Sugar and Spice

I gave a seminar last week to the management team of one of my client’s business. As an employment lawyer we do that sometimes, purportedly to keep our clients out of trouble or, at a minimum, to make our jobs easier when they do get in trouble (because they have followed our advice and documented their files, for example). The topic du jour was discipline. Seems like discipline is my topic du jour every day these days. As I was preparing for that seminar, I came across the definition of discipline which is “to teach.” Not, “to punish,” although we often associate discipline with punishment. It was then that I realized that discipline is the same whether you are disciplining a 2 year old or a 42 year old. The same rules (“The Three Cs” as my PowerPoint referred to them) apply – calm, clear, consistent. And it’s true, when I discipline Pumpkin the goal is not to punish her (God knows I could go forever without doing that and be happy) but just to teach her something. In fact, w...

It's official and, as Pumpkin's teacher warned me, "it's real." The terrible (almost) twos are upon us. This morning was the worst daycare drop off in history. Go ahead, look back at the blogs of yore where I lament leaving my sick, sad, pitiful, crying, screaming, hysterical, little Pumpkin at daycare. Today topped them all. The only difference was this time I was GLAD to leave her. I will preface this story with the fact that we had a bad night. I think the weather mess is making Pumpkin sick again. She doesn’t feel good. However, that is no excuse. This morning Pumpkin wore her favorite shirt and jacket combo to school. This is one she picked out herself at the store and is always thrilled to wear. It’s red and has Elmo and the rest of the Seasame Street crew under the heading "Best Friends." The first time she wore it to school she strutted around the room letting all her little friends admire it (which they obligingly did). You can see wh...

Big, big weekend at the Brown house. For those of you who haven’t already heard, this weekend saw not-quite-yet-21-month old Pumpkin hit the potty TWO times AND count to six all by herself (identifying objects as she did, not just theoretical counting). Needless to say, I was a proud, proud mama. So proud, in fact, that I think all the potty-hoopla frightened Pumpkin a little. She eventually got back in the saddle, though hesitantly. Pumpkin’s not just learning, but also teaching mama a few things. Pumpkin’s latest lessons run the gamut from patience to safety to relaxation. Patience. As my dance teacher used to chide, “Patience is a virtue, have it if you can; seldom in a woman, never in a man.” Or as I could say, “never in a Pumpkin.” The irony of Pumpkin teaching me any lessons about patience is that I learn by her complete lack of the virtue. I’ll admit. At first I mistook her impatience for an inability to persevere. At least a handful of times during any given play sess...

Yesterday, I had another of my seemingly daily epiphanies about how much I love being Pumpkin’s mother. This time it wasn’t the result of any exceedingly charming or impressive feat by Pumpkin (though aren’t they all charming and impressive). Instead, it came while blowing bubbles on the front stoop at Nona and Pop’s. We were just blowing bubbles out of one of those $.99 bubble bottles with the cheap plastic wand that you can barely get out for the tiny opening, and even when you do there is slimly bubble juice dripping down your arm; and then when you finally get a good wet wand-ful of bubbles you blow with all your might (but just enough might so you don’t ruin the whole process) and you get one stinking bubble out. Bubbles these days are cheap. A twist tie from a bag of bread and mama’s ivory soap made better bubbles. But I digress. I love being a mama. Yes, for all those reasons I usually wax poetic on, like youth and beauty and unconditional love. All those things are grea...

I have always loved languages. I studied English and French in college, I write in my spare time, I love to read, and, though you may find it hard to believe, I love to talk. I love words, love learning new words and word origins. I’m just a big word nerd. This love of language has come in handy during my adventures in mommy-hood. First, you must know that Pumpkin appears to love words as much as mommy. She loves to read, sing, and talk – she is doing all three almost constantly. The problem is that most of her little words are not readily comprehendible to the untrained ear. I fancy myself something of a translator of the spoken Pumpkin word. Granted, sometimes it feels like I’m deposing her trying to figure out what a phrase like “Ganoo Ah-yee Cuhk-cuhk” means, but I cannot explain the over-the-moon excitement I feel when I actually figure it out. Yesterday’s interrogation went something like this: Me: Really? Pumpkin: Yess. Me: Did you like that? Pumpkin: Yesss. Me: Can y...

On New Year’s Day I posted a Facebook status declaring that my resolution for 2012 was to be the woman my daughter thinks I am. Now, I’m not really a “resolution” person, per se, but I do appreciate the time to step back and assess where I’ve been and where I’m going and to make positive changes. While, obviously this can be done ANYTIME, the beginning of a new year provides a good opportunity for such introspection. This New Year presented a particularly poignant time for this reflection, in the wake of the mourning of our cousin. At his funeral this morning someone referred to his death as untimely. While I certainly agree that it was unexpected and tragic for those of us who mourn him (and most importantly for his three sweet children), the fact is that death is never truly untimely. Our Lord has a plan we cannot ever understand. The seeming untimely nature of a young parent’s death is only on our earthly part, but it is one of those events that reminds us that it could be an...

I’m sure you’ve all seen that Subaru commercial where the dad is ticking off a vehicle safety checklist to his daughter who is seated in the driver’s seat. At first glance, he seems to be talking to a cute fidgety toddler. It’s only at the end of the commercial, that you realize he was only seeing her as a toddler and that she is, in fact, his beautiful grown daughter. It gets me every time. Every. Single. Time. That commercial is always followed in our house by tears, nostalgia for years that have not even passed us by yet, and, if she is close enough, a big and usually unwelcome squeeze of Pumpkin. This morning I had a completely opposite experience. As I’m sorting laundry, I look up and, lo and behold, Pumpkin has draped a sports bra around her neck and is holding a set of car keys in her hand. I felt like her whole life had flashed before my eyes. I was no longer looking at my 19-month old, but at my 19-year old. Granted, I hope when she is 19-years old she is wearing he...