argue that children can be taught to sit contentedly, reading or teaching themselves multiplication tables while the parent works. To be fair, these people are often the mothers of newborns so they have, technically, taken care of a small child. One who sleeps 90% of the day and can’t rise to a sitting position much less climb to the top of a bookcase. I find that these women tend to have a tenacious grip on their notions of work-life balance. They are like kayakers paddling down a placid river, afraid that the great roaring they hear around the bend might be a bit more of a drop than they expected.

It’s Niagra Falls, but don’t try to tell them that.

Soon, they too will understand why recordings of crying babies have been used as an interrogation tactic on political prisoners. There is a part of our brain whose biological function is to react to the sound of an unhappy child. Numbing that part of your psyche is possible but it comes at a price. As far as your state of mind, the overall quality of your thoughts, you are like a person who is trying to speak after receiving a shot of novocaine. You may be intelligible, but the drool and rubbery flapping of your lips will detract from your air of professionalism.

Which is all to say, I have come to the decision that we’re going to put both kids in part-time care, while I build up more work and that this is a good thing for them and for me. It ain’t cheap. But neither is the alternative, if you think about it in terms of the hourly cost of psychotherapy. I love love love LOVE my children and am prepared to lie down in front of enemy tanks or fist-fight with grizzly bears to protect them-- not to get histrionic on you-- but I have faith that this is the best plan for us all. I want them to have the best of me, when I'm with them and I can't stretch that kind of single focus over the whole week without getting a bit brittle.

Check back with me in a few weeks and I'll report on how UNBELIEVABLY successful I am at transforming the balance of work and mothering! Or whatever.