For Posterity, the Princess Phase is Over

Dear Posterity,

I realize I’ve been writing post-it notes about the fun or cool or noteworthy things that have been going on lately and not writing them down anywhere, except on post-it notes.  So right now, on the day after Christmas, while my family is at a kid’s birthday party and I am home alone because Victoria took the kids and gave me a pass, I will write them down.

1.  Tashi gave away all her Princess possessions.  The princess phase is OVER.  On the day before her 6th birthday, we cleaned out her closet and her toy chest (which is actually  her whole room) to make way for new toys.  We do this every once in a while.  I talk about how she has so much and how there are many children who don’t have very much at all.  I think she understands this concept because two years ago Tashi and I went to a small town in Guatemala and stayed in a little bungalow and the  woman in charge of the bungalow we stayed in lived in another bungalow right next to it.  She had a daughter named Luna, who was a year or so older than Tashi.  The two girls played together on hammocks outside our bungalows.  Luna and Tashi were playing inside our bungalow one night with two Brats that Tashi brought with her.  They were Teen Brats, not the slinky, sexy, hoochie-mama adult Brats.  Luna loved these Brats. I mean, LOVED.  She talked about how bella they were and once she discovered them, that was it for swinging on hammocks.  Before we left, I asked Tashi if she wanted to give Luna one of her Brats.  Tashi did.  I don’t remember how that went down, maybe Tashi was struck by how little Luna had. Luna had one doll to her name.  But I doubt it.  I probably made a deal with Tashi, which I do often.  ”You give Luna one of your Brats and I’ll let you eat dinner tonight. Deal?”

Deals worked so well for so long.  But now that Tashi’s six, she’s constantly trying to strike a deal with me.  ”I’ll have one cookie and you can have one cookie.  Deal?”

However it happened, Tashi gave Luna a Brat and I was so proud of my sweet, generous girl.  The next year I went back to Guatemala alone and brought Luna another Brat.  A gift from Tashi.

My point about Luna is that we talk about Luna whenever we clean out her toy chest.  So I think she understands that some people don’t have as much stuff as she has.  I worry a lot about this concept and don’t know how to actually teach my children to appreciate all they have.  I’m working on it.  I wanted to donate toys to needy children this year for Xmas, but didn’t figure out how to do that in time. I will next year.  I hope.  I want to.

So the day before Tashi turned six, she was really cool about clearing out and giving away her old things.  Not cool about everything.  She clung to a Barbie head that looks demented, in my opinion.  Not only because it’s just a head, but because it has blue lipstick, which is probably nail polish or maybe permanent marker, and other “make-up” and the hair…I just don’t like that thing.  But I didn’t make any deals about it because Tashi gave away four princess costumes, two sets of wings, two magic wands, three crowns, her Ariel backpack, a Sleeping Beauty bag, plastic glass slippers, and more.  I couldn’t believe it.  My girl is growing up.

There’s more, but I’m tired.

Love,

Andrea

Lip Schtick Gets 5 Stars

Here’s my story from Lip Schtick, which deserves more than one star.  It got one star because my very own girlfriend Victoria tried to rate me and messed up obviously and then didn’t know how to change it.  So ignore the star system.  It’s probably wise to ignore the star system on all Youtube videos, since the stars were probably put there by somebody’s girlfriend.  Probably somebody’s girlfriend who knew how to rate the thing with 5 stars. Clearly not my girlfriend.

Lip Schtick was a co-production of Lip Service and The Open Tent.  We created a night of true, Jewish stories told at Books & Books during Sleepless Night Miami. Go to www.lipservicestories.com to watch all the stories.  Let me know what you think.

I Wish I had Drawn this First

That’s clearly a picture of Victoria and me with Sebastian sleeping between us.  I’m the one on the left with the feet in my face, except usually the feet are on top of my face.

This essay, Good Night and Tough Luck by Christoph Niemann is on the NY Times website today and it’s so good.  Christoph tells it like it is:  ”After weeks of sweet-talking, serenading, and heartbreaking Ferberizing, we think we have reclaimed our bed.  Until a short trip or a quick flu undoes everything again.”

Damn the truth.

What Happened to My Budha Baby?

Sebastian is seven and a half months old, but has entered a new phase, which is a total regression. He sleeps like a newborn—nursing every three hours. Victoria’s been bringing him to the bed, if he sleeps in his crib at all, and sleeping with a giant, 21 pound baby who thrashes all night, is not cozy like one might imagine. We’re exhausted.

