Taking Turns

Siblings don’t take turns nicely.  Not that I have any personal experience, but this simple fact seems to manifest itself in myriad ways in our household.  From using a particular bathroom (even though we have three), to being the first to get a snack, to the much coveted computer time.  It doesn’t matter what the activity is, Joyce and Marie will go on an archaeological dig to excavate their fossilized bone of contention. 

Yet there is one endeavor they take turns at perfectly: playing the role of Jekyll or Hyde.  Jekyll has exquisite manners, uses polite language, shows thoughtfulness for others, and is extremely helpful.  Hyde is rude, demanding, heedless of how her actions affect others, and performs even the smallest requests grudgingly only under duress.    

They must have private conversations about changing roles, helping the understudy learn their part, and coaching them on how best to act for maximum audience provocation.  There is always one of each character, the role swap accomplished swiftly and with unpredictable timing.  Each actress brings a new and unique flavor to either role, no matter how long her hiatus from the character.

Jekyll is always quick to point out Hyde’s faults, while expounding upon her own virtues.  Hyde reacts with sullen pouts, or surly comebacks, laying the responsibility for her bad behavior at Jekyll’s feet.  Who immediately points out how her actions were irreproachable, and Hyde is solely to blame for her own failure to measure up to Jekyll’s perfection.

And round and round they go.  I do wonder if either Joyce or Marie prefers a particular role, or if they relish the variety of morphing into such dissimilar personas.  Maybe they just have to experiment with being the “good child ” or “”bad child.”

I just remind myself every time the roles unexpectedly switch, that at least they’re taking turns at something. 

Payback

Every time your child does something that makes you scream “YOU DID WHAT?!?” you take a deep breath and think “one day they will have children of their own.”  This internal refrain helps you keep your tenuous grip on sanity.  It becomes your mantra during “one of those days” where you can’t imagine what you could have done to deserve this. 

Oh wait, someone will be happy to tell you.  Just pick up the phone and call your parents.  They’ll probably have a extensive list, lovingly preserved in your baby picture album.  They’ll listen to you rant and rave about your children, while unsuccessfully muffling their laughter during your phone call.

To illustrate, a scene from our household:

Joyce, while loudly stomping up the stairs: "I HATE putting up my clothes! Why can't I leave them in the basket? Why do I have to put them in my dresser?"

I remember having this EXACT conversation with my mother on numerous occasions, until an embarrassingly old age.  I would let my clothes pile up in the laundry room until the dryer couldn’t be opened due to the towering stack.  I didn’t see the point of either folding them or hanging them up, since I was just going to wear them again so they would get dirty, right? 

I’m sure my mother had her internal monologue going during those conversations.  Well, she was right.  I did have children of my own, and now it’s her turn to muffle her laughter during phone calls.  

I just hope I can manage to contain my glee when it's my turn.

Introducing Marie

I was definitely a tomboy.  I spent my days running around outside climbing trees and hunting bugs.  My clothes had the rips and stains to prove it.  Each branch in my climbing tree was a horse, my favorite toy my Bug Bottle.  I had to be coerced into dress clothes, and promptly shed them like a snake whose skin was too tight.  I constantly had my nose in a book, and I lived in my imagination more often then reality.

I liked to play with the boys; the girls just weren’t that interesting to me.  They were too concerned with messing up their clothes to climb the trees, grossed out by the bugs, or just wanted to talk about “girl stuff” I found mind-numbingly boring.  Not that I didn’t have female friends, of course I did.  But, the majority of my friends were boys.  I just got along with them better, found them more interesting.  And it didn’t end when I got older: my first date was seeing the re-release of Star Wars.   

So, all that is to say I was definitely NOT a girly-girl.  I would wear jeans and sneakers most days, little to no makeup, and occasionally remember to brush my hair.   The idea of needing more then two pairs of dress shoes (summer and winter of course) was totally foreign to me. 

I’ve gotten better as I’ve grown up.  I no longer have to be coerced into pretty clothes; I actually kind of like getting all dressed up for something, or even no reason at all.  I paint my toenails a bright color, wear at least some makeup more often then not, and try to coordinate my earrings with what I’m wearing.  I occasionally drool over totally impractical shoes, and actually own dress shoes that aren’t black or white.   For the first time ever I have more shoes then my husband.  I spent the last year letting my hair grow out before finally deciding what to do with it.

For me, doing “girl stuff” takes work.  I’ve had to make a conscious effort, learn how to do some of it from scratch, sometimes even with a recipe.  Putting together an outfit is a major undertaking, accessorizing like trying to solve a complex equation.  In some ways I haven’t changed though.  I still always have my nose in a book. 

Then along came Marie.  Who had meltdowns when components of the outfit she pictured in her mind were not all clean.  She throws together combinations of colors and patterns that you think will look terrible, but she manages to make look like a perfectly planned ensemble.   She accessorizes.  Hair bows, hair bands, necklaces, bracelets, they all coordinate. 

She wants to buy endless pairs of shoes: sandals, Crocs, ballet flats, high boots, short boots, rain boots, high heels (which we nixed, much to her displeasure), and the grudgingly accepted pair of sneakers (which still must have sparkles of some sort).  Unfortunately for Marie, her feet are long and narrow, so only expensive shoes will fit.  I have the feeling she will have quite a shoe collection as an adult.  I’m just waiting for her to ask when she can wear makeup.

