My Trip is Coming Up!

In just two short days, I fly to Chicago for a whirlwind one-night trip to participate in the book reading for "P.S. What I Didn't Say: Unsent Letters to Our Female Friends." There, I'll be meeting--at last--the anthology's wonderful editor, Megan McMorris, and three of the other writers whose essays are included in the book. We'll be promoting the book at the independent bookstore The Book Cellar. SO EXCITING!

But what I don't think I've told you all yet is that one of my very best friends in the entire world is coming on this trip with me, meeting me in Chicago for 24 hours, in an incredible act of friendship that seems befitting of the event--a bookstore reading for a book about female friendships--and, also, a little ironic considering the topic of my particular essay in the book (someone who was anything but a real friend).

My friend V. lives far away from both me and Chicago. But she's the owner, with her husband, of an incredibly successful small-business franchise, which means she can sometimes set her own schedule and get away for a couple of days mid-week. And, more to the point, she's the most generous-hearted person I've ever known. She offered to fly to Chicago to meet me, be in the bookstore audience at my reading, and spend one night in the city hanging out with me, and fly back home the next day, when I leave. There is no way to put into words how much it means to me to have my friend V. along on this trip. She makes everything even better just by being a part of it. And, because we haven't lived in the same state since 2004, I miss her terribly, every day. I'm so excited for our reunion in Chicago, and so honored that she chose to support me in my first publication in a book. How will I ever repay her for this act of friendship? I can't imagine.

Between now and Wednesday, I'll be busy with my girls' school schedules, various appointments of my own, and getting my household set up to hum along without me for two days. In other words, I won't be writing here. But I'll tell you all about it later this week when I get back. Wish me luck, and think of me on Wednesday night, when I'll be joyfully reading my essay to a bookstore audience. With V. in the front row, I'm sure.

Not Funky Just Busy

Hey, you all. So, I'm busy. How's that for a boring blogging topic? How busy I am? Yeah, well, sorry; I'm so busy I don't have time to think about anything else to write. My trip is coming up, and life has been a whirlwind lately.

A loyal reader mentioned the other day that she hoped my trip might provide a welcome kick out of my recent funk, and I just want to make clear that, aside from my kids being oppositional recently and thus causing my head to explode and me to daily pine for a local grandma to drop them off with occasionally, I'm not in a funk; I'm just super super super busy. Sorry I wasn't too clear about that. I'm insanely busy, and when I've got a lot going on PLUS my husband snores PLUS my cat harasses me at 4 a.m. PLUS one of my children is sick and therefore coughs at night, I don't get much if any sleep, which is, um....exhausting.

For some reason, everything in the whole world fell onto my schedule at the same time this autumn. In the past couple of weeks, and next week until I leave town, here's what's been filling up my calendar: a kid Halloween party; Julia's school Halloween party (for which I shopped for supplies); the children's tumbling classes; pumpkin patch visiting; pumpkin carving; our town's annual kid Fun Run; three dentist appointments; both girls' school conferences; school volunteer work; Halloween itself/trick-or-treating; cooking, delivering food, and hosting a playdate for a family down the street with a new baby (all of which was done 100% happily, I might add; it is a joy to help neighbors with a newborn); three haircut appointments; consultation work involving various client phone appointments; both girls being off school some days for various teacher conferences and workshops; school fundraisers due; kid flu shot appointments; my mother-in-law's arrival for a visit; and a pre-trip manicure appointment. There may have been a Tupperware party in there as well.

Let me tell you, attempting to fit all that into my regular daily schedule along with cooking, shopping, housekeeping, exercising, childcare, and regular bathing has been a challenge. Something had to go, and it might have been bathing. Possibly.

So let's just say I've barely even thought about my trip next week yet; I've been so busy taking care of all these other obligations--while not really sleeping--that I've yet to time my reading to make sure I can read the whole essay in under 10 minutes (or, if not, determine an appropriate excerpt). My main fear about my trip is that I will sleep so little between now and then that a.) I will be incoherent by next Wednesday night, or b.) the dark circles under my eyes will frighten the bookstore audience.

I'll try to work on that before next Wednesday. But I've got a lot to do between now and then.

Yet Another Reason to Love The First Lady

I read on Babble.com the other day that Michelle Obama was recently interviewed by Katie Couric about how she balances motherhood with work, marriage, and all the other many demands in her life. (Like, you know, being the wife of the leader of the country. Which is far more demanding and important than anything I'VE got going on, how about you?)

Apparently Mrs. Obama said that, aside from the benefits of having paid staff to help with many aspects of her daily life, the biggest factor in maintaining her sanity is prioritizing her own needs and self-care after those of her girls. Her advice to other moms? Put your children first, but make yourselves "a close second."

I love that, don't you? Not just put yourself second, but a "close" second. She's awesome.

