We're Getting Older in Many Ways

Breakfast in bed was brought by Augusto and then shared with my two pigeons. They followed with a rollicking, off-tune, and round-like Happy Birthday and Parabéns. The tradition in Stella's school is to follow the song with, "Are you 1? Are you 2? Are you 3?" and so on. She learned to count to 39 today.

And then I hung out at the DMV for an hour because I like the Oakland diversity smashed into one space full of many pleasant and some very impatient people... and I needed to get a new license photo and fingerprint before today's expiration. It was worth it to be able to say my height and weight hadn't changed from 13 years ago.

In other news, last week I learned something new when Stella locked herself and Otto in the bathroom. She often takes him in and locks the door. Even though she can unlock it, we usually discourage the behavior. This last time, she decided to poop and was up on the toilet, so she didn't want to/ couldn't unlock the door. Otto was happily washing his hands in the sink. I nearly went for the special little pin key, until I suddenly realized that with both of then locked in the bathroom, I could actually eat my breakfast and read the paper in peace. Which I did.

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Stella: "My wrist hurts."
Me: "Why?"
Stella: "There's a pain in it."
Me: "Well that certainly explains why it hurts."
Stella: "Huh?"

Taking out the Garbage

Ours is a multilingual household. English. Portuguese. Bark. Babble. Silent Treatment. Thank goodness we have a translator.

Otto squawks and demands, "Bawbaw." Stella says, "Otto wants milk."

At the back door, Rex lays down with a humpf. Stella says, "Rex wants to go out."

Augusto says to the family, "Vamos pelo parque?" Stella says, Mama, let's go to the park!"

I speak in Portuguese daily, so she should know I understand it. Perhaps it's so bad she figures I need help? But no. Augusto says, "I'll pick up Stella today. I think we'll go to the park and then get some ice cream." Stella says, "Mama, after school Papai is taking me to the park. And then we're getting ice cream!"

Em... that was all in English. She's translating one parent to the other. Clearly she's tuned into our latest high tension-low conversation phase. We aren't understanding each other often enough. Last week, after Augusto laid off several employees, he was edgy. I was maxed out on giving him room. He said something that now I can't remember. He offended me. I started to bitch, "I can't believe you said that. It was so." I stopped, not wanting to bicker in front of the kids. "Rude." I looked at Stella and she was staring at me, eyebrows up. Like, yeah, I said it, that word came out of my mouth, and I just completed your sentence, ha ha. After I recovered from the shock of her repetition/understanding- it didn't matter- I felt the horror of seeing the real impressions we make. Then I had a little inner peace. She saw it too. Isn't that one of the benefits of family, ganging up on each other?

But usually it's the routine words that get lost. The following conversation has been started by either parent.

"I took out the garbage."
"What?"
"I took out the garbage."

Dinner, bath, bed routine.

"Did you take out the garbage?!"

It's misunderstanding, sleep deprivation, ignoring, and simple absentmindedness. Do we really have time for a conversation about garbage? Aren't we happier, more suited, making plans for a fall trip, selecting a date night? But those conversations don't happen either.

"We should think about using our frequent flier miles in October."
"Where do you want to go?"

Dinner, bath, bed routine.

"Did you take out the garbage?"

Let Me Know

Inspired by the book Guess How Much I Love You and this post, I gave it a whirl this evening...

After reading a bedtime story.
Me: Do you know how much I love you?
Stella: Two pounds.
Me: Two? I love you 10 pounds! ...How much do you love me?
Stella: Thirty pounds.

As I am leaving the room
Stella: One more song, please.
Me: OK, I’ll sing you the last few lines then I’m leaving, OK?
Sing end of made-up Thomas the Train song.
Me: Good night.
Stella: Thank you , Mama.
Me: You’re welcome, Sweetie.
Stella: Let me know, Mama!
I’m still walking away…
Stella: Let me know, Mama!
Me: Let you know what?
Stella: Thirty pounds!
Me: You love me thirty pounds?
Stella: Yeah.

