time with my kiddo

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Saturday Randomosity: Distracting the Brain from Dream Grief Edition

I did my at-home sleep study last night, and had a terrible night of sleep (not surprising). The last straw was a horrible vivid nightmare about someone I love dying. I think I squeaked in at least six hours in bed, if not six hours of sleep, so I called it quits. Now I’m trying to banish the dream-grief with mundane things like de-scaling my tea kettle and washing sheets.  

Why do some dreams linger? The last dream that lingered was a nightmare about someone I see on a regular basis. He – let’s see; how much do you need to know about how disturbing my psyche is? – attacked me in the dream, and then, upon waking, I had to see him randomly out in the world while the feelings of the dream clung to me and to him. It was not pleasant. Poor guy! He is by all appearances a kind, friendly, hard-working person who would never dream of attacking anyone, except maybe the weeds in his garden. And yet now I feel all weird about him, as though my mind has secret perceptive powers. Yes,  yes, Gavin de Becker would probably tell me that I am indeed perceiving something real about his character (either that, or I am giving my own anxiety too much power), but I really think in this case IT WAS ONLY A DREAM.

Let us swiftly change subjects!

I was telling you the other day that I did buy the anti-cellulite cream and had started using it. I am going to continue using it. And I am also here to tell you that you should never, EVER apply it directly after taking a shower. The instructions say this: “You may start to feel a warming sensation, that’s totally normal! If you’re not into the tingle, we recommend waiting at least 20 minutes after a shower before applying. Use twice a day for best results.” I read the instructions, and found the wording peculiar. But I waited twenty minutes after showering to apply it the first few times, and then applied it a second time in the morning well before showering. But then. The other day I just… forgot, I guess? My husband and I had a date night planned, and I was doing all my normal getting-ready things, showering, doing my hair, etc. I slapped on some of this cream instead of my good ol’ Eucerin. This was the fieriest it has ever felt. And we were on a date! I was so uncomfortable! It wasn’t painful, just… deeply, deeply uncomfortable. I was wearing a dress and anytime my thighs touched, the heat intensified. I will not be doing that again.

It’s got to be working, right? I hope you are enjoying my play-by-play of this experience. I am nothing if not ever-hopeful when it comes to cellulite magic.

You know what I would like to magic into being? My kid’s summer schedule. I finally sat down with some calendar pages and plotted out all the camps that she’s expressed interest in, and there are a few overlaps but mostly I think she can do everything she wants to do. One of our neighbors has also asked if Carla will be available to do some dog walking this summer, which of course Carla is delighted to do. And then there will presumably be A Cat to play with, too.

I am fully on board with Carla having a relaxed, pet- and pool-centric summer. That sounds fabulous, and I am happy to limit the driving I need to do. But I do need her to do SOME THINGS. Maybe not every day, but probably most days, for a couple of hours. Otherwise, the battle over screen time is going to ruin our relationship. I wonder if I could simply BAN SCREENS during the day? Would that be doing myself a disservice? I just know that if I set a limit, that it will gradually erode. I’m not tough enough or disciplined enough to stick to, say, two hours a day, and Carla can smell weakness and will exploit it. (This is not a dig at her, it is purely about my own shortcomings, I hope you understand.) But then again, if I ban her from screens, and then am sitting around typing away at my own screen – which I need to do in order to achieve my own goals – I feel like that’s a massive double standard? I can already hear the relentless arguments about how unfair it is. No. Better to whisk her away to camp for some period of time each day so that I feel less terrible about the inevitable screen time taking place the rest of the time.

(I feel like I have to include the caveat that different kids are different, and can handle screen time differently, and that my kid’s needs are specific to her and don’t reflect on you or your kids at all. And also that my parenting strategy, lackluster as it may be, does in fact involve some modicum of boundary-holding; I just recognize my own limits and the value of picking battles.)

Oh – I finally, after dithering about it for eons, and being terribly afraid I will offend someone, have added a blog roll to my site. If your blog is not listed, please know that this is purely user error, to be blamed on me and my current unworkable hodgepodge method of following blogs, which uses a combination of Feedly, bookmarks in various browsers, and the power of memory which we all know is subpar at best. If your blog is not featured, it has NOTHING to do with YOU. I want to read your blog, I want to list it in my blogroll, so please let me know if it is not there and I will add it. I promise to comment as erratically as I post.

The other thing on my mind today is my niece, who is turning TEN. Even though Carla is not quite two years older, I am at a loss for what the ten-year-old set is into these days. NOT makeup; my father-in-law noted that my niece is overrun with Ulta and Sephora gift cards, and hasn’t really found a use for them. She used to like robots, and this looks pretty cool. She likes math; would a math game be a good birthday present? (I would not like a math game for myself.) A Pokémon gift bag might be cool, if she is still into Pokémon. Although wait – shipping starts at $175? Never mind. Clearly, I do not know my niece as well as I wish I did, so I am drawing a blank. Any ideas????

