It’s true. I’m an addict. I have actually socialized with people I love and admire for four days in a row, beginning on my birthday last Thursday and continuing through until late last night. It was wonderful and my heart feels full from all the hugs and kisses, love and attention I’ve received.  

On my birthday I went to Bellagio Spa and spent a gift certificate that Ian bought for me in 2005. I met nonosays there and we got pedicures. I also got a lovely facial and a manicure. I could totally get used to doing that as often as possible.

See how cute my toes are?

On Friday I went to see nonosaysgraduate with a graphic design degree from Sacramento State. It was super cool seeing her so happy in her funny black cap and gown. I only wish I got a photo of the googly eyes on her cap.

Here she is. Isn’t she beautiful?

On Saturday, we went to  her graduation party at her home in midtown. I got to meet some more of her and her husband’s family, which was fun. I especially enjoyed talking with mrplanet4   ‘s mother and sister. We took the boys along and they did really well, considering we were at the party for 9 fun-filled hours. We finally dragged ourselves away at 9 p.m. when the boys’ eyes became glassy. They fell asleep the moment we strapped them into the car seats to come home. Some friends, including our gracious hosts, complimented us on how great Lucas and Asher were, which pleases me so much. Ian and I try hard to provide Lucas with plenty of positive reinforcement for being polite, friendly, and well behaved when we go places.

My home was full yesterday of delightful shenanigans, hot tub soaking, champagne, cocktails, brunch, burgers, dancing, sunshine, conversation, and beautiful people. My children were well behaved and wandered hither and thither among friends who love them. I admit I was sad when the last guest left at around 11 p.m., but felt glorious when falling into my bed. I slept a heavy, restful sleep and woke up feeling fantastic. Nothing quite like a day spent relaxing in the spa. It was exactly the day I imagined and wanted. Thank you, darlings. If anyone has some photos to share with me, I’d love to have them.

It’s true. I’m an addict. I have actually socialized with people I love and admire for four days in a row, beginning on my birthday last Thursday and continuing through until late last night. It was wonderful and my heart feels full from all the hugs and kisses, love and attention I’ve received.  

On my birthday I went to Bellagio Spa and spent a gift certificate that Ian bought for me in 2005. I met

nonosays

 there and we got pedicures. I also got a lovely facial and a manicure. I could totally get used to doing that as often as possible.

See how cute my toes are?

On Friday I went to see 

nonosays  

graduate with a graphic design degree from Sacramento State. It was super cool seeing her so happy in her funny black cap and gown. I only wish I got a photo of the googly eyes on her cap.

Here she is. Isn’t she beautiful?

On Saturday, we went to  her graduation party at her home in midtown. I got to meet some more of her and her husband’s family, which was fun. I especially enjoyed talking with 

mrplanet4

   ‘s mother and sister. We took the boys along and they did really well, considering we were at the party for 9 fun-filled hours. We finally dragged ourselves away at 9 p.m. when the boys’ eyes became glassy. They fell asleep the moment we strapped them into the car seats to come home. Some friends, including our gracious hosts, complimented us on how great Lucas and Asher were, which pleases me so much. Ian and I try hard to provide Lucas with plenty of positive reinforcement for being polite, friendly, and well behaved when we go places.

My home was full yesterday of delightful shenanigans, hot tub soaking, champagne, cocktails, brunch, burgers, dancing, sunshine, conversation, and beautiful people. My children were well behaved and wandered hither and thither among friends who love them. I admit I was sad when the last guest left at around 11 p.m., but felt glorious when falling into my bed. I slept a heavy, restful sleep and woke up feeling fantastic. Nothing quite like a day spent relaxing in the spa. It was exactly the day I imagined and wanted. Thank you, darlings. If anyone has some photos to share with me, I’d love to have them.

This is a superquick post to say THANK YOU for all the sweet birthday wishes I recieved on LJ, Barbarians, my email, voice mail, and in person. My friends are the BEST. It was a great birthday except for something that Mother Nature did, which has me feeling sad and disappointed. (Wicked wind storm shattered my favorite tree. Kaput.) 

