1m2aSandbox

What do you get when you mix two kids with
excellent costumes and unlimited access to high fructose corn syrup
and artificial dye?


A couple of crabby, hung-over kids twelve hours later.

Here’s something you don’t
hear every day from a four-year-old: “Hey, Mommy, I want to
get up on that cow and drink some beer!”


Let me start from the beginning.

We had our first full day of Mommy being
back yesterday, and both girls did well – but also stayed
quite close to me all day long. Maddie, of course, had school, but
even then I came in to volunteer for half an hour and got plenty of
snuggles in that time. On a side note, what in the world am I going
to do when my daughter no longer wants to snuggle with me in front
of her friends?

I’m back, but I’m not back, if
you know what I mean.


I just had about the best five days of my life, eating my way
through every single ethnic food type there was in New York –
which is saying a lot – and sampled pretty much every
chocolatier’s offering. Which is also saying a lot. I walked
through EVERY major neighborhood in Manhattan, and had a grand time
reuniting with the city I love so much.


But most of all, I talked.

My amazing husband and incredibly
sacrificial mother have teamed up to give me an astonishing early
birthday present – a trip to New York to see my friends.


It’s been a whirlwind of planning and getting ready and
making all the big decisions, such as where to eat every delicious
meal in the city. But as ecstatic as I am about going there,
I’m not so thrilled about leaving here.

A few weeks ago, Maddie came to me,
troubled. “Mommy, I’m very frustrated with recess time
right now,” she said.


Fearing some sort of conflict with one of her friends, I cautiously
asked, “What’s going on?”


Maddie sighed. “It’s just that every single one of my
friends can do the monkey bars except me, and I feel really left
out. I feel bad that I can’t do it. And all my friends try to
help me and give me suggestions, but I just start to feel like
everyone’s telling me what to do and I get frustrated and
have to walk away.”


“So what do you want to do about it?” I asked.


Maddie looked at me determinedly. “I want to
practice.”

Cora’s been sick since Monday
afternoon, and a nightmare of a nighttime – think fretting
child not sleeping more than ten minutes at a time before waking to
either a) throw up or b) cry and cling to you – led to a
similar Tuesday. I held off taking her to the doctor in the
morning, thinking it was just a stomach virus. But when she began
to complain of aching all over, and had had a headache since Monday
afternoon, I bowed to the possibility of strep and took her in.


So I was glued to Cora’s side all morning – rubbing her
feet, just lying next to her, distracting her with stories,
whatever – and trying desperately to stay awake, then dragged
us out of the house to get to the doctor. I was carrying my poor
girl and her throw-up bowl through the doctor’s office, Cora
a limp little doll in my arms, still in her pjs with no shoes on.
The verdict was a virus, so all we can do is hang in there and hope
it’ll get better soon.