Sisters

So similar. So different.



So together. So separate.



Such a team. Such individuals.

Best friends. Worst rivals.

Inspire each other. Infuriate each other.

Always sisters.



This post is participating in Wordless Wednesday at 5 MInutes for Mom.

My life in Pink

At one time in my life I hated pink. My wardrobe consisted of browns, grays and blacks with the very occasional lavender. I was pretty cool. Or so I thought. No pink for me. Too frilly. Too girly. Not me.

When I was pregnant with Caroline there was no way I was going to paint her room pink. I painted the walls yellow and the ceiling blue. I sewed her bedding myself in yellow and blues.

After Caroline was born the baby gifts started arriving. They were pink. Light pink, dark pink, fuscia. Every hue of pink. Caroline wore all of them. The pink complemented her skin tone.

So what's a girl to do? I embraced the pink. Grudgingly at first, for sure. I started by buying pink clothes for Caroline. And how couldn't I? Pink reigned supreme in the baby and toddler girl selections. And then slowly but surely pink crept into my own wardrobe. A t-shirt here, a sweater there. I stopped at the coats. There has to be a limit.

When Katie was born she wore all of Caroline's baby clothes. And more pink arrived in the form of gifts. I bought Caroline a pink bedspread for her big girl bed. I was surrounded by pink.

When we moved back to Los Angeles Caroline chose a bright fuscia pink, her favorite color, for her bedroom. I painted one wall that color and the rest a lighter shade of pink. But her room is PINK. So very pink.

I'm an official pink convert. I thank my girls for that. Pink is a fresh, full of life, a little romantic, a hop-in-your-step-color. A little brightness in your day. A symbol of girl power. Pink is good. I'm at peace with pink.

I can almost see myself painting my own bedroom pink.

Do you like pink? Is there anything that you used to dislike that you like or love now that you have children?

Tackling letting go

Like most families, we have a lot going on. I'm looking for work, we're deciding whether or not we 're going to make a big move to another city, we're selling our house and we're dealing with very trying, emotionally exhausting behavior from Katie. I'm stressed. So stressed that I had a systemic eczema outbreak a month ago.

I need to let go of some things. Things that just don't really matter in the grand scheme of things. This week I'm letting go of Caroline's messy room.

The unmade bed, the clothes under the bed, the piggy bank dangling from the dollhouse, piles of paper and books on the desk, stuff all over the floor and the back of the desk chair broken off? Big whoop. The worst that will happen is some clothes may miss this week's laundry.

So I'm not picking anything up or telling her to clean up her room. I'm leaving the messy room alone. For now. For this week.

What do you try letting go?

This post is participating in 5 Minutes for Mom's Tackle it Tuesday.

Back to Katie

We named our youngest daughter Katherine. One of my favorite names. I love its old world elegance. It's thought to originate from the Greek word "katharos" for "pure." It's a name that's been around since the third century. Meaning aside, I love the way it rolls off the tongue. It's a classy name. And it's versatile. It can be Kate or Kathy or Kat or Katie.

We called our Katherine Katie. She was Katie for almost 5 years. After a bad experience at the Most Stinky Stupidhead Preschool (MSSP), we put her at another school where she introduced herself as Katherine and said she wanted to be Katherine from now on.

I tried to make the switch. I always referred to her as Katherine around school people and friends and here on my blog. Tim never made the switch and Caroline, well, she was the only one who was able to stay consistent and always call her sister Katherine.

Katie switched schools again this year. She loved Kindergarten last year but Caroline was going to a new school and Katie decided she wanted to go to the new school, too. Given that it was going to be just about impossible juggling two kids at two schools that had different start and end times and were twenty miles and four freeways apart we let Katie switch, too.

At some point last fall she began telling the teacher she wanted to be called Katie. She signed Katie on all her work. When Caroline called her Katherine in the schoolyard Katie's friends asked who Katherine was. Finally, Katie told me she wanted to be Katie again.

So she's Katie again.

Although last week she mentioned she might like to be called Kate.