I would go on to enumerate the amazing, fantastic qualities of my peeps and describe in detail my gratitude, but I can’t because I’m racing a deadline this morning and have plans for the afternoon.

I wrote a similar message to Barbarians, but I’m not on the list and it won’t let me post. Admin? Admin? Help!

Nana turned 95 on Monday of this week. The family took her out to The Buggy Whip restaurant, which at one time was probably a very nice steakhouse but now is only so-so. Nana’s lost her short-term memory, so she probably thinks of the place as it was in its heyday. About 30 of us crowded into their banquet room and surprised her with a birthday celebration. I’m not sure whose idea it was to surprise the 95-year-old woman on her birthday: Fortunately no paramedics were needed! 

Nell Mueller is her name, but she’s always been Nana to me. I know “Nana” is a nickname normally given to grandmothers, but Nana is actually my grand-aunt. She is my grandmother’s oldest sister and for my entire life the two of them have lived together. Birthdays and holidays always included her, so I have always felt as though I had three grandmothers.

She was always tall and big, but never heavy. Her salt-and-pepper hair always perfectly set in short curls. She is fastidious in her dress and grooming: Nana always has a nail file on hand and she uses it often. She has strong features, sparkling eyes, and a gentle touch. She has gotten smaller over the years—both thinner and shorter. Now she is bony but still strong. Physically she is in much better shape than my grandmother.

Nana was “the busy one,” or so I thought when I was a child. Nana worked on her business, while my grandmother, RoRo, worked on family stuff and raising grandchildren and all of the many cousins of my generation. Nana founded the Hobby House in the 50s, which later became the Graphic Hobby House, on the family’s property at Fulton and Marconi avenues in Sacramento. Mueller Corner is across the street from Town & Country Village, and while it has never performed as well as T&C, given that it is smaller and has less available space for tenants, it is a valuable piece of land nonetheless. That was where Nana, RoRo, and their sisters Dorothy and Mary grew up. They live only minutes from that corner even now.

Prior to starting the Hobby House, Nana was an artist and an art teacher at San Juan High School. I believe she has an art degree from San Jose State. There are a handful of paintings by her around, mostly landscapes in oil. She was the one who always gave me art supplies as presents; I’ve noticed she likes to give such gifts to my son, too.

Nana never married. I suppose at one time, she was Nell, or even Nellie. I’ve seen pictures of her as a young woman. I do not know if she ever dated anyone, and I am now curious about that. She was always involved in clubs such as Soroptimist International of Sacramento North, a charity that has donated lots of time and money to improving the lives of Sacramentans and the residents of the Arden Arcade area. She was always involved in family life, just never had a family of her own.

Nana doesn’t remember recent things anymore. She forgets what she ordered for lunch only moments after ordering. She doesn’t remember that she pruned the rose bushes yesterday and so prunes them again. She doesn’t remember that the woman she has always treated as a daughter (her neice in reality) has lied and stolen thousands of dollars from her in recent years (and is now trying to abscond with the family fortune through a legal battle over the trust). Nana does not recognize Asher. Every time she sees him she asks his name and his gender. 

It makes me sad to see her like this, however, in a way, she seems really happy. Some of her sharpness has rubbed off. She is easier to please and not as picky. She isn’t in a rush to accomplish anything, although she still putters and plays hours of solitaire on the computer, whose sole purpose is to let Nana play solitaire. She misses driving herself around. She used to drive very fast.

At one time, I did a “grandparent” report on Nana; I think it was my freshman year of high school. I wish I had it now because I know I’ve forgotten lots of things about her life. A couple of years ago, I had the privilege of helping Nana publish a tiny book about the history of the Soroptimist group of which she was a member and past president. It was kind of tough working with her at the time since she has a hard time with computers, but nevertheless I’m happy I got to spend that time with her.  In some ways, she was a pioneer in business in a time when women typically didn’t venture there.

Happy 95th Birthday, Nana. You’re wonderful and I love you.

Nana at our house, Feb. 3, 2008.

