Skipping Town

Dear Baby Grets, You’re marching on to two years old at an alarming pace, gaining opinions and preferences with every step. And feistiness. You may be the baby, but you are determined to have a say in this family, and you know how to get our attention. A forkful of food that isn’t the exact bite you wanted is met with a “NO!”—and a fork flying through the air. You throw tantrums when something is taken from you, or when we refuse to give you something or let you do something—screaming, tears, boneless or kicking on the floor. Fortunately, you are ridiculously cute right now. You are trying so desperately to talk; you are trying to jump. You love to dance, and when your favorite song comes on (“Jimmy Crack Corn”), you stamp your feet and give a face-splitting smile. You like to “sing” and spin and clap. You love when Lucia holds your hands so you can dance together. You are back to eating well (sautéed red peppers are a new favorite) and—knock wood—sleeping well. You tend t...

We had to leave. We've been going to New Hampshire together for nine years now, but yesterday, for the first time, we decided to cut our trip short and go home a day early. It was still raining. It was still cold, and getting colder. We'd been freezing the night before, and it was supposed to go down to the thirties. We still had no heat, and the ancient, fire-any-second space heater Andrew found in a closet barely warmed the kitchen, where we huddled throughout the day. We just couldn't face another freezing night, of the girls in layers of clothes and pjs and still waking up with ice-cube hands. So we're home now; we arrived late last night. I feel like we've betrayed the house somehow by leaving early. But being in New Hampshire means fire pits and grilling and eating outside and playing in the grass. Being inside, freezing, every day for almost four days...We'd reached our limit. Even us, who love this place more than anywhere else.

It rained all day today, without a break, and it was in the low-40s. We were housebound and freezing. But we made the most of the day, proving once again that the restorative peace of this place is powerful enough to take effect even when the day involves a trip to Wal-Mart. We knew the only way to survive the day was to get out of the house, so after a pancake breakfast this morning we headed into West Lebanon for some Wal-Mart shopping. It was pouring, and Greta fell asleep in the car, so Lucia and I took a side trip into the Dollar Tree while Greta got a few more minutes of rest. (We emerged with two smiley flower wands.) We bought some rainy-day provisions at Wal-Mart—Play Doh, markers, and paper—and then headed to the local mall, the Powerhouse, where the girls chased each other and ooh’d and aah’d over the mall’s décor of umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. The girls have gotten to a stage where they’re just able to have so much fun together—and it’s not misbehaving exactly, ...

Friday was a rainy day in New Hampshire, but in between the showers we still managed to play outside for most of the morning and part of the afternoon. Lucia and Andrew played baseball (and Lucia actually hit the ball with the bat a few times). Greta threw stones into puddles and splashed maniacally. Lucia threw stones into the pond. Later, when it got too chilly and damp to be outside, Lucia found a bunch of ancient kitchen tools in a drawer and used them to play doctor, testing our reflexes with a honey-stir thing, looking in our ears with an old metal whisk, giving us shots with a wine-bottle-stopper, and “scooping us” (whatever that means) with a tiny metal scoop. Her favorite TV show these days is “Doc McStuffins,” about a little girl who mends her stuffed animals’ injuries, and this has really sparked her pretend-doctor imagination. We ate dinner by candlelight—“It’s like a birthday!” Lucia said—and then enjoyed a quiet (and chilly) evening once the girls were in bed. I wrote...

I love card catalogs. I never gave them much thought until about twelve years ago, during grad school, when I read Nicholson Baker's 1994 essay "Discards," a doom-filled ode to the superiority of actual card catalogues over digital databases. This struck a nerve with me, probably tilted me to the techno-skeptic side of the world that I still inhabit, and, perhaps most importantly, sparked a true affection for card catalogues that remains to this day. A year or so later, I bought a small, lovely card catalogue at the Chelsea Flea Market (sadly empty of cards). I used it as a TV stand for several years, and it is now in the library of our house. I have a small collection of old card-catalogue cards, too, though not even enough to fill one drawer. But now--I have added to my card-catalogue holdings. Last month, the Carnegie Library in my hometown decided to sell their card catalogues--three of them--through a blind-bidding process. Andrew and I visited the library during a...