Do your kids ever ask you to call them something different? Or, do they go by something different in school than at home?

Giving to a bigger cause

A long time ago Caroline and a friend had a lemonade and cookie stand.

Caroline wanted the proceeds to go to a cat rescue foundation in memory of Jasper, our cat whom we had recently lost. Somehow the money sat in a cup for, um, a very long time. We finally figured out a cat rescue organization that was a good candidate for the money: Pet Orphans. But the money still sat, stuffed in a paper cup. Bad mom.

Then, a year later, both girls manned a bake sale at our big yard sale.

They wanted the proceeds to go to helping cats in need in memory of Jasper and Emory, a kitten we lost earlier in the year. More money was added to the paper cup that sat on the bookshelf.

A few weeks before Christmas we lost Charles, our 17 1/2 year old cat. We were all heartbroken. Three cats in a year. It was time get that paper cup down off the shelf. It was time to tackle giving with a hands-on experience by making a giving trek.

It was raining hard as we pulled up to The Pet Orphans but that didn't dampen the girls enthusiasm. They were greeted as official donors. They were given a tour.

They played with the kittens.

They played with the older cats.

Even Tim got into it.

Katherine wanted to take home one of the playful kittens. We explained we were there to help the cats and kittens, not take them home. She pushed some more. "I really want to bring him home." But in the end a promise of some extra play time with the kitten seemed to satisfy her.

They handed over their $50 in various crumpled bills.

And then we waited while three different people tried to print out the official certificate of appreciation which thanked them for making a donation in memory of Jasper, Emory and Charles. The printer wasn't working. They tried another printer. It wasn't working either.

Katherine started complaining that she was hungry, that she wanted to leave.

It was time to go. Tim asked if they could email us the certificates and we left.

I'd like my girls to grow up knowing there are causes in the world bigger than them, than any of us, and I'd like for them to feel like they can make a difference. Even if it's a small difference.

When I heard Katherine saying "I'm hungry" I wondered if any of it had sunk in.

Do you help your kids donate to charitable organizations? If you do, how old were they when you started?




This post is participating in 5 Minutes for Mom's Tackle it Tuesday.

Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies| Post stress-cation baking

I returned from a major stress-cation two days ago. I'll write about my stress-cation once I've had some time to reflect on it and wrap my head around it. Let's just say that taking a five-hour plane ride to participate in the all-in-the-family Christmas get together isn't wise. There's a reason I've only done it one other time in the past eight years.

The relief of returning home quickly dissipated when we opened the door and breathed in a whiff of the decomposing contents of the refrigerator that had broken five days earlier. Cleaning out the fridge was a revolting ordeal. But fear not! I had a rag-as-mask, princess-shoe-wearing six-year-old to help me mop and scrub the rotten food juice that had leaked all over the floor and under the fridge!

This afternoon, with the girls watching Snow White, I finally had some much needed me-time and I dug into one of my new present-from-hubby-cookbooks: Chewy, Gooey, Crispy, Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth-Cookies by Alice Medrich. I made the Oatmeal Cookie but my stress-cation demanded  chocolate chips instead of walnuts and raisins. And with chocolate chips I left out the cinnamon and nutmeg.

Find the recipe here.

What do you do to decompress after stressful times?

Santa Baby

And a little more cheer from the girls.

Caroline designed and made her own costume from spare material I had.

The microphone is part of a chair back.

Who is Santa?

One of the girls favorite things to do is put on shows for us so a few nights ago they staged a special holiday performance. They like to make up their own songs.

Here's a little holiday cheer from Katherine.

Caroline's holiday cheer will be up tomorrow.



Do your kids like to put on shows for you?

Christmas Past | Last year

Christmas 2009

At least I made the list

I would have made the top of the list back in these days:



These days, my place on the list has shifted.

This afternoon on the car ride home from school Katherine and Caroline were talking about their favorite things.

Katherine started listing off her favorite things at home: Cooper [our cat] is my first favorite thing. Caroline, you're my second favorite thing. Daddy is my third favorite thing and Mommy is my fourth favorite thing.

