I often take Grace to the bathroom before I go to bed, just to increase the odds that I’m not dealing with a wet and cranky 5 year old in the wee hours. On Friday night, she was sleepy and limp as usual as I carried her into the bathroom. She is so long and lean now; I am struck anew by that every time I carry her. Her legs dangle down almost to my own knees and she feels like a full-fledged child. As is her wont, she tucked her head against my shoulder and barely even woke up as we walked to the dark bathroom. After she peed, she let me gather her up again and carry her back to her room. As I was putting her into bed, she murmured to me, “One of the things I love best is the way you carry me, Mummy.” She was only half awake but it was very clear.
I went back to my own bed blinking back tears, wrestling yet again with the potent cocktail of identification, intimacy, and separation. In that moment I saw my own odd blend of fierce independence and profound desire to be taken care of. All day long Grace fights me, wanting to do things “MY OWN SELF” (as she used to say at 18 months), spitting nails as she refuses all offers of help. She is determined and competent, and cares deeply about displaying her own ability to do things both well and alone. Underneath this, though, is a buried but rich vein of need. Like me, she is relieved when someone sees through her protestations of independence and insists on helping her. She does, at least some of the time, want to be carried.
I can see so vividly the young woman she will become. I just hope she won’t let either the bold assertion of autonomy or the honest admission of desire for support dominate her. I believe that these two traits, while contradictory on the surface, provide a useful check-and-balance for the ego and the self (of course I do – I have to, they are my own).

Is this a classic sick child or what?

I can’t remember where I read the comment that being home with sick children is like being a POW but it’s right on the money.
These two have high fevers (103, 104) and a full-blown case of the cranks (I think it’s technically called the flu). After some travel at the front end of the week I’ve been home and in Mother Mode for a couple of days. It’s apple juice, motrin, television, crying. Repeat. Ad nauseum.
The shot above is from one of my flights this week. Those clouds and those flights are a nice place to go in my head when Grace and Whit are screaming at each other about absolutely nothing for the ninth straight hour.
I’m going to New York tomorrow with Christina to meet up with Kendall and Quincy. It’s our version of an engagement celebration for MKM since we all missed the February festivities. I’m really sincerely hoping the nagging sore throat I have doesn’t blossom into what the children have. Am also a little concerned about Dad’s ability to manage these two for the 30 hours or so that I’ll be gone. I’m roasting a chicken for them right now and later have plans to make zucchini muffins which I’m going to bastardize with chocolate chips in the hopes that Whit will eat them (I promise, it’s yummy – kind of like banana bread but not banana-y … duh).

That’s the update from the Hot Zone.

Just out of Grace’s parent-teacher conference. It’s official, just as Mamah was, I’m raising myself. My God. I felt like Dorian and Rania were talking about me, to the point where it got a little uncomfortable talking about areas for development. Grace appears to be a highly sensitive perfectionist. Hmm. Sound familiar? She is attuned to everything going on in the room, wants people to like her, and has the occasional meltdown when she fails at something. She can be a know-it-all and a touch bossy, though she seems to be working on that. She is best when she’s able to set the pace herself and often holds herself to challengingly high standards. She is physically competent, coordinated, and confident and she is fully of energy. She seems to be good at most things, spikily excellent at none so far.
Hell-o.
It’s really pretty extraordinary, this genetic stuff. Or maybe it’s nurture, but my instinct says nature.

My goal for the day: to be more empathetic to Grace. To give her space to fail and freak out and to make sure she knows she’s loved no matter what. You can read between the lines about what I want for myself, too.

Today I am headless poultry