I’m starting to think he’s taking advantage of us. I would have scoffed at this idea a month ago, as if a baby can be conniving. But this baby seems to know what he wants and knows how to get it.

Yesterday Tashi and I were reading a book and Sebastian grabbed it. Tashi said, “No Sebastian, that’s mine,” and pulled it away. Sebastian cried like he’d been dropped on his head.

Tashi then said, “I’ll give you this book when you turn two, but if you rip it, you can’t have it.”

I thought that was so sweet, but it did nothing to pacify Sebastian.

What happened to my budha baby?

Last night, Pipa and Elsa came to dinner and we made the mistake of complaining about being tired and telling them how Sebastian’s been sleeping with us. Elsa told us about a show she watched where all the pediatric experts of the world have proven that letting your baby cry himself to sleep will make him a confident and self-sufficient. “Sleeping with your baby,” Elsa said, “makes him dependent forever.”

Two days before Victoria brought me an article she printed from the Internet reporting how all the leading pediatric experts had proven that sleeping with your baby creates life-long confidence and self-sufficiency.

I tell Elsa that there’s evidence on both sides.

My dad says, “Let him cry.”

I say, “How long do you think you could let him cry?”

“I could outlast him, I’m sure I could,” he says, like he’s so tough, and I realize my dad is the absolute perfect person to sleep through a baby crying.

“Well, you’re not normal,” I say.

But last night I was hardened, having nothing to do with what Elsa told us. I know the theories, I just haven’t wanted to let my baby cry without going to him. And Victoria is the same way. Last night though, we needed a break. And Sebastian was on my last nerve.

“Let’s let him cry,” I said. “I think we’ll be better parents if we sleep.”

“Okay.”

I put him in his crib. He was on his hands and knees squawking. He looked at me with love in his eyes and smiled that funny smile of his where his cheeks look like marshmallows and his lips turn into a squiggly line and his chin pokes out. But I did’t fall for it. I said, “Goodnight sweety,” and patted his butt.

I got into bed with Victoria and turned off the light. Sebastian started to cry.

“How long do you think we can last?”

“Ten minutes?” Victoria said.

“Ten minutes?! I’m thinking forty-five.”

After ten minutes Victoria went in to tell Sebastian that she is there. That he is safe and that he should go to sleep now. This is what one of the theories suggests—reassure the screaming child.
His cries got louder and more desperate.

“At least he feels reassured,” I said.

We listened for fifteen more minutes. “Should I reassure this time?” I said.

“No way, that backfired,” Victoria said.

Victoria suggested we make love. 
“Music’s too distracting,” I said.

Victoria started to pray. I caught a few words, “Maria…mujer…Jesus…”

We lay next to each other without talking for who knows how long until the cries diminished. Then built up again. Then diminished. Then stopped.

“Goodnight sweet darling,” I said.

“We did it.”

Morning Report

I was looking at Tashi’s skin this morning.  It’s perfect:  tan, smooth and silky.  Not freckly like mine.  I said to Victoria, “Tashi must have gotten her skin from the donor.”

Tashi said, “Who’s my donor?”

I said, “We don’t know him, remember?  You’ve seen his picture, from when he was a little boy.”

Tashi said, “I want to see his picture from when he was a man.”

I said, “Me too, but we can’t.  He donated anonymously.”

Tashi said, “Who’s the girls’ donor?”

I said, “Uncle Tony.  But he’s not a donor.  He’s their dad.  We have a donor because we needed a man to give me the sperm so that I could get pregnant.”

She said, “Do you like purple nail polish?”

I said, “I love it.”

What’s in a Name?

Before Sebastian was born I asked Tashi if she’d want to call Victoria Mami if the baby called her Mami.  She said yes.  

The baby doesn’t talk yet, but Victoria and I have been all over the place trying to name each other.  She wants Mami.  So I went with Mama.  The problem is, we can’t ever remember to call each other that in front of the kids.  And Tashi already calls me Mami, so when she calls out Mami and Victoria comes running, Tashi really means me. 

This morning I asked Tashi again what she and her brother will call us when he can talk.  We batted around a few ideas.  I said, “How about Tushi Mami for Victoria, because Victoria has a big butt, and Curly Mami for me, because I have curly hair?”   

Tashi said, “Tushi Mami can be a little embarrassing,” and we both laughed. 

“How about Mami and Mami and if we need to decide, Mami Vicky and Mami Andrea?” Tashi said. 

Smart kid.