Learning to do stuff

Imogen has this fabulous determination to learn things. Her piano teacher gave her a difficult (for her) piece recently. The music covered two pages (one side each page) and must be played with both hands, switching back and forth often. She was expected to know the first line and a half the first week. She had some kind of mental block on this music and it was very frustrating. She cried, she stomped around in frustration, she made me promise that she didn't have to play it at the recital if she hadn't learned it in time. It took two weeks to learn the first section, but after that the rest of the song has been easy for her.

Whistling was the same way. She's wanted to whistle for months. She's puckered up her lips and squeeked as high as she could to imitate the sound of whistling. She cried about it. She tried to get me to commit to an age when she would magically be able to whistle. And finally, within the last few weeks, she actually learned to whistle, a real genuine whistle.

Incidentally, a couple days later, Genevieve learned to whistle as well. That's Genevieve: two days later, eighteen months earlier.

Imogen's next project is learning how to snap. She keeps track of which of her classmates can snap their fingers (or have convinced her that they can snap their fingers). Sometimes she comes home and tells me that her classmates' older siblings can snap as if this is some kind of evidence that she is failing dreadfully to do something that obviously a multitude of people can do.

She's got a bit of a competative streak.

It's all in your head

I was peacefully painting at the dining room table when a shriek from outside told me that Genevieve was once again calmly handling her self inflicted injuries. Now, this is the child that Jeremy offered to throw a party for if she would go an entire week without hurting herself to the point of leaving obvious wounds. This includes both scabbing and bruising. This is a child that I'm half afraid to take out in public lest someone call family services on me for my obvious abuse of her. She is the single greatest consumer of bandaids in our household, by a lot. Her day care repeatedly sends home accident reports in duplicate for me to sign and send back as if it's such a unique occurrence that a single copy of the form would be insufficient to detail it.

Unfortunately, not only does she inflict bodily harm on herself with alarming frequency, but she's never been one to downplay these incidents. Screaming bloody murder as if one's fingers have been removed by a hacksaw is certainly not an overreaction for a splinter.

So perhaps I can be forgiven for my complacency at the gasping sobs as Genevieve made her way inside while I continued to paint calmly. When she sputtered out "I fell!" I noticed that her knee was actually bleeding quite a bit. Knowing these things really can hurt I was all sympathy as I cleaned up the knee and covered it with a bandaid. I examined the palms of her hands carefully. They were red, but no scratches, so I cleaned them, kissed them and sent her on her way.

Well, that wasn't going to cut it. Sure, the knee was fine, but the hands were grossly neglected and the screams were unabated. I checked once again to make sure there were no open wounds with bone shards poking out that I had somehow missed in my negligence. My sympathy was evaporating fast. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, through gritted teeth. "MY HAAANDS HUUUURRRT!!!" she suggested reasonably, shattering several windows. "Fine," I said, "you want some medicine?" She nodded.

The bathroom where most of the medicine is kept was occupied, but I didn't really care. I don't have any topical painkiller unless you count the sunburn ointment which was nowhere to be found. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find that didn't seem poisonous, which was Vick's vapor rub. I made a production of wiping a thin layer on the palms of her hands, and the crying ceased immediately. The potent odor proved... something or another. "They feel better," she informed me. "They smell better," I said.

Perspective

To Genevieve, french fries and chicken nuggets are simply the tools one uses to eat katsup. No part of getting dressed is too insignificant to draw the battle lines and prepare for war over, from the color of one's panties to the choice of shoes. And life gets really good when you turn four and can consider yourself a "big kid" instead of just a "little bit big".

Genevieve alone

With Imogen at school till 3:30, I have afternoons alone with Genevieve, and it's been fun to get to know her better. When Imogen is home, Genevieve willingly lives in her shadow, following her lead, or fighting with her. Genevieve alone is different though.

For one thing, she's very easy to be around. Imogen is the extrovert in the family. Genevieve has her parents' ability to be alone with her thoughts. Whereas Imogen relies on the people around her for conversation and to keep her occupied, Genevieve has a rich fantasy life and I find her having conversations with her toys constantly. Imogen has a mad desire to classify everything around her, to bring all objects and behaviors under the domain of some rule or another so that she can order her life accordingly. This results in more questions than I ever knew existed. Genevieve asks questions like a normal child, which seems very rare compared to her sister. Genevieve isn't curious and is willing to have mysteries in her life, or willing to make up answers to whatever questions might occur to her.

Today I discovered that Genevieve is the perfect shopping companion. For one thing, you almost can't lose her. At her age, Imogen was trying to go home with other people at the park and last year she lined up with other classes at school. She regularly gave her teacher a heart attack thinking she'd been lost for good this time. Genevieve trails along behind me or holds my hand, always aware of where I am.