Lucia and Greta seem to have been conspiring to make dinner-cooking more difficult than usual. As I've said many times, Greta is a fantastic eater--but as she approaches two years old, she's getting just a little more picky. Lucia, always a challenge, generally does eat pretty well, but she's definitely more opinionated (i.e., picky) about what she will and will not eat. The girls have been more or less aligned in their likes and dislikes--until lately. Now, Greta's favorite meal is macaroni and cheese--and Lucia won't touch it. Lucia loves French toast--and Greta, inexplicably, won't let it past her lips. Lucia likes scrambled eggs with cheese; Greta screams at the sight of them. Greta will eat as much salmon as we put in front of her; Lucia will eat it, but each bite is cushioned by five minutes of stalling. Lucia loves sweet potatoes. Greta does not. And on and on. Most of these are basic, basic things--dinnertime staples, the things that I've always been...

Dear Little One, After a couple of weeks of crazy tantrums and surliness, you’re back to your usual sunny, funny self. You’ve had some struggles this month, though, to be sure, including terrible seasonal allergies that had your eyes swollen down to your cheekbones and the whites of your eyes swollen, gelatinous horrors. (When you turned those eyes to me and I saw the swelling for the first time, it was all I could do not to scream.) You love to dance and wear pretty dresses, barrettes, and jewelry. You and Greta have been having a lot of fun lately, especially when Greta willingly goes along with whatever game you’ve come up with. One of your favorites is riding your scooter across the room, dramatically falling off, and then holding out a hand so Greta can “help you up.” You also like doing the Sit N’ Spin while Greta runs around you in circles, screaming. Fun times. You’re happy that the weather’s getting nicer and love playing outside, and though the really nice days ...

Had some good luck at garage sales this morning. My haul: tricycle an armload of pouffy dress-up clothes rain boots for Lucia a large ziplock bag of misc (tiny dolls, cat figurines, etc) ---$15 for all of the above a stack of antique metal molds of some kind, which look like metal muffin cups, which I'd actually been looking for in stores for the girls to use for sand-box cupcake-making ($1 for 6) Pretty good, I have to say. Lucia is fixated on her current favorite dress-up things right now, but Greta seized on an adorable pink getup involving a pink velvet leotard, a puffy tulle tutu attached, and puffy tulle cap-sleeves. I put it on over her clothes, and in this getup we spent the morning outside. Word spread among our neighbors that Greta was outside in a tutu, and we drew a small crowd as she toddled up and down the street, doing her best to follow Lucia, who was zipping around on her scooter.

Now that Lucia picks out her own clothes, her outfits are growing increasingly bizarre and mismatched. This afternoon, though, I actually laughed out loud: she was riding calmly toward me on her scooter, barefoot, wearing a seasonally inappropriate backless sundress, a purple skirt underneath that, a princess crown, some Mardi Gras beads, with an umbrella hooked over her wrist. Too funny.

Though to the untrained ear most of Greta’s words sound like some version of “Aack!!”, you’ll have to believe me when I say she’s adding more words all the time. Here are a few new additions, and some I forgot last time I did a round-up. (I meticulously recorded each new word Lucia said, along with her age when she said it, in her baby book; Greta will have to be content with a somewhat more haphazard blog record.) car (yelled at top volume at any sighting of a car or truck) cat alRIGHT! oh NO! pa (potty) ball (one of her first words that I forgot to record) sand broom fla (flower) bee (for any bug) sit, seat me achoo! hi bye ’night three* *When Lucia is in an open, friendly mood, she will announce to anyone and everyone who crosses our path that she is three. “I’m three!” she says, holding up three fingers. Greta has seen her do this countless times, and she clearly believes that this is what you do when you see a new person. She’ll hurry ...

