Mommytidis May 1 - 14, 2006 Also about high temperatures -- Lisa's and outdoors -- and what we did about them

	Befallen by mommytidis - Lisa demands to hang around my neck - literally

	Tom plays hide and seek at Shoreline Park

Acute mommytidis did not yet enter medical journals and textbooks, but it has been strongly affecting our family. Lisa, of course, is the one who contracted it, but as it usually happens, it is I who suffers most. My chest, neck and face is defaced by bloody scratches, all my T-shirts' necklines had been pulled out and reach to my belly button, making me look as if I had acquired my wardrobe in a dumpster-diving contest (especially as it bears clear traces of nibbling, barfing, and alternatively smearing with filthy little fingers). I perform most of my walking at home with my trousers descended below my waistline (for there's a fifteen pound weight hanging off of them). And let's not even mention the acoustic background to this whole storm.

Sure, Lisa is quite entitled to a bit of separation anxiety. She's recently reached nine months, which is the age when anxiety typically occurs. Our home continues to be a sanatorium; one or the other child keeps sniffling and coughing (often both do); Lizzy apparently suffered roseola (sixth disease) in disguise among her continuing colds -- in contrast to Tom, she did so without major fever. More of her teeth seem to be arriving -- we can confirm tooth #7, but majority of her gums is swollen, and maybe there will be more. Despite all that I have to say that her squealing sometimes invokes in me urges to emigrate to some place where they don't have small children. If Lisa were just an unhappy, sick little baby, my motherly heart would cope, but she's been a first class comedian as well.

My friend Ivana came to visit. We were chatting, and I inevitably held Lisa in my arms. I put her down on the floor and made five steps to our kitchen counter to have a drink. Lizzy collapsed on the floor, where she proceeded to lie on her stomach, holding her head in her hands and sobbing desperately. I sat down on a step between our kitchen and living room, thinking that Lisa could perhaps crawl the one yard separating us, should she miss me this much. No such thing would ever cross her little mind. Throwing accusing looks in my direction, she continued in her performance pretending to be completely depleted of sheer physical strength to overcome the abyss between us. Such a reaction was similar to occasions when I dropped her off after having carried her for six hours straight, to be able to heat up her lunch -- a child, who is capable to "run" up and down the whole house with Tom, would transform into a helpless rag doll, and use forced squealing to not only attract my attention, but also to induce enough guilt in me to pick her up bodily and beg her forgiveness for all my sins (e.g. for going to bathroom, taking time to fix meals etc.).

	Besides mommytidis, we got regular illnesses, too. Lisa suffers them relatively bravely.

She also causes scenes if there a chance that her thankless mother would dare to put Lisa into grandmother's care. While I'm present, desperate screeching commences. In the moment I disappear from sight, granny becomes acceptable and our cute little baby would last the whole afternoon in a playground. All this only to the second when I show up. I started to fear our near and distant future. Should our missy be this ... ugh... capricious... at nine months, what shall she be up to, at nine years? And what about her teens? Only now I am beginning to appreciate how nice and problem-less child Tom was (and is).

	Diapers-b-gone (we hope).

Tommy currently finds himself in a very cute stage. He holds relatively complex conversations with us, commenting on every action in his vicinity. For example when he messes himself up with food, he declares that he made a mess and has added on to his mother's work. He started to play and communicate with other kids. It's no longer about toys and who can hold on to what in any particular moment -- Tommy can share, negotiate, thank -- he learns to act civilized. There are, of course, limits. The other day he was sorting out his toy cars and Lisa kept sticking her hands into it. Tom would let her hold on to the captured vehicle for some three seconds, then he would rip it brutally out of her hands with a smooth, "thank you... Lisa has returned." He can be very nice to her -- reading her his books, teaching her how to count (he recognizes all basic numbers) -- Lisa would not care much I guess, she just slapped on the book with her little hand and laughed.

Finally, Tom has learned to be at ease without diapers during the day. It's true that I remind him about the bathroom, but it's been getting better in great leaps. I had encountered a tense moment once at a store, when Tom declared levelly, "peed -- no bathroom." And indeed, there was a yellowish puddle between the racks and our junior had wet pants, socks and shoes. I cursed our grandmother, who explained to him at length back when he still wore diapers outside the house that it was because there are no bathrooms at playgrounds and stores; then I cursed our junior who would remember everything literally, and then I cursed my own silliness. Before going to the store, Tom had been to the bathroom, but then I got distracted by chatting with our gardener and packed the kids into the car in a hurry. Of course I drive around with Tom's spare clothes -- but now I had a shopping cart almost full with unpaid groceries, Lisa sitting on her perch there, balanced next to my wallet, phone and keys. I imagined how I leave the cart at the store, grab Lisa under one arm, grasp my wallet and cell in my other hand (keys in my teeth, I guess), and shall voice control Tom to walk to our car without having him run over in the parking lot. Not a good idea. Fortunately my guardian angel is not lazy and he has sent me my neighbor, whom I could ask to watch Lisa and my cart, while I sped off to change Tom's pants. Since then we keep carefully pointing out the EXISTENCE of bathrooms everywhere (playgrounds, parks, stores) and the option to pee in emergency behind bushes outside the city, to squish any and all Tom's potential excuses for making puddles.