But also, Genevieve is actually enthusiastic about shopping. We wandered into the lingerie section today. A Mecca of femininity. She helped me pick out bras, fingering the silk and lace and gushing at the bright colors and the pink all around her. She even got excited at the shoe section, pointing out several pairs that she liked.

Speaking of the pink obsession, it's getting worse. Today in the bathroom she was extatic that the soap that I squirted into her hands was pink. "I LOVE pink soap!" she said.

Firsts

Imogen started kindergarten today. She had all sorts of fun. She's there from 8 till 3:30. Seven and a half hours a day (for those not mathematically inclined). I've never been away from her like this. I've been away from her for two weeks in a row but it was temporary. Last year each day felt kind of short. I dropped her off at 8 and by the time I made a stop or two on the way home, it was 10 and an hour and a half later I got Genevieve dressed again to go pick Imogen up. Each day seemed short. Today at 9:45 Genevieve asked if it was time to go get Imogen again.

Without Imogen, Genevieve has no one to tell her who to be. Genevieve only learns things like her letters and numbers because Imogen knows them. She learned how to spell Imogen's name before her own. When she talks to strangers she tells them how old Imogen is and what grade she's in. She seriously needs a life of her own.

Imogen also had her first piano recital today. She played "Oh MacDonald" pretty much mistake free in front of about fifty people and seemed rather surprised to find herself being applauded.

We name our computers

"Can I watch a movie on your computer?" Imogen asked.
"No."
"Why not?"
"She doesn't like your movies."
She paused to think this over. "How do you know?"
"I asked her."
"How did you ask her?"
"You'll never run out of questions will you?"
"No. Does she like your movies?"

Dropping like fies

Genevieve is well, but Imogen started throwing up last night. I started being sick rather suddenly around 11am today. Ben went to work at 3pm feeling fine but four hours later was calling for a ride home. Jeremy took the afternoon off to take care of us.

It's a plague! We're dying!

Ok, maybe not but I'm really wiped. I hate being sick.

First tooth

Imogen lost her first tooth last night.

Imogen was veeery interested in the tooth fairy and when she would come and if Imogen would see her and so on (and on and on). Imogen's Indian name is Child of a Thousand Questions. Fairy tales were not invented by people like her or for people like her because most of them don't make sense.

Genevieve is sick. We were up till 2am changing sheets and holding hair back while she vomited. Poor kid. Poor me. Imogen woke me up at 6:30 to tell me how much money the fairy had left her. Speaking of which, she never woke up while Genevieve was throwing up or crying or we were cleaning up or bathing Genevieve. I started to think you could parade a band through the room and Imogen would sleep through it.

Anyway, I'm wiped and Genevieve is still sick, and we're out of food so I still need to go to the store. I hate grocery shopping.

Imogen's haircut

Imogen got the idea that she wanted a haircut before school started and I somehow promised her one. So we stopped by Supercuts today and she got it cut. It's really cuter than it looks in these pictures. Because it curls under, she commented "It looks like Willy Wonka's."

Genevieve struggled with her individuality with Imogen's haircut. Genevieve likes her hair long and has rejected several haircut offers in the past. But Imogen, Genevieve's model in life, was getting her haircut. Genevieve came to me saying "I want a haircut." I said "Are you sure? I don't think you really want one." "I do," she assured me. A couple minutes later she couldn't stand it. "I changed my mind," she said. "I don't want my hair short." "I know," I said.

Omniscient (or maybe just a good guesser)

I stepped out of the shower recently and as I dried off, I opened the bathroom door. Imogen was standing in the hallway. She stood there for a moment, and eventually the suspense became too much and she asked "What are you doing?"

"Getting dressed," I answered. I'm way to used to obvious questions to be alarmed at this point. There was a pause while she considered this.

"Will you close the door?" she asked. Now, maybe in Imogen's world this question is really smooth and subtle but to me this comes with red flags and alarm bells. Without missing a beat I said "You stole my candy didn't you?" I had milk duds on my dresser left over from going to the theater the night before. Her eyes widened. She stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror at her clean face. She looked back up at me.

"How did you know?" she was baffled.

"I'm a mommy," I said. "I know everything.

Today I gave her a poptart. She doesn't like poptarts, though she doesn't realize it yet. I warned her that she needed to eat the whole thing this time and she agreed. She ate about three quarters of it and I could tell she didn't want the rest. She kept carrying it around but she didn't want to say anything about it.

As I cleaned the kitchen, she vanished into the family room for a while. She came back empty handed and said "Look, I ate my whole poptart, all gone! See?" She held up her empty hands proudly.