She Said, He Said

Stella said, “I love you.” She said it to me for the first time before bed last night. She said it again tonight. We’ve never taught her to say it like we have with please and thank you. A few times I asked her who she loves and she ran a list of her friends and relatives: “Baraka, Althea, Dani, Pop Pop, Grandmom, VoVo, Paka [our dead cat], Marmalade [our other dead cat].” Mama and Papai didn’t make the list, and I didn’t press for it (heartbroken and confused as I was). She has said, “I love apples.” And, “I love rain.” But this declaration of love in the moments before singing and sleep was from a totally different planet. It was a little shy, like hearing it from a nervous boyfriend for the very first time.

My first reaction was complete joy. But as with each milestone, those grownup words let me see my baby slipping away. Today I got my latte and browsed the bookstore with Otto strapped to my back and Stella home with the in-laws. It was the first time I put him in the Ergo carrier, and as I skipped hands-free out our door, I remembered those easy days with Stella. Those pre-verbal days with only me to decide which store to enter or how long to linger there. Those days before tantrums and elbows that always seem to land in a soft spot. And even as I felt grateful for Otto’s present infancy, I saw the future in fast forward. Pre-verbal is already slipping because now he’s saying- wonderfully, sweetly, sadly…. “Mama.”

The Brazilians have arrived!!

After 30 hours of travel, my in-laws are here. Most of my friends think I’m crazy or lying when I say I have been eagerly awaiting their arrival. They will live with us for the next three months. Three whole months. In this time I will return to work, Stella will learn more Portuguese, Augusto and I will have weekly date nights and a night away, and we will coexist in the kitchen, living room, and daily stuff of our lives.

I get along with my in-laws. Well. I always have. The initial language barrier probably smoothed the way. It’s hard to argue when the English conversation is limited to food and sights. We have since switched to Portuguese, which actually makes us have accidental debates which spin off of a minor misunderstanding. Augusto and Auri are gracious people. They don’t occupy much space. They clean up after themselves (and us). They LOVE their grandchildren. They can play with them for hours, listen to any pitch or volume of screaming, and hold them for an hour forgoing a potty break. There are the expected debates over sweets and bedtimes and the daily “No, I’ll do it.” But it is overwhelmingly good.

I do speak from experience. When Stella was 2 months, they lived with us for 8 weeks. When we hugged goodbye at the airport, I sobbed huge, attention grabbing tears second only to the crying many years ago when I had to leave my sick grandmother in Baltimore and I couldn’t convince anyone at the airport to give me a change of ticket for less than $1000. So this time I suggested they stay longer.

The fridge is a little more packed than I like it and I’ve already said no to half a dozen grandmother-suggested sweets in less than 48 hours, but I am NOT complaining. We are so grateful they are here.

Word Salad

I know it is completely unethical to share any details from patient appointments, but I just have to. It took me a few minutes of careful redirection when determining the reason for CL’s visit today (not her real initials). A few mind-warping minutes of wondering if it was too late for my coffee or if I needed to practice focusing a bit more. I couldn't understand her (English) description of her chief complaint. She said her vagina was "sweck" and "swappy." She rolled those terms out like everyone knows them. She is not a teen. It is not some new generation thing (please correct me if I am wrong). I have been privileged to learn “dukie” (noun, shit) and “nut” (past tense of the verb to ejaculate), and a rash of other terms previously unheard by me but understood in context because I am somewhat smart (and it is my job to understand my patients).

Anyway, it took me those few minutes to realize my patient was completely nuts (not to be confused with nut). She went on to describe “you know, when you do [some reference for a drug] and get that white flowing feeling when it overflows over your underwear, when your skin is following one direction and the rest of you has gone to [a place or mental state].” Have you had this problem before? “ Well, I’ve been taking in a lot diamonds and properties and that usually makes it sweck. I shouldn’t be telling you, but I’m pulling it all together now- you know when all the parts just get in line?’ Are you sexually active? “Oh yeah, but my husband is so gorgeous and famous, he has sex for cigarettes or necessities sometimes. Women can’t resist him.”

CL had a simple yeast infection. I had a fabulous time talking with her in her unmediated state. I used to work with mentally ill adults, but never doing GYN care. It’s a whole new menu of word salad. And I love word salad. That’s where we are with Stella now. “Mama can take Baba for nana, Sweetie.” “Did you make coco? I think your diaper has uh-oh in it.” “Put down the watering can, Stella.” “Agua!”