(Notice that Caroline was addressed directly, but I was discussed like I wasn't even there.)

Later on at dinner Katherine explained to Caroline (again, like I wasn't there) that she liked Daddy better than Mommy because Daddy helped her feel better when she got into big trouble with Mommy.

It could be worse.

I could have been left off the list entirely.

So, how do you fare on your kids list of favorite things?

Thanksgiving post: This one's a troublemaker

I wrote about Caroline's birth in an essay on Literary Mama, but never wrote Katherine's birth story. Caroline got a beautiful first year scrapbook and Katherine's lock of hair, hospital bracelet and other keepsakes are still sitting in a box six years later.

So I'm sharing Katherine's birth story here, in Thanksgiving week, with you, because all birth stories are worth sharing and because I'm so thankful for Katherine's birth. After you read Katherine's, please share your childrens', if you care to, and link back to Sugar Bowl Mix. I love reading birth stories. Each one is its own extraordinary miracle.

When I was pregnant with Caroline I lived in fear of the delivery. I was terrified. I was a wimp for pain. At the birthing class at a San Francisco hospital I was the only one who stood up when asked who wanted the epidural in the parking lot. After watching a graphic, bloody birth movie starring a long-haired-Haight-Ashbury-1970s-hippy screaming in agony, the birthing instructor spelled out all the reasons why we should delay the epidural as long as possible and really, best of all, skip it altogether.

I tortured myself with Discovery channel's Birth Stories. One episode in particular haunted me: a woman whose birth plan dictated skipping the epidural changed her mind as she was pushing out the baby. She screamed and cried, pleading and begging in a high-pitched little voice: "Is it too late to get the epidural?" It was.

But then an extraordinary thing happened. My water broke, we went to the hospital and I endured back labor for nine hours with no epidural and it wasn't scary. Yes, it hurt. A lot. But I discovered I have a high tolerance for pain. And when I finally got the epidural it wasn't very effective and that last half hour of pushing was one major BURN-fest. But I survived. It wasn't terrifying.

I came to realize that for me the delivery was a piece of cake, though not chocolate cake. It was the nine months of pregnancy that was hard. When I was pregnant with Katherine I had to wear a pregnancy girdle belt for the entire pregnancy because of bad back pain. Not fun. When I was four months along I came down with a kidney infection and had to be hospitalized for two nights. Tim was in New York and we had no family in town. Not fun. The Braxton Hicks contractions started a a few weeks later and never stopped. Not fun at all. Sciatica set in at the same time. Maybe the worst thing of all. I still have it six years later.

After discovering the baby was breach at thirty-six weeks I decided against the C-section and had her turned. When my OB warned me it would be "a little uncomfortable" I knew I was in for it. Five minutes of my OB pushing and shoving my baby's bottom and I almost passed out from the pain. I'd go through fourteen hours of back labor again before I'd repeat that. But my baby was turned and the C-section averted.

When I was a week overdue I begged my OB to induce me. I couldn't take it a second longer. And didn't she know I had a wedding to attend in Carmel in ten days and my mother-in-law and niece were arriving in two days? I needed this baby out! I did everything I could to naturally induce the delivery short of drinking witch's brew. Still no baby.

Finally, eight days overdue and I got word that I could come in and be induced that afternoon. Hallelujah! By tomorrow I would no longer be pregnant! I rushed to Target to buy a last-minute changing table, I rearranged Caroline's room, rearranged the den, cooked, watered the plants, folded baby clothes and played with Caroline.

I rushed around all day, in major nesting mode, so elated at the thought of meeting my baby and not being pregnant anymore, but suddenly, as we drove to the hospital that afternoon, I remembered that while delivering babies wasn't terrifying, it wasn't a piece of chocolate cake.

At the hospital I waited for forty minutes while two women were checked in before me. One woman, in active labor, winced and groaned, paced, leaned over and finding no relief crumpled on to a chair, sobbing. A reminder of what lay ahead for me.

