Taking it to the next level

The girls are now 2 1/2 and 4 1/2, and while this may seem obvious to you, I hadn't really grasped what their ages signify for us until very recently. Because I've been operating in my typical parent-blind-to-the-obvious mode, I have just now realized: Our kids aren't little anymore.

I know, they are still young kids, but they're changing so quickly right now. They're both in preschool and becoming increasingly independent at home and away from home. Hallelujah! I thought this day would never come -- so much so, that it took me by surprise on New Year's weekend when we visited some friends out-of-state.

Our friends' kids are 6 and 3, ideal playmate age. We were looking forward to all being together for the weekend and giving the kids a chance to run around and have fun. The kids had a fantastic time together. At least, I assume they did, because I hardly saw the girls the entire time we were there. All four kids played together, initiated games, and just generally had fun. This was totally new to me: My kids know how to play together and with others, without the involvement of adults!

When Jellybean was born, I felt like I was going to be the mother of an infant forever. It's difficult to fathom what lies ahead and how quickly it comes (especially when you're sleep-deprived). She was still pretty little when Peanut was born, so I didn't feel like I "graduated" to the next level since I had a new infant to care for.

But now that there are no more babies coming, I get to reap the rewards of moving on up the proverbial parenting ladder. I love having two preschoolers, and I'm savoring it. I'm also learning how to anticipate the next phase and its rewards. Next stop, later this year: entering "real" school.

Face value

Peanut is 2 1/2 now and, among other recently acquired talents, knows how to speak her mind. She has begun to articulate ideas and thoughts that address the big picture of life -- not just toys and food and silliness. As with every child when they reach this point, what she has to say is pretty interesting.

She started preschool a couple weeks ago, and I have never seen a child more ready for preschool. It is as if this is where she has belonged her whole little life. She loves it beyond words.

The other day, she was talking to me about one of her teachers, whom she has liked since we've been taking Jellybean to preschool. She was telling me a story about something Miss Amy (not her real name) likes to say. Then, she paused for a moment, looked me in the eye, and with more innocence than I thought any single person could conjure, she said, "Miss Amy has a dark face."

I was at the same time surprised, offended and endeared. Miss Amy is a person of color, and we had never discussed that previously. As I was taking mental inventory of how to respond, Peanut continued.

"[Other teachers] Miss Jane, Miss Kathy and Miss Diane have light faces. You and Jellybean and me have light faces. But Miss Amy has a dark face."

She was clearly very proud of her analysis. She awaited my response, sweet-faced and genuine. I could go no other way than the honest route. "You're right, Peanut. Some people have dark faces, and some people have light faces. But we're all the same kind of people."

All I could think after that was how I wished it could just be that simple. Because of so much history and wrongdoing, we as a society (and a world, in many ways), can't just notice someone's color and move on. Maybe we should take a cue from the 2-year-olds and start looking at the world as it is now -- pack away our judgments and walk forward, knowing what we know but not using it.

Say you, say me

Do you ever overhear a parent say something completely inane? And you wonder what exactly they're trying to accomplish? I said one of those very things in the grocery store today to Peanut: "If you take off your shoes one more time, I'm going to take them away."

Think about that for a second. Wouldn't you think that was exactly what Peanut wanted? To not have her shoes, because she was taking them off? Even as I said it, I thought, "That sounds really stupid." Believe it or not, it was exactly the threat she needed.

We were finishing up a longer-than-usual grocery trip. I knew I had a lot to buy, but this particular store always has lots of samples to get her (well, me) through all the aisles. So I thought it wouldn't be a problem. But I was mistaken. Peanut has become very crafty with her rebellions lately, and today was no exception.

The entire time we were in line at the checkout, placing item after item on the conveyor, watching the cashier zap each one, paying and signing the credit slip, Peanut was getting increasingly antsy. So, each time I turned my back to do something like get out my credit card, she took off her Crocs and threw them on the floor.

She accomplished the Croc removal twice before I was done paying for the groceries. The third time was just as I was getting ready to wheel the overburdened cart out to the parking lot. I picked up the Crocs from the floor and then uttered my seemingly nonsensical threat: "If you take off your shoes one more time, I'm going to take them away."

Her response? "Noooooo, I want my shoes!" And they stayed on all the way to the parking lot, the whole time I was unloading the cart, even for the car ride home. Take that, eavesdroppers.

Kidless night

Before we came to visit my parents, L's mom, who lives in the same area, asked me if she could have the kids stay with her on their own one night. I thought that sounded like fun -- for them and her -- and they're old enough now that they can handle being with a grandparent without L and me.


Tonight was that such night. I had told Jellybean that we would be visiting Grandma and staying overnight, but I left out the part that I wouldn't be there with her. She gets anxious sometimes when we have babysitters, and since we weren't going to Grandma's until dinner time, I wanted her to be able to have an enjoyable day without stewing about her evening. I feel bad for having to fool her, but I truly believe it saved her some stress.


I took the girls over to Grandma's house with promises of a good time, which I know they'll have. When we got there, I saw a sign on the front door: "Welcome Jellybean and Peanut to Favorites Night!" Grandma has spent a week or more preparing this extravaganza to have all their favorite activities, foods, colors, etc. I can't believe all the thought she put into their visit -- when I left, she had covered the dining room table in big-roll paper, and the girls were coloring and painting all over it.


When I told Jellybean I was leaving, her bottom lip popped out and she whined, "No!" But by the time I was walking out the front door -- less than five minutes later -- she yelled dismissively, "Bye, Mama!" I called a while later, and Grandma said that Peanut hardly noticed that I left. This, from the child who spent entire evenings crying with babysitters when we went out for the evening.


As I got in the car to drive away, it hit me that I missed them already. I'm eager for a full night's sleep without waking up at 6 a.m. (must be the time change, ugh), but I've missed their little faces and voices this evening. I'll be glad to see them in the morning -- maybe even happier to see them than they will be to see me!