Okay, that’s all I’ve got this morning, Internet! Hope your Saturday is off to a great start!

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Pearls

Carla is, at this very moment, operating a library in our living room. She has made a circulation desk out of couch cushions and has brought down fabric bins from her room to hold books (we are not thinking about the current location of the original contents of the bins) (*cough cough* her bedroom floor) (nor are we thinking about how much less fun it is to dismantle a library than it is to create one). She has divvied up the books by category, which seem to be: Realistic Fiction, Fiction, Piggy & Gerald, and Non-Fiction. She has rounded up all of my library books, from the real library, to use in her offerings. She has her (my old) laptop on the circulation desk and created a Google doc in which she typed the title of every book on her shelves. She has created personalized “photo” library cards for her critters. And now her stuffed animals are asking her for recommendations and checking things out. I already checked out Anastasia Krupnik and read two chapters out loud to the librarian, who sometimes still sucks her thumb. 

Not sure why one of the patrons is being used as a step stool, but we all do our part to encourage reading I suppose.

Carla is at this wonderful age between Little Kid and Tween. She’s got all these responsibilities and behaviors of a big kid, and yet she still loves playing make believe and she still has that childlike wonder and delight in the world around her that transforms my heart into a big neon sign pulsing behind my ribcage.

The little round thing on the right is the library card scanner; the black lamp illusion box is the book scanner. I’m not sure which cat is checking out Little House in the Big Woods, but I hope they won’t argue about it. Not the line of library users waiting their turn to check out.

She had to accompany me to the grocery store this morning because my husband is at the hospital. Call Week bleh. Big as she is, I am just not ready to leave her at home alone for an extended period of time. (My husband and I left her alone for about 30 minutes once, while we went to pick up takeout, and that seemed both fine and terrifying.) She was initially extremely grumpy about being dragged along to the store. Who can blame her, really. 

Each cat has her own library card.

But almost as soon as we went inside, she became quite cheerful and inquisitive. She wanted to push the cart, which she can (mostly) do now without ramming into displays or other shoppers. She asked me what various things were (kumquats, delicata squash, figs) and pointed with glee at the baby artichokes and requested we buy many, many types of fruit (yes: kiwi, plums, blueberries, mango, grapefruit; no: whole coconut, pie pumpkin). I love being able to say yes to her at the grocery store, and I was able to say yes a lot: to two types of yogurt (yes, child! Ask for ALL the yogurt!), to a pumpkin roll from the bakery, to a package of mini stroopwaffles (to share with her father), to packages of frozen cherries and frozen raspberries. 

There was a brief mishap in the refrigerated case that holds things like Pilsbury bread and cinnamon rolls. We were in the rice/quinoa/grains aisle, and the case was at the end of it, and all of a sudden a bunch of cylinders tumbled to the floor. Carla ran to help, along with multiple grocery store staff members, and informed them cheerfully that it “just collapsed out of nowhere!” (I really hope they saw that she was not anywhere nearby when this happened. It really was one of those moments of invisible chaos.) As we walked past, I saw one staff member holding up a cylinder that had popped open, the uncooked dough bulging out.

Then we got to the meat section and while I was putting ground beef into a baggie, she told me she was going to the fish counter to see if they had any live crabs.

No live crabs today, but they did have a WIDE selection of clams. Carla begged me to get her a clam, and I felt kind of terrible about it but I said no. I don’t like clams and I have no idea how to cook them, let alone a single clam. 

Then she pointed out the oysters.

“Do you think they have pearls in them?” she asked. 

I told her no, I didn’t think so, but it was possible. And she wanted me to ask the person staffing the fish counter if there were pearls inside. I told her that it was impossible for that person to know. The oysters were closed, and would remain so until they were cooked.

“No, mommy,” she said, knowingly. “They open and close like this in the water.” She showed me with her mouth. “It’s how they swim. Someone could look inside and see the pearl.”

Okay, fair. But this particular grocery store staff member was certainly not in the water with these oysters before they were caught. 

“I think you should just ask, Mommy.”

I did not want to ask. So we stood there for a few more moments, discussing the probability of finding a pearl in a grocery store oyster. 

I don’t know why it charmed me so much, but it did. How hopeful she was about the possibility of a pearl! How certain she was that the fish counter staffer would know whether pearls were present. How startlingly knowledgeable she was about bivalves. How willing she was to discuss it with me, and how carefully she constructed her arguments, trying to get me on board. 

I don’t think I’m conveying it all well enough, but my heart was so full. It was such a happy shopping trip, such a fun time we spent together even though we were both doing a chore.  

Sometimes I wish I were an oyster, so that I could wrap a morning like this one in gleaming nacre, protecting and preserving these fleeting moments of childhood like the precious pearls they are.  

And now it’s time for lunch. Carla says she will close up the library and take her lunch break in the Book Nook Cafe, which she, the librarian, also owns and operates. It serves Lunchables.