From a couple weeks ago.

Alek on bikes

Alek was in the process of mastering "mountain balance biking", starting at the top of the hill in our driveway and heading at full speed across the lawn, finally landing so fast in the bushes that he flew off his seat and landed on the seat post.

H: Why don't you use your brakes?
A: Because then I wouldn't go into the bush!

Erin on movies

Erin was in a "movie" phase, asking day and night if she could watch a movie on the iPad or the computer. (So I can honestly tell the pediatrician "Nope, they never watch 'TV'".)

H: Let's watch it together the first time to see if you're going to like it.
E: I'm GOING to like it.

It might be because her big brother just started school. It might be because she's a red-head. She's probably overtired. Or maybe it's because she's 3. Whatever the reason, Erin is taking the concept of "tantrum" to an unprecedented level in the Frederick household. In the past month, Erik and I (and anyone else within range) have been on the receiving end of hour-long tantrums at least once a day, often twice. You never know what will set her off, but all of a sudden, the frown is pasted on, the lips are quivering, the eyes are welling up with tears, and then you hear it: The heart of the matter, succinctly summarized in 7 words or less. Over and over and over and over. At the top of her lungs. Such as:

"I want my clothes back on!" (Repeat)
"I don't want to go to bed!" (Repeat)
"I want milk in a sippy cup!" (Repeat)
"No pull-up! No pull-up!" (Repeat)
"I want my bum dirty!" (after I wiped her bum, when she wanted DADDY to do it)

Sometimes it's comical. Sometimes it breaks my heart ("I don't want you to go to work!" - while clinging to my leg and being dragged around the house as I tried to get ready to leave one morning).

What's a frazzled parent to do? Is this still my mother's blessing/curse playing out? ("I hope someday you have a child just like you.") I certainly don't REMEMBER being that stubborn! Oh well, it's probably just a phase . . .

In between tantrums, we have an absolutely adorable child. She's a little impish, and she likes to push boundaries, but she also loves to make people laugh. She is generous with kisses whenever anyone has a "boo-boo". She walks hand-in-hand with Alek down the basement stairs to play trains together. She's mastering the alphabet and starting to play with words and numbers. She is independent and gets herself dressed (as long as she can pick out what SHE wants to wear). And of course, she's swimming. ("I'm a fish!" she shouts, and dives down to the bottom of the pool to tickle my foot.)

Yes, the tantrums may well be a phase. Like every other challenging phase of parenthood so far (that is, all of them), it's easy to lapse into waiting for it to be over . . . and then suddenly it's gone, and your 3-year-old is a "goan-up". Someday she'll stop throwing tantrums. Then she'll stop sucking her thumb, and stop wanting to sleep next to us, and stop wanting us to walk her into school (like Alek has already declared!). Then before I know it she'll be driving and married and having her own kids. And with any luck, they'll be just like her.

The best part about Alek's first day of kindergarten is that it wasn't like MY first day of kindergarten. I've been dreading this day since I brought him home from the hospital. I would have started worrying earlier, I just didn't have time while we were still IN the hospital (all of those 2 days). Every "first" day I've ever had - college, job, med school, internship, fellowship, etc. - has been compared to my first day of kindergarten, and nothing has ever compared in terms of sheer horror and disappointment.

Despite a few tears, Alek's was MUCH better than that!

After the brief moment of panic when he walked into a classroom full of not only strange kids, but strange parents taking pictures of all the strange kids, Alek went on to have a great time. (Apparently, I'm told, I got off to a great start AT kindergarten and lost it during the "fire drill" on the bus - I guess it's better to end the day strong!)

Why do parents worry about kindergarten? As a "working" mom, with a younger child and a nanny still, nothing much will actually change. Maybe I dreaded it because I certainly did not want the same haunting "first-day" experience for my child that I had. I've been certain that if only I'd had a good first day, the rest of my school career would have gone much better, I'd have won the lottery by now, and I'd be living on my own private Carribean island. (Well, OK, so I guess that theory doesn't really make sense. In retrospect, having a scary first day of kindergarten probably set me up to be pleasantly surprised by the rest of the academic experience, which would explain why I'm still taking classes.)