To Marie all the “girl stuff” comes naturally.  In fact, I have taken her shopping with me when I had to buy things for a fancy party.  She picked out the shoes and wrap, and I was complimented on both.  She even helps her Dad pick out his tie occasionally. 

I’ll end with Marie’s thoughts on the subject.  They pretty much say it all.

"Mommy, it's hard work being pretty like me." 

"Every day I have to look in the mirror to make sure my outfit is perfect."

And my favorite…

Marie, looking at a $900 clutch purse covered with Swarovski crystals: "Mommy, we have to buy it, it's the perfect size for me!"

Introducing Joyce

Joyce can best be described in a quote from the children’s book Tacky the Penguin: “Tacky was an odd bird, but a nice bird to have around.” 

Joyce is incredibly enthusiastic about her latest obsession.  She researches and learns about a plethora of subjects, and will be delighted to educate you too.  Dinosaurs are the current fad, and she can not only identify them but also pronounce their scientific names accurately and give you a life history of each species.  In fact, when she got to meet a paleontologist recently, he complimented her on her pronunciation, and said he had never met a 6 year old who knew so much about dinosaurs. 

The blog title and quote come from Joyce.  Because she wants dinosaur EVERYTHING.  We have lunch boxes, water bottles, and of course plenty of t-shirts.  But no underpants.  She doesn’t understand why there aren’t packs of dinosaur underpants hanging on the rack next to the fairies and princesses.  I’ve googled it and looked on Etsy, but dinosaur underpants for girls just don’t exist.


Joyce has a summer project now.

One highlight of her infatuation is a character she invented called SG.  It stands for Super Giganotosaurus, and she is a dinosaur superhero.  She has a family and a whole group of dinosaur friends.  Joyce has mental pictures of how all of them look and they frequently show up in her drawings.  So this summer, Joyce will provide the artwork, I will provide the scanner and iron on transfers, and we will make her some dinosaur underpants.

This is a typical occurrence in life with Joyce.  We often joke that she is my clone because she resembles me so much, but it’s not just her looks.  She is a self-proclaimed tomboy, loves bugs and the outdoors, and doesn’t mind getting dirty while playing.  She has told me that she prefers playing with boys, because girls just want to talk about boring stuff.  She gets lost in her imaginary worlds she creates, and is always a memorable element of any cast she performs with.  Coercing her into dress clothes is an ordeal, and she doesn’t understand why she can’t just wear her old crocs instead of dress shoes.

Joyce doesn't just think outside the box---she doesn’t even know a box exists.  Sometimes this can be challenging when living in a world where coloring inside the lines is expected and free drawing frowned upon.  Occasionally, I wish she would just be like everyone else, but never at the expense of her imagination and creativity.  She just wouldn’t be Joyce without her sometimes inconvenient individuality. 

Joyce can also be incredibly sweet and thoughtful to her friends, and doesn’t comprehend why someone would do something mean.  She is unreserved with her affection for others, even if she hasn’t seen them in months or years.  So, I am thankful to have such a unique, imaginative, and creative daughter.


Even if I do have to make her dinosaur underpants.

Sisters

I am an only child married to an only child.  We both have zero experience with siblings.  As a child I remember observing my friends with siblings, and being rather puzzled.  To me, it was like observing a new and interesting insect community; it somehow worked, but I couldn’t even begin figure out the dynamics. 

15-20 years later I still don’t get it.  Best friends one minute, worst enemies the next.  One day playing happily for hours, the next they can hardly stand to be in the same house.  Children are refreshingly honest about how they feel about someone, and mine are no exception. 

Some of my favorite quotes:

J: "I want a baby sister."
Me: "What is M?"
J: "She's my little sister.  I'm tired of my little sister. I want a new one, a baby.  I want to name her E like me (her middle name). Can you please grow me one in your tummy?”" 
Me: "But J, even if you got a baby sister we'd still have to keep M." 
J (in a very disgusted tone): "Oh. Why?"

J is giving M an "art lesson," i.e. J telling her what to draw and how to draw it.  
J: “You hoo, M, PAY ATTENTION" 
M: "But J, I don't WANT to draw that!"

M (in a whiney pouting tone): "J, you just don't listen to me all weekend!" 
J (in an equally whiney exasperated tone): "But M, you just don't let me do whatever I want with you!"

J: sings a cartoon jingle about 10 times. 
M: "Stop!" 
Me: "J stop that. You're driving us all nuts." 
J: "But Mom, I WANT to drive my sister nuts!"

Yet they miss each other when they are off at their separate schools each day.  M runs towards J with arms outstretched when she steps off the bus.  Sometimes the gesture is reciprocated, sometimes not.  J recently spent time at home during track-out while M still had preschool, and constantly asked if it was time to pick up M yet. 

Sisters: best friends, worst enemies, can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

I still don’t get it. 

Introduction

Kids say what they think.  Exactly what they think at that particular moment, at full volume, never mind the social niceties.  And sometimes, that makes us think too.  

My friends have been telling me for months that I should start a blog, so here it goes.  Because sometimes, children really do make you use your mind instead of just lose it.