"You fed it to the dog," I said without hesitation. Her jaw dropped. "How did you know??"

"I'm a mommy. I know everything." I told her.

"You're grounded from poptarts," I told her.

I got a haircut

My hair was getting super boring, and I was tired of it, but I didn't want to chop it all off so I got layers put in. She curled it and it's really pretty right now. I'm lazy so I probably won't be curling it on a daily basis, but hey. I love haircuts. My hair feels all healthy and lightweight now.

photo effects

We were playing around with some photo effects and the girls thought these were the funniest thing that ever happened anywhere. They would pose for the picture then laugh maniacally when I took it.

The man of steel

With the new Superman movie coming out, our cereal boxes have been graces with his presence and the girls are very curious. Genevieve is especially delighted with the explanation that Superman can not be hurt and you could hit him in the head with a baseball bat and he wouldn't even bleed. She repeats this to her sister each morning as she picks out her cereal. I'm not entirely sure she realizes that Superman is not a real person.

The girls have been spending a ton of time outside as the weather gets warmer. They will actually get in the kid pool and spend a couple hours playing in it. I walked out there to find Imogen standing on the porch beside it and throwing her arms out and saying "To infinity and beyond!!" and throwing herself into the pool. And Genevieve is actually getting over her water phobia.

Sometimes...

When my children put plastic bags on their heads... I begin to doubt their future as Mensa candidates.

Long time no see...

Today we went to the "no touching store", known to the world at large as Hobby Lobby. Imogen shmoozed with the old ladies in the fabric section, convincing them that she could do no wrong. (HA!) They heaped me with compliments on thier behavior and horror stories about other people's children.

I always loved Hobby Lobby. I bought them water colors as a reward.

It's kind of sad though that when your child happens to not be in brat-mode at the moment (and every child is capable of being a perfect terror) you get all these compliments. This is so unusual! A kid who's not painful to be around!

Take Genevieve for example. We walked in this evening and lunch dishes were still on the table. Jeremy commented "So, Genevieve, you didn't eat your sandwich?" Good guess, seeing as how Genevieve sometimes acts like she's allergic to food in general.

"No," she said, "I ate mine. Imogen didn't eat her's."
"No," Imogen spoke up, "That one is your's. I ate mine."
Genevieve turned to Imogen and very reasonably shreeked "NOO!! I ATE MINE!!! STUPID!!!"

Really, as if it's inconcievable that the child who believes that little girls certainly CAN live on bread alone would pass on some thus polluted with peanut butter.

My five year old poos in odd places

Like the corner of the back porch. Seriously. I missed a very important step in the how-to-potty-train process I think.

I was at Target yesterday and I saw a shirt that was Genevieve's. I mean, I don't think the people who designed it know Genevieve, but if they had been told to design a shirt for Genevieve, they would have made this one. It has a stick man on it and says "I do all my own stunts". Jeremy thinks it's the funniest thing in the world. I think it's incredibly appropriate, and in the less than 24 hours since I bought the shirt "Genevieve did another stunt" has been added to the household vocabulary.

Say cheese...

These are just three of the 34 pictures I found on my camera that I did not take. All taken from a low eye level. Still, they show an increasing level of interest in capturing a subject (the colored pencils for example), though there's still plenty of random blurry shots of the room with no particular item in focus. Imogen is particularly proud of these and continues to try to get me to commit to an age when they can have cameras of their own. "How about when I'm six? Seven? Can I have one when I'm seven?"

Lame...

Sometimes my conversations with my kids sound like those really lame jokes you get off the backs of instant oatmeal packages. The ones that make you wince instead of laugh. Take this one for instance...

Imogen: "Why are you painting your toenails again?"
Me: "They need another coat." (of nailpolish)
Imogen: "Oh, to keep them warm?"
Me: "No-"
Imogen: "Oh, I know, because they are going outside."
Me: "No, it's just to make the color show up better."
*long pause*
Imogen: "When I'm a mommy do you think my toenails will need another coat?"
Me: "Sure."
Imogen: "Yeah, to make them warm and cozy."

Happy meal induced frenzy

Today when Jeremy picked up me and Imogen from school and Genevieve from day care he said he was hungry and wanted to drive through. I told the girls we would get them happy meals. The girls were very excited of course. Nothing beats a happy meal. Steak dinner? No thanks, pass the chicken nuggets made out of the tail. Sushi? Not if it doesn't come with a cheap toy depicting characters in the latest Disney flick?

Or as Imogen put it "Happy meal!! Happy meal!! Happy meal!! I'm spazzing out!!"