Meanwhile, as I relive the worst day of my childhood over and over again for no good reason, Alek is doing exactly what he should be: having a hard time facing something new and scary, facing it anyway and having fun, and growing and thriving despite his mother's neuroses.

"Jammie Dancing" pictures on MobileMe

Scenes from bedtime last night:

"I'm going be all piggy!" said Erin with a giggle. She crawled around the bedroom on feet and hands with her piggy tail up in the air. "Oink! Oink! Oink! See my pointy piggy toes?"

While Princess Piggy was prancing around on the floor, Space Ranger Alek flew in the door. He landed with a flourish of green wings. "Take a picture of my left wing! Now both! Now my right wing!"

I had an interesting talk today with a colleague about pediatric anesthesia. He admitted that if he had gone into this specialty, he’d have had to drink a lot more beer - this coming from a Scotsman who I happen to know could drink me under the table and out the door. I wondered if perhaps my chosen career and living in such close proximity to a beer fridge - magically replenished with my husband’s homebrew on a regular basis - were not in fact the coincidence I always assumed they were? Along those lines, I had a beer and wrote this poem:

Ode to Oatmeal Stout

A cool drink to chase bad memories away,
You go well with jeans and slippers
And love-starved yellow dogs sitting near my chair.

Fend off the Grim Reaper Himself,
Or his shadow lying over
My patients,
And their parents,
Or even in my worst dreams
My children
Or me.

No, your gift is not as good as friendship.

But your comfort is like food,
Sustaining and warm,
Spreading like magic from the glass,
Now almost empty
And still
Cold.

My Dad's office is full of memories that span over 30 years, starting with my earliest trips to get teeth cleaned at age 4, working there in the summer when I was 14, and now bringing my own kids there to get their teeth cleaned. The best thing about the office is that it actually, literally, has not changed. It has gone past "dated", is well into "retro", and is probably on its way to "antique" (in a good way, Dad, I promise!). The slideshow commemorates Erin's first cleaning. The music is "When the Dentist Dreams" by Brooks Williams, picked solely because it was the only song in either of our iTunes collections that had the word "dentist" in the title.

Despite, or maybe because of, the old equipment, I have always loved my Dad's office. I am one of the only people I know who has really happy memories of the dentist's office. This is definitely DESPITE the summer I spent there filing charts, filling out the schedule, and calling patients to remind them of their appointments. I loved working for my dad - everyone who works there seems to - I was just mildly dyslexic when it came to alphabetizing charts and I was slightly phone-phobic. I was also 14, of course. But otherwise, only happy memories. Oh, besides the 2+ years of orthodontic visits too. Really, other than that - happiness only.

(By the way, "Dad's Dental Service" comes from the only definition of "DDS" I knew for the first 10 years of my life. Thanks, Dad.)

One of the problems about being a Northerner in the South is that summer is over too quickly. This sounds backwards, but it's true - in my internal calendar, summer is kind of just beginning sometime around July, when the window for snow has officially closed for good. In North Carolina, kids are starting to talk about going back to school now that it's August. I actually just started a class again last Thursday. The summer is over.

Well, for what it's worth, we managed to have something resembling a summer vacation, even if it is too abruptly coming to an end. It was at least a change of pace from the usual reality. I had a break from classes that allowed me time to actually start contradancing again, and Erik had a lull in the work-hole that allowed him to yet again complete the legendary Off Road Assault on Mount Mitchell, a 65-mile mountain bike race that he was the only one of all his friends to actually follow through on. The kids have fully become creatures of the sun and water. We spent lots of days at the river, in the pool, or playing with the hose in the driveway. Most days they are out of their clothes and soaking wet by the time we've finished cooking dinner. It's been a great way to meet the neighbors - there's nothing like a naked, 2-year-old red-head coming up your driveway to break the ice.

Why does summer still feel like vacation anyway? There's no good reason - the kids aren't even in school yet. Maybe it's the temporary reprieve from having to wear protective outerwear - and I count socks in that category. Maybe it's the bounty of fresh food that we have in the garden or showing up from our CSA. Or maybe we're all happier in the summer because of latent childhood memories of running around naked and wet in the sun. Whatever the reason, it's been a great summer so far, and I'm going to try to make it last as long as possible, despite the resumption of classes and work and other adult-type stuff. My Northern confusion will be helping me in September, when I instinctively get out the winter coats again, and then get to wear flip-flops for another month.