Ah, bliss. We spent the weekend in New Hampshire, our first trip of the summer. The house had been opened up and cleaned in the week before our arrival, so when we got here Thursday afternoon, there were no dead mice to contend with. The drive had been longer than expected, so we hustled the girls to bed and then settled in for the evening once Andrew’s dad arrived as well. (With two big carseats in our Volvo, we can’t squeeze three adults into one car anymore.) It was a little tough to get the girls inside: Lucia, of course, remembers it here, and she ran straight down the hill toward the pond as soon as she got out of the car; Greta seemed to remember it too and made a beeline for the barn, where she pounded on the door, eager to get to the toys inside. Andrew and his dad got the grill out right away, and we ate burgers and salad in the dining room for our first New Hampshire meal. Friday and Saturday, we spent outside—gorgeous, sunny days, not a cloud in the sky. Lucia and G...

Dear Little Miss, A year and a half--and determined to surmount any challenges of your young age so you can keep up with the rest of us. You are nonstop mischief, climbing, opening, spilling, reaching, grabbing, markering. Nothing is safe now that you can reach up to the countertops in the kitchen, and you know how to open drawers and cupboards. Your mission in life is to climb up and down stairs. Up, you're pretty good. Down--you have a lot of work to do. You have a sixth sense of when we accidentally leave the baby gate open--or latched, but without the extra security latch--and you're up a few steps before I even realize it. Hazards, hazards all around. You yourself require all my attention. Yet I also have your sister. Our days, these days, are more than a little chaotic. But oh, the cuteness. The cuteness! Your giggly, babbling, kissing, hugging cuteness. You have the biggest, toothiest smile, and you flash it at the silliest things: when we eat oatmeal together in the...

It's garage sale season. Whoo-hoo! I know my excitement over this is incomprehensible so many people, including Andrew. But the thrill of the search--the unknown at the end of each driveway--the sparkle of promise laid out on blankets on front lawns all around town--Perhaps this is how some people feel when they anticipate the beginning of a sports season. Two weeks ago, I went to my inaugural garage sale and came away with three bulging black garbage bags full of--well, I had no idea, really, because I didn't look inside. I heard the woman say they contained her daughters' Barbie collection, and that she'd give me all of it for $5 total, and that was that. I stuffed them in my trunk and began the excavation on the front porch when I got home. And--it was a bust. I don't often say that; I don't often gamble so unwisely. My mystery purchases are usually rewarding, often amazing. But this time, even I had to admit it was a lot of junk. Much-loved junk, to be sur...

It's been a long week. Andrew left for Mexico City on Monday morning, leaving the three of us facing a week by ourselves. Logically, I don't know why it makes so much difference when Andrew's away. Of course we all miss him, but logistically speaking, I have only a couple of hours per day by myself when I would have had his help. But those extra hours really do make a world of difference, because he's here for all the all-hands-on-deck stuff. Getting my contacts in in the mornings seems like an insurmountable challenge when I'm also trying to do all the kid-morning craziness. Forget about taking a shower. And bathtime and bedtime alone...Lots of women I know do bathtime/bedtime alone every single night. I'm spoiled, I guess, but four nights in a row is a killer. It didn't help that Lucia has been in a three-and-a-half-year-old tailspin the past couple of weeks, throwing an uncharacteristic number of screaming fits and just generally being edgy and unpredic...

Dear Sweets, Three is fun. It's a testament to you that I'm saying that; after all, I hear so many things about three being a really difficult age. To be sure, we have our moments (this afternoon--yowza). But those moments are few and far between, and the rest of the time you are generally funny and fun. You really like to do things now--do art projects, go places. In response, I'm trying to step up the "structured" things we do each day, introducing new craft projects and outdoor activities. You've responded enthusiastically. So far we've made tissue-paper flowers, created salt-dough "cookies" decorated with elbow macaroni and star pastina, had a riotous bathtime with craft-foam egg cutouts, painted with water, made a cake out of dirt and decorated it with nature treasures. It's all fun for me, too. You have gotten very interested in clothes. You like to choose your outfits, and dress yourself (shirts are a work in progress); during Quie...