Finally, settled in to the delivery room, hooked up to various contraptions, with Tim-I've done-this-before-call-me-when-you-need-me reading a book by the window, a nurse came in to check me.
"You're five centimeters dilated and you're having major contractions," she said.
"Oh, these aren't contractions," I said. "I've been having these for months. They're just Braxton Hicks contractions."
"Honey, you're in active labor. How have you not gone insane with those huge contractions for months?"

Four hours later with no induction necessary, my contractions fast and furious, I was pushing hard. The OB arrived, ready to oversee the delivery.

Suddenly, my baby's heart beat dropped. A lot.

"Get the vacuum!" the OB shouted to the nurse.
"Vacuum needed in room **," the nurse called on the intercom.

I didn't want forceps or the vacuum. At any cost. Now, I lay there, helpless, a vacuum on the way.

The room was very quiet.

This is one of those moments. One of those defining life moments, I thought. What happens next will change everything. Everything. I breathed in hard. It hurt.

'Where's the vacuum?" the OB called out, her voice panicky.

The nurse called for it again. I appreciated her calm voice, her methodical movements. I breathed in long and deep again,  thinking the extra oxygen would help my baby.

Four people in surgery gowns charged into the delivery room in a blur.

The OB struggled with the vacuum.

"Shit, "I heard her say. Really? I remember thinking. Did she really just say that? Now? In this moment?

Then my baby was out. One of the surgery gowns grabbed her and flew over to an area I couldn't see under a bright light.

"We're going to make sure the baby is okay," I heard the OB say, in between heavy breaths. I didn't know who she was talking to.

 I haven't heard her cry, I thought. I waited, holding my breath, willing my baby who I couldn't see to cry.

I looked to Tim but he was watching the surgery gowns check our baby.

Then, just like that, a loud, forceful cry went up.

"There she goes," someone said.

I let my breath out. Hot tears slid down my cheeks.

They placed my baby, wrapped tightly in a hospital blanket, in my arms. I looked at her full head of black hair, her little, serious brown eyes and her round, red face. She didn't look anything like her sister. She didn't look anything like I expected she would, but I knew her already. I knew my baby who had  grown inside me, kicked me, punched me and hiccupped every night at nine o'clock. I knew her.

"Hi precious," I said.

"Watch out," the OB said, "this one's a troublemaker."

A girl and her Daddy - wordless wednesday

A girl helps her Daddy celebrate his birthday.

Come on, Daddy! Hurry up! Let's get to the restaurant I chose!

This restaurant I chose for your birthday has the bestest bread. EVER!

Especially when it's dipped in olive oil and vinegar.

And chased down by root beer.

And followed by a chocolate birthday brownie.

Hollywood premieres to cloth diapers and underpants

At one point in my life I used to go to Hollywood premieres on a regular basis. I saw a lot of movies for free that way and ate late dinners while milling through crowds of celebrities and other film industry executives.

My life has changed a lot since then.

Last week a friend and her son were over for dinner. In my effort to retain some kind of elegance amidst my general chaos I grabbed a linen napkin from the napkin drawer to line the bowl to hold the chicken tacos. As I was carrying the bowl  to the table I noticed the tacos were elegantly nestled in a cloth diaper.

In my haste I had apparently opened the rag drawer, not the linen napkin drawer. My friend was so amused she told me I had to leave the tacos in the diaper for dinner.

A few weeks ago the chain that turns Katherine's bedside lamp on broke off and was lost. So I took a pair of her underpants - clean ones - and unscrewed the lightbulb to turn off the lamp. This works well. I don't burn my hands and the light gets turned on and off.

For now I'm not going to fix the lamp or replace it. There's a wonderful humor, a zaniness in using underpants to switch her bedside lamp on and off.  I don't want to give that up just yet.

Do you do anything zany that makes you laugh that you never would have considered pre-children?