The past month has held some surprises. Erin has accomplished in two weeks what it took us two years to do with our first child: completely potty-trained, wiping herself, no diaper for nap or bed, and waking up to pee at night. I don't want to spend too much time on the finer aspects of potty training, but I did want to update the impression I left with the last blog entry; that is to say, that she was only "pee-potty-trained". It's a big accomplishment for a little girl, and it deserves to be recognized. Since I don't have a baby book for her, the Internet will suffice.

Meanwhile, as many who follow my erratic Facebook status updates have noticed, we're dealing with an excess of vegetables thanks to our first "CSA" (Community Supported Agriculture) experience, plus a wildly overgrown garden and an edibly-landscaped backyard. This has forced some changes in our eating habits and the allocation of yet another corner of our garden for a compost pile. I made "Scrambled eggs with greens" for dinner tonight (CSA ingredients: eggs, chard, mustard and turnip greens; secret ingredients: cream cheese, cheddar cheese, and half-and-half) and actually watched both Alek and Erin ingest something green. Finally, my strategy of smothering nutritious food in fat and salt has succeeded! Sadly, Erik wouldn't touch it, due to the eggs, but I think he ate some of the greens I kept aside for him.

I have to say, I've come to understand the appeal of "greens". Until this year, I don't think I had ever eaten them. Then Erik planted collards, with his usual magic green thumb. Collards became the secret ingredient in everything I made for a few months: sweet potato and black bean enchiladas, vegetarian meatballs (other secret ingredient: meat), even hummus. I still don't know how to make them in a truly southern way, since I understand that requires something called "fat back", or at the very least, lots of bacon, but they have become a staple.

Now, turnips and radishes are another issue altogether. I am trying to learn how to deal with them. I learned that I can bury sliced radishes in a salad with enough dressing to make them palatable, and I actually brought a turnip for snack today. Yes, I had a turnip as a snack. It actually wasn't too bad, dipped in salad dressing - again, the fat and salt strategy is pretty reliable. Maybe I've lived a sheltered life, but I had never eaten a turnip until today. I'm not entirely sure I will eat one again, though I will bring one for lunch tomorrow and see how it goes.

We have had salad every night with dinner for about the past two weeks and we still have an excess of lettuce - part of the problem is the 12 plants of romaine growing in the garden, not that that is a huge problem or worse than any of the other problems that some of our friends are dealing with this summer, just that it grew so well that we can't possibly eat it all. I've given three whole plants away, but the darn stuff keeps growing. Greens are easy - a whole laundry basket can be cooked down to 4 ziploc bags. Yes, we know this from experience. But lettuce is rather bulky and time-consuming to eat, in terms of the calories obtained. I can now see why it is considered a "diet" food. Completely unintentionally, I've lost two pounds, and I think it's mostly from the energy that goes into chewing all that salad.

Did I mention the garlic? We planted 75 cloves earlier this year. They looked so small and innocent. Then each turned into a head of garlic. What am I supposed to do with 75 heads of garlic???

I could go on, but you get the point. Last year's investment in "Bountiful Backyards" has paid off and then some. I thought once I had conquered kohlrabi that the rest would be easy . . .

We had simultaneous 2- and 4-year pediatrician visits today, and the kids are - no surprise here - doing fine. We had so much fun catching up with Dr. Martha that it took a little bit to get around to the actual doctor stuff. Alek had to have his blood pressure checked, so Erin insisted on it as well. Erin opened up wide for the doctor, which was what it took (along with threatening to take away Gordon) to get Alek to open his mouth. Dr. Martha found Smudger in there, and James was in the left ear (Gordon was in the right, safe and sound). Erin couldn't WAIT to show off her belly button while Dr. Martha was looking at Alek's. For some reason, Erin didn't feel the need to get any shots even though Alek got four (and was pretty darn brave about it too - he cried, but held still even after the first one). I had the embarrassment of bribing my children with chocolate in front of the doctor, and she didn't seem to mind. For those who are interested, here are the vital statistics:

• Erin is 35.4 inches (82%) and 29.5 lbs (80%) and on track for being 5'8" (double your height at age 2 = approximate adult height).


