Saturday, January 27, 2007


But I Want a Brother

We told the girls that they are getting a little sister. Bekah started crying and stated, “But I want a brother”. Lexie was uncertain about what was going on. She watched Bekah closely and then broke into her little fake cry (which is so incredibly cute). She fake cried for about ten seconds and then got bored and stopped.

“Why do you want a brother?” I asked Bekah. “I just do!” she wailed. (she is in a stage right now where, if you offered her a bag of Oreos, she would want a tub of licorice, and vice versa).

“What would be fun about having a brother?” I asked her.

“I want a school-ager brother” she replied. In her school, they have one classroom that is kindergarten and first grader after school care. They are called the school-agers.

“Oh!” I said understanding. “You want a big brother! That is a pretty tall order, Bek”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “I want a school-ager brother and then we can walk home from school together.”

Lexie was studying this conversation with great interest. As she will sometimes do after Bekah has dramatically tried to make a case, Lexie looked at me, gave a firm nod and said, “yes” (but it sounds more like “yesh”)

I didn’t have the heart to tell Bekah (or Lexie) that walking home from school with friends is a thing of the past. It has taken it’s place in history with mortgage burning parties, rotary phones and Marathon bars - never to be seen again.

I have to say, I empathize with Rebekah. What little girl hasn't wanted a big brother once in her life? (well, maybe those little girls who actually had big brothers).

Monday, January 22, 2007


Some Very Good News, Some Slightly Bad News

While we were out yesterday, Dr. Hugh Grant* called and left a message. He said that all the important chromosomes have lined up nicely, two by two, and there are no problems. Hip Hip Hooray!

He also went on to say, in his very cute British accent, that our file doesn’t indicate whether or not we prefer to know the sex of the baby. So we need to call back for that information.

And then he hung up.

* that is not his real name, but the doctor on Friday looked and sounded just like Hugh Grant, so that’s what I’ll call him.

Saturday, January 13, 2007


That Was Quick

Last night, as I was doing the dishes, I heard Bekah in the other room singing, “Boys are losers. Girls are rock and roll. Boys are losers. Girls are rock and roll.”

I went into the living room and asked her where she learned that. “Brom my briends” (we are still working on our F and S sounds). I told her not to say that. She, of course, asked why. I told her it isn’t nice. She said that yes, it was. I asked her, “What if someone said you are a loser?” To which she replied, “They won’t because I am a girl.”

Oh brother.

And! A few weeks ago, we were watching Disney Playhouse and a commercial comes on for the Wiggles. Bekah says to me, “The yellow Wiggle is leaving because him sick. A new Wiggle is taking his place – a young Wiggle.”

Here is why this was odd – we don’t watch the Wiggles. And while I do know they are swapping out one of the Wiggles Darrin Switch style, I am pretty sure I never mentioned it in front of her. (My friend, Jeni, told me about it. She is a grade school teacher – it’s her job to know such things)

I asked her how Bekah how she knew about the Wiggles and she said, “my briends”. I half expected her to say “People Magazine….. for toddlers”.

So this is it? My daughter is not yet four and she is already engaged in gender wars and celebrity gossip.

That was quick.

Thursday, January 11, 2007


Lexie Makes Mommies Cry

If you have ever visited with our family, you can attest to the fact that Lexie prefers her mommy above all else. If you try to strike up a conversation with her, she will most likely run to me. She might give you a rapt stare and a pleasant smile, as long as she is safely in the sanctuary of my arms.

Often, while Lexie is playing with her blocks or reading her books, she will stop what she is doing and come over to give me a hug or a kiss. She loves to bury her face in my neck and sway back and forth for no reason. She loves me a lot.

Which makes it very odd that she has taken to biting me (and only me, I might add). She doesn’t do it viciously, but it hurts all the same. I am sure there is a study out there somewhere that validates that young children have far sharper teeth than adults --- or dogs.

The other day, she and I were lying on the bed, watching Braincandy. I had a strappy little nightgown on. I had one arm behind my head and she was snuggling with her head on my chest. Suddenly, out of nowhere, she lifted her head and bit me. If you have ever been bitten on the bare armpit by a piranha, you know how suddenly and intensely it brings you to tears.

So far, she has bitten me on the collarbone, the arm pit, and the knee. I don’t get it.

But, the other day, she also made another day care mommy cry (luckily, not because she bit her).

There is one mom I have kind of bonded with at the school. Her oldest son is six months younger than Lex. We met the second day she brought him (Cole) to school.

Last week, as I was walking to pick up Lex, she was walking away from the classroom without Cole. She says to me “Cole doesn’t want to leave. He is having so much fun playing with Lexie. I guess I’ll go run an errand.”

I touched her arm and said, “oh dear! Bekah used to do that to me all the time! Isn’t it the worst!”

She turned around and followed me into the classroom.

The minute Lexie laid eyes on me, she did her ritual squeal and barreled toward me – like a drunken, bull-legged cowboy. “ma-ma. Ma-ma.” She said in her little voice.

I glanced at my mommy friend and saw her eyes well up with tears. “that,” she said to me “is what I want my son to do when he sees me.”

Luckily, right at that moment, Cole noticed that Lexie was gone and got up and started running after her. Double luckily, the mother thought he was running toward her. She scooped him up in her arms and both were happy.

I, on the other hand, scooped up my little one in my arms and prayed she would not bite me in public. `

Thursday, January 04, 2007


Rebekah, What the Hecka?

Over the holiday, Stephen got Rebekah turned on to rhyming games. I loved this new development as it gives us all sorts of vocabulary exercises.

I loved it, that is, until we had a little run in at the local Fred Meyer.

I was strolling down the bulk food isle with both girls in the cart. As usual, Bekah was chattering away. She spotted some banana chips.

“Banana chips. Banana chips. Banana chips” she prattled.

I was half listening to her as I picked out some items. Then her voice came fully into my conscience ear. She was loudly chanting, “Banana chips. Vagina chips. Banana chips. Vagina chips.”

I stopped in my tracks. Oh no, I thought to myself, here comes one of those moments! What the heck am I supposed to do? Should I tell her that is inappropriate to say? She’ll ask why. Do I tell her that is a naughty word? It really isn’t a naughty word. It’s actually the scientifically correct term for a legitimate body part. The liberal, female empowerment streak in me wants to ensure that I raise girls who are not embarrassed or conflicted about their bodies. I want my daughters to be confident and treasure their bodies – every part of them.

But I also don’t want my daughter shouting vagina in the Fred Meyer.

I bent down and quietly whispered in her ear “why did you say that?” Sometimes, if the tone has enough of a conspirator element to it, she will whisper back. Not this time.

Instead, she kicked the side of the cart with gleeful abandon and shouted louder, “because it RRRHHHHYYYYYYMMMMEEESSSSS! Banana vagina banana vagina.”

You gotta give the girl credit for finding a word that rhymes with banana.

I suddenly remembered the Distract and Conquer trick (not as rare as the Statue of Liberty play but potentially as effective).

“Why don’t we choose something else to rhyme with?”

Looking at the bulk foods, I quickly searched for a replacement, “Here are some Runts, um, I mean, Whoppers” and I popped one in her mouth for good measure.

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