	Tommy, inspecting another lighthouse

From the culture and entertainment department: we had visited another lighthouse, this time at Pigeon Point. Tommy likes lighthouses, the one at Pigeon Point offers a small attached beach. We caught the low tide, and cracks in the rock and pools were alive with snails and crabs. And of course, one could throw pebbles into them. Tom has just discovered this particular sporting activity, and we had hard time convincing him to let go.

Sid and I have finally, after a long time, found time to get to our climbing gym. Given the chronic absence and our past illnesses I was afraid that we'd be in a bad shape, but I was pleasantly surprised. I stopped to feel like someone who misses all essential joints in her body, and I don't ache as much. It either relates to my end of breastfeeding, while my body recovers from three years of hormonal storms, or it's because I'm becoming more fit again. Which, after all, may be connected to Lisa's weaning -- I'm not so exhausted anymore and I don't suffer through our family hikes so much (thus I participate more often); I even started to stretch and exercise a bit. There's not that much you can do with aching back -- I find it counterproductive to stuff myself with pain pills, and so it's been down to reserving a few minutes a day for an exercise. I have to say I keep it varied -- I work out most of the time with fifteen, alternatively with thirty pounds of weights on my stomach or my head, for my children recognize my laying down on the floor as a signal to a game.

	A curious sea lion near Pigeon Point

A few of us, mothers in the same neighborhood, have organized a dinner away from our families, leaving our dear husbands at the mercy of our kids and reserving a table at La Fondue. We have spent a pleasant evening munching at cheese fondue, grilled meats, and eventually a divine dessert: fruits dipped in chocolate. I overstuffed myself with chocolate (so much for my "getting back into shape" that I boast about so much in previous paragraph). I must say that I am incredibly thankful that there are such great neighbors who have small children and worries similar to mine -- plus like to get together and help each other out. I have many friends here, but most are scattered miles away. My neighbors live HERE -- a few flip-flopped steps, and a knock on the door away.

Every spring a certain corporation, which shall remain unnamed, organizes a large international conference, and we might just as well install a revolving door. Zuzka and Tomáš came to borrow a car seat that Tommy had been temporarily using, for their niece Ája. Right after them, Suchýš arrived -- and at last, Petr. Suchýš would usually amuse us with his traveling stories from Nevada, which we envy him a lot (he is an experienced hiker). Alas, with two children we are (much) less flexible and capable of adventure. Thus we salivate over pictures and keep on planning where we shall go, "once the kids grow up."

	Reinforcements - Petr knows how to deal with little people.

Petr is a husband of my friend Blanka. He, too, has been our regular visitor -- the one who manages to talk for hours and hours with my Hippo in a language of which I know only pronouns and some verbs. Besides that, he has been blessed with same bunch like we have (a boy of Tom's age and a girl a few days older than Lisa), hence he is quite trained in family life. His visit came very handy. On Friday night (to the occasion of Suchýś's visit) Lisa acquired a 38.9°C fever. I beat it down with Tylenol, morning returned with 38.5. I made an appointment with our doctor (they are open on Saturday mornings) -- and send Hippo with Tom and Petr to Felton, to see some trains. Thus Tommy had something to do, Petr got to see a place he's not been before, Hippo had somebody to talk with, and I could pay attention to my poor unhappy Lisa. Her fever, of course, disappeared at the doctor's (36.9) -- but they threatened with possibility of inner ear infection. Later at home she napped on my stomach, afternoon with mild 38. Yet when "the boys" have returned, all lethargy fell off of her and Lizzy crept after any promise of social life. She must have concluded Petr to be part of "our family", for eventually she let him hold her (which is something like a highest medal from her, awarded only to carefully selected and extensively verified individuals).

The last noteworthy event is returning our pool to service. Ugly hot weather has befallen us, water is twenty five, and we checked it out. I have to say that it's still very refreshing, but Tommy was quite enthusiastic about HAVING A POOL AT HOME. A typical afternoon with a child at water's edge ensued -- i.e., a blue, teeth-rattling toddler refused to leave the submersed steps and his parents kept coming up with tricks and threats how to hold him out on the shore at least for a few seconds. At first, I said to myself that it might be cool to be able to stay with the kids in our back yard -- they would cutely dribble around while I hold my notebook in my lap, a refreshing drink within reach... but Tom demands to OPEN THE POOL AND SWIM -- and Lisa wants to follow in. I can see now a revised, more realistic scenario for the summer in our back yard: screams for the pool is closed, or me in the role of a lifeguard for a herd of cats (you would not believe how a mere two kids can scatter and dither). Perhaps I shall have to properly employ granny and Hippo.

Copyright © 2006 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.