• Alek is 38.8 inches (18%) and 32 lbs (15%) and on track for being ... 5'8" (plus or minus 2 inches, although I bet it will be plus).

Erin is almost pee-potty-trained, which is following in the footsteps of her brother. This is a new concept I've invented (or that I've been too lazy to look up to see if it exists elsewhere), wherein I am able to keep my child out of diapers for everything except pooping. No hurry on either account - except I'm willing to embrace the idea this time. Pooping in the diaper is a lot better than pooping somewhere else that isn't the potty.

Along cognitive lines, Erin demonstrated some advanced concepts just in time to impress the heck out of her doctor. I was trying to get her to say her name. She obliged ("Ein-in" . . . although ironically the word for underwear comes out "Erin"), then she pointed at Alek and said "Ahl-eh - boy!" Dr. Martha looked appropriately impressed and asked if she was a boy, and she giggled and said "Noooooooooo . . . ". When Dr. Martha asked her what she was, Erin pointed to her belly and said, clearer than any word I've ever heard her say, "Girl!" OK, it wasn't just the doctor who was impressed - Mama was pretty proud, too. As you can tell! Of course, this just may be a by-product of being a working mom - for all I know, their nanny has been working on this concept for weeks and Erin chose this moment to share it.

"Why is bedtime going so horribly tonight?" That's Erik's question, and I have no answer. Yes, the kids are still awake. They've tried sleeping in Alek's bed, on Alek's floor, in Erin's bed, and are finally in their own beds with the doors open calling out to us and each other. They're singing, kicking, throwing covers on and off, generally having a great time. Two little monkeys, along the lines of "monkey see monkey do" - Alek wants his door open, so Erin insists "Ope! Ope!" Generally being cute. Generally just . . . awake.

Since I last posted anything on Freather, we've had two birthdays and a Between-The-Birthdays-Bouncy-House party. Erin is now officially 2; Alek 4. Both are somewhat confused about the whole birthday process - the extra party in the middle was a confounder, I admit. No more confusing than having Lightning McQueen (attached to the bouncy house) come live in your backyard for one afternoon, and one afternoon only. Erin woke up the next morning trying to run outside, saying "Ligh-neen neen house! Ligh-neen neen house!" All of Alek's friends who have come to visit since then have likewise been very excited to come over here, and very disappointed upon arrival. But that's OK - we've heard that he will be at Audrey's birthday party next year, and maybe Evan's as well. We'll see what their parents have to say about that.

Meanwhile, Erin is grudgingly finishing entire syllables, and occasionally whole words. She will say "Open" if we demand it of her, but it's hard when Alek is adopting Erin-speak as a second language. Maybe even a career. One day Erin was standing at the refrigerator pointing with extreme agitation, saying only something that sounded like "pupe joo!! . . . pupe joo!!!" After I struggled for a few frustrating minutes to guess what she wanted ("Pump goo? Puff jewel?") Alek finally called out "She wants the grape juice! It's in the back!" Of course! It's actually not so surprising that Alek knows her best - he does spend all day with her, and usually I do not. On the day in question, I didn't even know she knew the word for purple, much less that we had grape juice in the fridge.

While her enunciation is lagging behind, her understanding and vocabulary are doing just fine. For example, there was the day I was driving Alek to pre-school and forgot to turn onto Rose of Sharon (having promised him we would go over the bridge, and not on the highway). Erin was silent, sitting with her thumb in her mouth for the whole ride, until I missed the turn and she started pointing agitatedly (a recurring theme in her life) saying "No, Dat Way! Dat Way!" I didn't even know she knew the way to pre-school.

Well, bedtime has gone from bad to worse while I was writing this - Erik is now up there, no doubt pointing with extreme agitation, trying to keep the kids in their own rooms. There is screaming coming from someone. I should probably go help out. It's just another day in our lives . . .