Happy Birthday,

mickibean

!  You are probably the most enthusiastic and energetic person I have ever met. You are kind, sensitive, supportive, positive, and sweet as pie (and I like pie!). I am grateful for your friendship and hope we can play together sometime soon. I hope your special day is as wonderful and charming as you are! Love you, my Gemini sister.

We are very fortunate in that we are the lucky recipients of some really big gifts lately. Opportunities for family and personal enrichment seem to be falling out of the sky.

During the hottest part of Saturday afternoon, movers brought us a piano that is being given to us by Ian’s ex-step-family. It is a Kimball that Dan Sr., Ian’s sister’s father, purchased new in 1968. It was in Dan’s possession until about five years ago. What I hear is that he was a good musician and enjoyed playing it until he and his wife moved to an upstairs condo in Capitola. For the last several years, the piano has been at Dan’s sister’s home. A fall and a broken hip has resulted in elderly Aunt Rachel’s having to move to an assisted living home. Rachel’s family are selling, donating, and disposing of her things, including her home, to help pay for her long-term care. 

We were very touched to hear from Ian’s sister, Kellie, and his ex-step-brother, Dan Jr., that Dan Sr. wanted his piano to stay “in the family.” He hoped we might want it, and tearfully said he feels Ian has “always been like family” to him. Dan is understandably upset about the changes that are happening for Aunt Rachel, his sister, and he is frequently emotional since he had a stroke several years ago. 

So through old connections and the good will of some really sweet people, we now have a pretty, 40-year-old mahogany piano in our home. I do not play, but I have always wanted to learn. I always felt at a disadvantage when I was singing because I couldn’t plunk out my own part without help. I have held a secret hope that Lucas would learn to play someday. It seems to me that if you learn piano, nearly every other musical endeavor comes more easily. It feels like a tremendous windfall to have this instrument for the cost of moving and tuning it; we would never be able to afford one otherwise.

I know of another young boy who was in Lucas’s class last year and he plays. A music teacher comes to his home once a week and teaches Charlie piano and Charlie’s sister, the violin. I’m hoping to arrange for lessons for us to start this summer. 

So, in honor of kind people who gift us with wonderful opportunities to learn new things, I raise my popsicle in a toast: Thank you!

Asher is away with his grandmother for a few hours, probably for the first time. I am alone in the house and I’m supposed to be working because I have this little book to edit called Lebanon. 

I don’t want to be all thinky, though. I just want to go outside in the coolish morning and sit in the hot tub in the shade. I want to drink shameless morning cocktails all by myself. Or with a shameless friend, who is over 21 and doesn’t call me “mommy.” 

I have recently discovered my inner drinker. My children helped me find her; she was locked deep within me and yearning to come out into the sunshine. 

I didn’t truly discover the sacrament of coffee until Lucas was a baby. I didn’t truly discover the medicinal use of alcohol until this year. 

Call me Mother of the Year. 

OK. Back to Lebanon, where everything is peaceful and tolerant.

I’m not feeling too great about how things went with Lucas yesterday afternoon. I feel like I ought to know better. I ought to have defused the situation before it escalated into the fight it was. Thing is, Lucas’s behavior is basically bipolar lately. He swings rapidly from adorable “I’m a flower fairy and my magic flower wand will cause all your flowers to bloom beautifully, Mommy” to … well … what I described last night. He went from being totally fine and companionable to hitting me in zero seconds flat.

To all of you who read that and sympathized with me (well, or with Lucas), thank you. I can sum up parenthood by saying this: every day, I wake up and try, try again.

Quoting from Your Six-Year-Old to validate my own experience and remember what’s going on with him:

“Your typical Sx-year-old is a paradoxical little person, and bipolarity is the name of his game. Whatever he does, he does just the opposite just as readily. In fact, sometimes just the choice of some certain object or course of action immediately triggers an overpowering need for its opposite.