Had a lovely Easter at home this year, just the four of us. I hurried outside when the girls woke up to hide Easter eggs, and then they came downstairs to find their Easter baskets. The Easter Bunny brought them light-up wands, regular wands, crowns, plush chicks, Cinderella Squinkies, cookie coasters, princess notepads, sparkly shoes, butterfly nets, cupcake pillows, big outdoor balls, and large Jellycat cats. They were very excited, and they had fun finding the eggs. Greta had to be prompted, but once we helped her spot an egg, she hurried over to it and put it in her basket. Lucia searched for eggs with an eagle eye. We were all a little horrified when a squirrel ran off with a plastic egg right in front of us and carried it all the way up a tree; several other plastic eggs had been bitten through. Good thing I hadn’t hidden the eggs the night before! We spent the morning playing outside, and later on Andrew and I made an Easter dinner: ham, scalloped potatoes, cornbread, and ...

As a parent, all you can do is your best. And sometimes your best is pretty pathetic. And sometimes your best seems like the best then proves to be subpar. Like tonight, for example. Andrew and I needed a ton of groceries, both to restock our house after our two weeks away and to prepare for Easter dinner, so we decided to journey to Wegman's late this afternoon (Andrew was working from home). It's about thirty minutes away. The drive and shopping were fine--the store was chaotic, but it always is--but as soon as we'd left the store and were on the road, Lucia announced she had to go potty. By this time, it was after 5:00pm. We decided we'd find a McDonald's and let the girls have their dinner there. And thus starts tonight's series of bad decisions. Since no McDonald's was nearby, we decided to stop at a KFC that was right near our turnoff onto the NJ Turnpike. As we pulled in, Andrew and I decided that we, too, would just eat our dinner there, and save...

Dear Girls, Because of the craziness of our Mexico trip, I didn’t manage to write either of you your monthly letter, so I’m combining them this time.  Lucia: You are getting to be such a little kid these days—and it’s fun to plan activities for you, knowing you have the interest and attention span for them. You are just starting to show interest in your clothes; in Mexico, you often rejected the clothes I picked out for you and chose your own from your drawer. Sometimes you’d emerge after Quiet Time wearing three pairs of underwear and two pairs of pants. You have one or two favorite clothing items and show genuine sadness when I tell you they’re in the wash. You have a few funny sayings right now. One is, “Daddy, I’m telling you a question.” Then you make some bossy demand, like, “Stop talking.” Another is, “All you need to do is…” and then you give some convoluted description of some activity. You also give a considered, scrunch-eyed “Well…” before answering any...

We got home from Mexico City yesterday, after a surprisingly smooth journey. We left our apartment around 10:00am, to much protesting from Lucia--after so much lamenting for home, on the day of departure she decided she wanted to stay in Mexico. Both girls were wonderful on the flight. Greta slept, played with stickers, and looked at the iPad over Lucia's shoulder; Lucia watched episodes of Sofia the First . She doesn't quite get the concept of earphones--whenever she would say something, she would shout it at top volume because she couldn't really hear herself; occasionally a loud little-girl voice would echo through the plane: "MORE PUFFS." "DADDY, I WANT TO WATCH ANOTHER SOFIA." "CAN I HAVE SOME WATER?" No one threw up. There was only minimal crying. Greta got fussy while we were waiting for our baggage, but by that point I was pretty fussy too. Both girls devoured their dinner, had a bath, and slept straight through the night. So it's...

Here are just a few more pictures from our trip--mostly of Lincoln Park and the sculpture garden. Our neighborhood really was lovely. In our building's parking garage: Our grocery store: Across from our apartment building: