Steel Magnolias + Banana Clip = Not Good

Dearest Sisero -
Something tragic happened today: I turned into a cliche from the 80's. The events I'm about to describe to you were propelled by a night of shoddy sleep (surprise surprise), lack of caffeine (surprise surprise #2) and two little boys playing nicely enough by themselves (what! a non-sarcastic surprise!) so that the proper amount of time was available for this unfortunate incident to occur. Let me set the stage: I'm in my pj's and sitting on the couch - mistake #1 - when I should've done what I normally do, and changed into "day" clothing before leaving my bedroom. Mistake #2 - my unruly bedhead should've been similarly tended to with a few hair pins before I exited the boudoir for the day. Unfortunately, due to the aforementioned fatigue, I'm sloppily plopped down on the couch, and can't get up. So the boys are playing, and I'm a zombie. Now fast forward 20 minutes, when I suddenly catch myself SNIFFLING and wiping away TEARS. I reach for a tissue when apparently the coffee I'd been slowly sipping kicks in, and I'm like "OMG, why am I crying right now?!" Oh, I'll tell you why I was crying: I had apparently been watching STEEL MAGNOLIAS - yes, that self-proclaimed tear-jerker made in 1989 about a group of "sassy" southern women working together in a beauty salon, that I'd never seen because I was like 12 when it came out - and Julia Roberts had died from something super sad (and vaguely unrealistic) while tending to her young son and sporting a HORRIFIC short hair style, and Sally Field who was the mom was sitting at her bed-side holding her hand and doing the whole I may be sad, but you best believe I'm gonna be STRONG thing. Oh, and while this drama was unfolding on the tv (say it with a southern drawl: awn tha teyvey), I had somehow managed to get my hands on one of those hair clip/claw things that are truly one step away from a banana clip, and lazily pulled back 78% of my untamed morning bedhead. So I'm in my pj's, with an unflattering amount of unruly hair pulled back into a clip and silently weeping over something that happened to Julia Roberts' poorly-acted character. But mama, ah WANTed to have a baybay - don't be sad feh me, mama. I don't even know what to say.  It really goes to show that slippery slopes do exist, and not to leave the bedroom without changing into something less comfortable and infinitely more respectable. I should probably also get rid of the Encore channel before Fried Green Tomatoes comes on in the middle of the day, and I get runny-mascara-face and eat a box of bon-bons to console myself over something Kathy Bates had to endure. You know the bon-bons I'm talking about too - the ones from Trader Joe's with the brownie/ice-cream combo. Am I right, or am I right?? As a side note: Dolly Parton was also in the movie and she looked exactly the same as she always has - in her mid 40's. Oh and Shirley McClain was the super original character, "rebellious mean old coot who's always in a bad mood but really has a heart of gold"... totally believable.
Now, let's talk about your witnessing the "young" people going out at all unholy hours of the night - aka: AFTER 9:00 PM. Why are they doing this?! And why is it somehow I feel like Forever 21 and Sex and the City are heavily to blame? The former because it provides such reasonably priced "going out" clothes that it's difficult to resist its siren call and the latter because it managed to taint the minds of millions of American females into believing that drinking heavily, spending all your money on shoes you can't (and NEVER WILL) afford and being carelessly promiscuous well into your 40's can only lead to living happily ever after with a "hot" rich guy who will leave his beautiful young wife for you. (Seriously - if a guy is leaving Bridget Moinahan, it's not gonna be for SJP, but possibly for Giselle. ie: REAL LIFE.) So when you were driving home from the late movie, driving past the trendy apple-tini bars, did you find yourself fighting the temptation to roll down the window and yell something? Not advice mind you, or even reprimand. Just something ridiculous because if you're gonna yell out the car window at someone, might as well make it fun and with a message that is more or less totally difficult to comprehend. Classy, Sis... always classy.
As a sidenote, I really appreciate that you believe leaving horse's heads for people as "warnings" is totally acceptable. Reason #12569 why I miss you so much.
Please kiss that late-movie-going, permanent-tutu-sporting niecykins of mine.
Love you -
Ava

Kids have it good.

Dearest Sissyroo,

How is it possible for pancakes to ever be a forced food? I just can’t understand this. Hmmm, you know those books about how to sneak veggies into foods like brownies, etc...you should write one on how you can sneak high fructose corn syrup into your child’s diet by playing to their mind, rather than their bellies. I’m seriously without words, and feeling mostly...JEALOUS. Why isn’t someone trying to force me to eat pancakes? Instead of shooting me the “should you really eat that?” judgement eyes? Why do kids have it so good? I completely relate to feeling your child is playing soviet-style mind games, for instance -how can Sofie absolutely LOVE a food one day, and the next time completely refuse it via the open-mouth, let food slowly fall out method, whilst giving you the stink-eye? Hey kid! You loved it last time? You think I’m making this up? You don’t believe me? and don’t even get me started on their fighting for freedom while we’re painstakingly trying to change their diapers. I get no benefit from this! It’s only for you! Only for you! Ladies, am I right? If I wanted to be changing diapers I would have married an elderly billionaire, what? Ladies? Am. I. Right? Talking about crazy baby stuff just makes me sound like a bad female comic, talking about how hard it is to meet men.

On another note, Dean and I went to a late movie last night with Sofia, who vary graciously slept though out the entire film. It was touch and go at first, but she decided not to fight the time, and slept in her stroller. But Dean really had to rock her during the previews...standing maybe 10 feet away. So basically I was sitting by myself the entire time everyone was looking for a seat, and I cannot tell you how many “pity” looks I got, and people asking me, quite a bit, if the seat next to me was available. Now we were not sitting in an actual row, but in the 2 bucket-seats all the way to the side, where a wheelchair or stroller could sit alongside. So...suffice it to say, the people who were wanting to sit next to me were also ALONE...which made me not only feel super embarrassed that people all over probably thought I had gone to a movie by myself, but then made me feel super sad for the people who wanted to sit next to me. I don’t know if this was all hormonal or not, but seriously I was on the verge of tears, thinking of those poor older men, probably had recently lost their wives to cancer, decided they needed to get out of the memory-stained house, and maybe just escape their sadness with a movie...anyway, the moral of this story is... well, we got home like close to midnight, and saw a bunch of “couples” and young singles, just LEAVING TO GO OUT. I know that arriving some place at midnight, not too long ago, did not seem like a crazy idea, but now, honestly seems like something only the criminally-insane would do. Why? Why would anyone go out that late? and what for? What could possibly be worth more than sleep? and whatever “fun” you might be having, can always be interrupted by gunfire -after all this is Philly and worrying about senseless violence is what mom’s do. So heed my words, young, business professionals. Go home. Go to sleep. And while you’re at it, remember the next time you take an airplane ride to enjoy the peace and quite of being able to read, nap, listen to music, etc, because once you have kids, the gig is up. Never again, at least not for a loooong time. Am I right ladies? those airplanes, right? and the small seats? Whose with me?

Okay, give the professor and jock a big kiss from Auntie.

xoxo,

Sara

Little Professor: Octagon Pancakes

Dearest Sisee -
I can't decide how I feel about your recent interaction with too-supportive-over-share park mommy. What a disappointment to meet a potential mommy friend (or was she? Three kids?... I'm guessing not.) only to discover she is the type to ramble almost nonsensically about the awesomness of her offspring. Bo-o-o-o-o-oring. Now before I totally judge her, I have to admit I'm a little torn. On one hand: Seriously?! She yelled "MY DAUGHTER'S A HEALER!" from across the playground? Did you yell back "DON'T CARE! JUST GLAD SHE'S KEEPING MY DAUGHTER AMUSED SO I CAN TEXT!" Can you imagine?! Maybe follow up with a "MY DAUGHTER LOOKS AMAZING IN NAVY & WHITE STRIPED-TOPS!" Now, on the other hand: I'm afraid I've caught myself extolling the virtues of my own children to perfect strangers once or twice - most recently at Munchkin Playland, where I targeted the mom of a much more... "brave" shall we say... boy, who was kind of rough-playing NEAR Evan. "Evan's REALLY smart and VERY gentle," I self-importantly shared. "He's starting to READ. Words. Yeah, he's not even three and he's an authentic SCHOLAR." The last part because I have to attribute some ridiculous, inappropriate adjective that in no way applies to a person under 12 (aka: PURE and HEALER) in order to really drive my point home. I didn't really say "scholar" but probably could've kept the whole sentence to myself. I'm sure she was thinking Yeah, my kid can beat up your kid. (And I was thinking, And if he tries, I'll beat YOU up. And you know I can.) Anyway, the whole thing was very "Alpha Mom" but that's a topic for another letter. So now that I've reflected, I think maybe it's better to assume that other moms, 9 outta 10, do. not. care. and keep your over-share to yourself. Of course, Sofi is VERY APPARENTLY and undeniably sweet, funny, loving, beautiful, stylish and dare I say a "pure healer" so you wouldn't even need to wax poetic on something so obvious. No bias. God I love that little girl so much.
Now on to my latest issue: getting Evan to eat something - ANYTHING! - by catering to his love of all things nerdy. Aka: Pancake shapes. Yes, the child has to be coerced into eating pancakes. PANCAKES! As in, that delicious carby food that one coats heavily in butter and syrup. My latest semi-successful ploy, asking Evan if he'd like some pancake "shapes" has sorta backfired, as the traditional square, circle, triangle that are easy to cut out, have now evolved into... get this: TRAPEZOID. OCTAGON. PENTAGON. CRESCENT. Seriously?! I have to painstakingly cut an octagon out of a pancake to lure my son into eating it?! Yes. Yes, I do. Sometimes Sis, I think he's just messing with me, and maybe I'm not smart enough to figure it out. Tomorrow, I'm sure he'll ask me to build him a model mid-century modern house out of tortillas and string cheese. And I'll straight-up do it, cuz Ava don't back down from design challenges... what! Well, better go... Alec is holding on to his toy shelf, grunting, so I think something may be up...
Miss you Sisero - kisses galore to my niecy-kins.
Ava

Interactions: general

Dearest Sissy, 

I couldn’t relate more. Dean and I have fallen victim many, many times to the “cute” and “adorable” idea of having Sofie in bed with us. Akin to communism, the theory seems very reasonable and utopian, but the execution is always riddled with flaws. The capital I or as I like to say, “H” (which frankly makes much more sense, since the top & bottom of the bed should be the perspective taken) is a classic move, designed, I believe, to teach you a valuable lesson on why hierarchy is necessary in the parent-child relationship. Once those boundaries are blurred, the child will immediately stick their foot in your ribs (the proverbial “I do what I want” -Maury Povich style), however subconsciously, at precisely the moment you cycle into your much needed deep sleep. Okay, well maybe all that is an exaggeration, but seriously, it’s the worst night sleep and it quickly reminds you it is neither “cute” nor “adorable.” Sofie also likes to toss & turn, whilst sharing your pillow...so occasionally, I’d experience a giant baby-head dropping (from sitting position) on the side of my forehead. It’s like getting sucker-punched repeatedly. Traumatic really. 

So here on the East coast, I’ve noticed some interesting things about people’s reactions to Sofie... I’m not sure if it’s my particular neighborhood, or the age demographic, or what, but men out here, seem much more friendlier to Sofie than women. In general, more men smile, say hi, notice, & interact when I take walks with her than women. Most women, just turn away or avoid eye-contact...and this is including other parents. The fathers are friendlier and more engaging. I just think the whole thing is strange, I guess I’ve always loved children and I loved seeing babies, so I just don’t understand how anyone can look at a baby, stare, and look away. It’s not natural. It’s also cold & unfeeling...and I’ll KILL’EM. You dare look at my daughter and not smile??? I’ll kill somebody. Sorry, I had a point in there somewhere, but now have lost it in the blind rage created from presumed snubs...now don’t get me wrong, although I am a fierce defender of Sofia’s charm, wit, smarts & beauty, I do try hard not to impose my superior feelings onto others...which I feel oft’ not do the same in return. Here is an example: at a park recently, another mom, with 3 children was tending to her younger ones, while her older (~3 yr old) was off playing around and approached Sofie. She was a sweet little girl, named after a makeup company...but that is besides the point. Needless to say, the young girl was very gentle with Sofie & her disposition was quite agreeable. So, I complimented her mother on what a good-natured child she had ~which then led to what felt like an ETERNITY of examples of other considerate and compassionate moments she had witnessed of her child. I listened patiently and congratulated her on those proud moments...the whole time thinking: a) Do I bore people to death in that way? b) as Sofia’s #1 fan, should I now drum up 50+ examples of my daughter’s sweet-tempered personality, just to level the playing field? c) How do I get out of this conversation?

But seriously people! Take a compliment, and say, “thank you!” or even, if you want, say something nice about the other person’s kid...but pleaaaase, whatever you do, do not respond with a “yesss, she is very PURE. I have kept her spirit PURE, and I think she will be a teacher or a leader of others, etc, etc.” Maybe 10 minutes later, from across the park, after seeing her daughter sitting with Sofia on the play structure, she yelled, “I think she’s a HEALER, she heals relationships!” Oh. My. G. Too much! Too much! Every parent has the right to have self-important, grandiose, love and adoration for their children...but for heaven’s sake! there is a time and place, specifically grandparents/relatives, etc, where those thoughts can and should be shared at length. 

Oh Sissy! I miss you deeply and am happy Spring is approaching. Warmer weather always helps heal the winter humdrums (okay, got me! just wanted to use the word humdrum) Kiss the handsome boys for me and forgive me for gifting you the death trap that is a toddler grand piano. Who knew?

Love,

Sisee Sara

The Price of Cuddles

Dearest Sisee -
I'm tired. Not "...but what else is new, it won't stop raining in Portland, and it's depressing" tired but actual, didn't-sleep-well tired. And it's because Brett and I have been so deprived of anything resembling affection from our beloved Evan his entire life, that now that he's at an age where he's starting to mercifully dole out some love, we take it in whatever form we can get it - even if it means allowing him to jump into bed with us at 3:00 AM... and "cuddle." Long story short: the kid's a bed hog. You'd think sleeping on a 2' x 4' mattress his entire life would mean he'd stay in one position when given the luxury of being sandwiched between mom and dad in a queen-sized bed. But no. Something propels him - albeit subconsciously - to slowly turn in small degrees, on a circular axis, until he is perpendicular to us. Basically, he's trying to form a capital letter I. and as we've discussed before, at that unholy hour of the night, no parent has the energy required to completely break the sleep cycle, and take the not-so-wee babe back to bed. What should I do? I lay there doing a sad equation of sorts in my head, as the little elbow jabs me in the neck: the square root of 2 hours sleep lost + [irritated mommy next day / feeding boys mac n' cheese for every. single. meal.] = irritated mommy next day/ {3[boxes of puzzle pieces on the ground] - why am I doing math? I'M TIRED. Maybe Brett will take him to bed...} Help me.
So how are things in Philly?
Love and miss you -
Sis