Stumbling Block

So last week Genevieve started crying about going to preschool. Out of the blue, for three days now, she's sobbed and wailed, her little chin quivering, saying she doesn't want to go. When I ask her why, there doesn't seem to be a major reason. She says things like, "I just want to be with you, Mama!" and "I don't want you to go!" Sometimes she says, "It's too long!" or, once, "It's boring!" But mostly she hugs me and tries to convince me not to drop her off at nursery school, where her sweet and loving teacher is as puzzled as I am and gives her extra cuddles and attention to help ease the drop-off transition.

Two adult friends who know Genevieve have speculated that the novelty has worn off for her. "It's been two months; she's probably totally over it," said my hairstylist Shauna. "She's been there, seen it all--now she's all, 'Eh. I'm done with this. I want to stay home to watch "Curious George" and bake muffins with you instead.' Think about it: wouldn't you?" She has a point.

Next Wednesday I leave for two days to participate in one of the readings for the "P.S. What I Didn't Say" book tour. Both girls have school during the time I'll be away, detailed routines and schedules that I'm usually in charge of. I dislike being away from my daughters like this; I hate to travel far away from them, worried about what could happen to me (but likely won't). It doesn't help that Genevieve's begun crying every morning before school.

This kind of scenario is exactly what I feared, when I questioned whether or not to send Genevieve to preschool this year as a "young three." I didn't want her to cry about going, to beg for more home-time with me, or to not enjoy her time there. I was so relieved when the school year began and for two months straight she ran into school with joy and enthusiasm, and loved every minute. I was so glad to not have to feel guilty about letting my baby spend time away from me at such an early age and giving up a year that we could have spent in full-time home/parenting activities.

Ah, motherhood: providing continual experiences of guilt from birth until, um, forever?

Wish us luck.

Short But Sweet

New fall haircuts:

Nearly the Same Thing

Last night around dinnertime, Genevieve started begging for "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." She kept saying it over and over, and when you imagine this, you must recall the fact that she cannot pronounce the letters "s" or "r." She knows this song from a Raffi CD, so naturally I thought she was asking me to put on the music. But she clambered over to our games-and-activities cupboard, opened the door, and pointed emphatically to the shelf, saying "Mama, Swing Low Sweet Chariot! Swing Low Sweet Chariot!"

What was she pointing to? The children's board game "Hi Ho, CHERRY-O."

Christopher and I laughed for a long, long time. Funny little Vivi.

Obligatory Halloween Photos for Grandparents & Devoted Others

It was cold here yesterday (as it often is for Halloween), so when I discovered Genevieve's old bumblebee costume in the back of the nursery closet early in the day--a puffy, fuzzy pullover the weight and thickness of a winter jacket and sporting a hood, though with no sleeves--I thought it would be a warmer option than the jack o'lantern and fairy costumes she had been considering earlier. (We have a lot of dress-up clothes, passed on from a friend with older kids, as well as a few hand-me-down costumes from cousins; nothing fancy in the least, but a few different options.) Lucky for me, Genevieve agreed.

Did I mention the tag on the bumblebee costume says 12-24 months? And that she wore it the year she was ONE? (Remember all that talk from me last summer about how Genevieve seemed too little to start preschool?)

Good thing she liked it better this Halloween than she did two years ago. Does everyone remember this?

Halloween 2007, ages 1 and 3

Two years later, though she's often surly and screaming, it's no longer when wearing a fuzzy bee costume and preparing to go procure copious amounts of candy.

Halloween 2009, ages 3 and 5

Bumblebee and fairy

And isn't Julia a precious little fairy? She was mistaken for a butterfly at many houses--I guess because she was with a bee--but she took it in stride. And, thanks to a friend's reminder that fairy dust makes winter clothing invisible, she tolerated the necessary parka, hood, and mittens that must accompany a fairy costume when you trick-or-treat in Minnesota with nary a tear. (Thanks, Laura! She TOTALLY BELIEVED IT.)

I just have to say that, walking behind my little trick-or-treaters and seeing their tiny fuzzy and beskirted bottoms toddling down the sidewalk with wings flapping and stinger bobbing, looking so unbelievably toddlerish still--honestly, they're so small and little still, they really are, especially when you see them beside mobs of rowdy grade-schoolers with light sabers and face paint--well, it made me want them to be three and five forever. They're just babies! And yet--they're already three and five.

I didn't envy our neighbor who just came home from the hospital last night with a newborn, though. Not the slightest bit. So there's that.

Hope you had a sweet, sweet Halloween! Onward, to November and my book trip and the holidays!

Born That Way

Julia's all-time favorite book, about a preschooler
mouse who worries about everything, even the playground slides
and swings ("too high; too rusty; too loose").

You really ought to read this absolutely fascinating article in the New York Times a few weeks ago about babies, brains, and inborn traits for anxiety and worry. Of course, as a psychologist, this research does not surprise me at all. But it's nice to see scientific validation for how you know you (and your firstborn daughter) were just made, no more alterable than the color of your eyes or the shape of your face.