#BlogBoycottDay

So yesterday I went to the zoo with the girls and a friend and her child. The kids were so excited running from exhibit to exhibit. It all disintigrated thirty-five minutes into our visit when my friend's child started demanding popcorn and Katherine decided she was going to die, did you hear me? DIE, if she didn't eat immediately.

So we lined up at one of the zoo's eateries and ordered $7 per slice pizzas and a purple drink that came in the shape of a lion and we didn't get the cheetah head that came with total junk food inside it. We sat down in front of the Okapi exhibit where two adorable babies were running around to lots of "oohs" and "aahhs." Caroline ate her entire slice of pepperoni pizza and guzzled three little bottles of water.

After lunch we slowly started to make our way back to the entrance, stopping to see glimpses of the snow leopards, the hippo peeing in the water, the lemur peeing and some amazingly strange goat animal with fabulous spiral horns. That's when Caroline started to say she was SO tired. She couldn't walk all the way back to the front of the zoo.

We did walk all the way back to the front. The girls sat down in the shade outside the zoo entrancce so Caroline could rest. Quite suddenly, she stood up, spread her legs wide, leaned over and vomited everywhere. The entire slice of pizza, all three bottles of water. Right there on the pavement in front of the Los Angeles Zoo.

Katherine ran away with cries of "EEEEEWWW" and "I'm really grossed out!"

All of this to say that today I am home with poor tummy-virussy-Caroline who had another episode last night.

SO I am taking a day off blogging, reading and commenting to participate in Liz's (a belle a bean & a chicago dog) BlogBoycottDay (and tend to Caroline).

Meet me on Twitter, tweeps:  @sugarbowlmix.

Letting the imagination soar

In pre-school Katherine's best friend moved to New York. This was very traumatic. So she and her pre-school class started going on regular field trips to New York.

"Yup, we got on the plane and it went so fast and we walked around in New York and there was SO much people and then the plane brought us home."

One day in pre-school, she and all her classmates got up on the roof to fix it because it was leaking. She climbed up all by herself and her teacher handed her a hammer and she got that roof fixed. None of the other kids knew what to do but she knew all about fixing leaking roofs.

In Kindergarten, the field trips and extra-curricular activities calmed down. The field trips to New York were shelved and the roof didn't need fixing.

But in first grade there are a lot of interesting things happening again. She and her class went on a field trip a few weeks ago. They walked around their very urban neighborhood studying their community. Well, Katherine saw a lot of animals on that field trip, let me tell you. She saw a mama fox carrying its baby in its mouth. She saw a fat coyote. She saw a flying squirrel. She didn't know what kind of animal that was at first, but she called one of the mom volunteers over and asked her and the mom said it was a flying squirrel and weren't they so lucky to have seen one of those on the field trip. But the best animal she saw on that field trip, in the very urban neighborhood, was a tiger. And boy, was it ever cool to see that!

A little boy got lost on that same field trip. That was scary. But Katherine saved the day by finding him and escorting him back to the group! Thank goodness she was there for that!

Today, her big buddy from fifth grade came to visit again. Yesterday the big buddy's name was Flower. Today it was Daisy. At one point the big buddy's name was Chrysanthemum. Today, the big buddy brought strawberry ice-cream and after she and Katherine ate the ice-cream they ate lots of candy together. Double chocolate Kit-Kats, to be exact.

Wow. Imagine that.

I do imagine that. I go along with her on her field trips to New York and her sightings of tigers in the urban jungles of Los Angeles and her ice cream and candy parties with her big buddy who has flowery names because I love these adventures with her.

When I was six I had two imaginary friends, Seth and Turf. Seth was always well behaved and Turf was always naughty. I still remember what those boys looked like in my imagination. Seth was always very neatly dressed in shorts and a striped top and Turf was always dirty with chocolate smeared around his mouth.

Does your child tell you extraordinary stories? Do you go along for the ride?




This post is participating in

The four stages of a witch and a ladybug

1. Pre trick-or-treating

2. In the midst of smoky, ghoulish trick-or-treating

3. Post trick-or-treat candy-gorge

4. The next day loot count

This is a Wordless Wednesday post.