Skipping Town

Greta, at three, talks pretty much nonstop from the minute she wakes up until her little eyes close at night. She does not have to be talking to one of us; she talks to herself, to her toys, to her feet. She often "finds" imaginary tiny animals (monkeys, dolphins, foxes) and scoops them up into her hands, gently, talking to them before "releasing" them. Here is a brief sample of Greta's stream-of-consciousness from lunch today, with a representative amount of whining: "Mmm. Carrots. I love carrots! I don't want any caaarrrrooots. Put them on yoooouuuur plaaaate. Not MY plaaatte!!! Yoooooour plate. Look at me. Look at this. [takes a bite of string cheese]. I take a bite. Look at my trick. Mama, watch me do my trick. [leans over in her chair, lifts a leg into the air] That's my trick. I might fall off my chair. My knee hurts. My finger hurts. My cheek hurts. [laughs hysterically] My cheek hurts--that's silly. Noooooo!! I don't wwaaaant aaaan

We took the girls to see Frozen on Ice a few weeks ago. We weren't going to; it was expensive and selling out fast; but the more we thought about it, and heard about it, the more we decided we just had to take them. Though their love of all things Frozen had waned a bit over the past couple of months, it hadn't disappeared. And so we bought tickets. And Elsa dresses. And bundled everyone into the car for a 7pm show in Newark. Lucia and Greta were beyond excited. They were so excited about their dresses, and going to a show at bedtime, and going to the huge arena, and seeing the ice rink. They were enthralled from the very first projection of a giant snowflake on the ice. And Disney knows its audience: before Frozen began, out came all the other princesses, ice skating and waving as they passed us. Lucia and Greta waved back eagerly, squealing as each princesses skated out onto the ice. And then--Frozen. They loved it. (Greta loved it until the last ten minutes, when her rapt

Baby Grets, Oh, how cute you are right now. I'd forgotten how adorable, how breath-takingly charming, a three-year-old can be. With your unruly hair, tiny bare feet, cheeks still poofy with baby fat, you are still such a little baby, and it's lucky for all of us that you like to be cuddled, because it's hard not to want to snuggle up with you at any opportunity. Of course, every precious, snuggly moment has its twin moment of frustrating independence-asserting; and your new fondness for escalating things to hysteria at every opportunity. You're full of drama, Little Miss. You don't feel things halfway. A casual request ("I want my water") met with a perfectly reasonable denial ("Your water bottle is three flights up; let's get it after we're done eating") becomes, instantly, a hysterical demand ("I WANT MY WATER RIGHT NOWWWWWWWWWWW"!!!!). It's powerful. No one wants a tantrumming Greta. You also know the power of tears,

Little Lulu, Magic. That's the only way I can describe the age of five. You turned five, and something just seemed to click--and you're off, into real-kid world. You're so curious, learning so much, doing so many things, capable of so much. Seeking independence, relishing it. Taking pride in the new skills you're learning--putting on and zipping up your coat; writing the letters of the alphabet; honing your skills with scissors, stencilling, tracing. You and Greta are still best friends and constant playmates; but you take care of her, too, and take pride in helping her do things. Greta looks up to you so much. You're a star to her. But I do see you two as further apart right now than you've been so far--not in your relationship, but in your "life stage." You're invested fully in school, having drop-off playdates and birthday parties; capable of working on crafts and art projects on a totally different level than Greta. It's a tricky balanc