“The Six-year-old is wonderfully complex and intriguing, but life can be complicated for him at times, and what he needs most in the world is parents who understand him. For Six is not just bigger and better than Fve. He is almost entirely different. He is different because he is changing, and changing rapidly. Though many of the changes are for the good—he is, obviously, growing more mature, more independent, more daring, more adventurous—this is not necessarily an easy time for the child.”
…

“One of the many things that makes life difficult for him is that, as earlier at Two-and-a-half, he seems to live at opposite extremes. The typical Six-year-old is extremely ambivalent. He wants both of any two opposites and sometimes finds it almost impossible to choose.”
…

“One of the Six-year-old’s biggest problems is his relationship with his mother. It gives him the greatest pleasure and the greatest pain. Most adore their mother, think the world of her, need to be assured and reassured that she loves them. At the same time, whenever things go wrong, they take things out on her.”
…

“At Five, Mother was the center of the child’s universe. At Six, things have changed drastically. The child is now the center of his own universe. He wants to be first and best. He wants to win. He wants to have the most of everything.

“Six is beginning to separate from his mother. In fact, it is this quite natural move toward more independence and less of the closeness experienced at Five that makes him so aggressive toward her at times. On the other hand, his effort to be free and independent apparently causes him much anxiety. He worries that his mother might be sick or might even die, that she won’t be there when he gets home from school.  And in his typically opposite-extreme way, one minute he says he loves his mother and the next minute he may say he hates her.

“It’s not hard to understand why this strong emotional warmth toward and love for his mother, which occurs at the same time he is trying to learn to stand on his own feet, causes him much confusion and unhappiness. It is fair to say that Six is typically embroiled with his mother. He depends on her so much, and yet part of him wishes he didn’t.”
…

“But, rather sadly and touchingly, often when the child has been at his worst, once his temper calms down he will ask, “Even though I’ve been bad, you like me, don’t you?” Or, somewhat inappropriately, at the end of a very bad day a child will ask his mother, “Have I been good today?” It is an interesting fact about child behavior that the less praise and credit a child deserves, the more he wants and needs. The very difficult child needs a great deal of assurrance that he has been good. 

“We must remember that a Six-year-old isn’t violent, loud, demanding, and often naughty just to be bad. There are so many things he wants to do and be that his choices are not always fortunate. He is so extremely anxious to do well, to be the best, to be first, to be loved and praised, that any failure is very hard for him. 

“He is, part of the time, demanding and difficult because he is still, even at this relatively mature age, extremely insecure, and his emotional needs are great. If, with tremendous patience and effort, you can meet these needs, nobody can be a better, warmer, more enthusiastic companion than your Six-year-old girl or boy.”
…

“The child of this age is really a very vulnerable little person, very sensitive emotionally, especially when he is being good. Very small failures, comments, or criticisms hurt his feelings. But if he is being naughty, once he gets started on a bad tack, he may seem almost impervioust to punishment. That is why he needs so very much protection and understanding from his parents.”

It was a fine day today. Except this time, I’m being facetious. It was fine up until about 3:15 or 3:30 when Lucas completely lost his mind. You see, I wanted to put Asher down for a nap, but Lucas wanted to play with Asher instead. So, naturally, Lucas started hitting and kicking me. Of course. That’s what you would do if I tried to put your little brother down for a nap.

I took Lucas by the arm and led him to his bedroom, saying something to the effect of “It is not OK for you to hit and kick me. Now you may go to your room. I will be putting Asher down for a nap now.” Lucas tried to punch me nearly all the way to his room, until he went limp and collapsed on the floor. So I bodily pulled him into his room and repeated my message. Then I closed his door.

Much screaming and gnashing of teeth ensued. In and out of his room he went; every time he came out, I put him back in his room. At one point I held him really close so he couldn’t deck me. That’s when he spit at me.

And that’s when I lost my temper. I shouted. I even said “fucking,” as in “YOU WILL STAY IN YOUR ROOM FOR THE REST OF THE FUCKING AFTERNOON!”

I left, went to soothe Asher, and quickly realized that Lucas had won. There was no way in hell Asher was going to relax enough to go to sleep now. He was crying and fussy and confused about all the drama. Of course. That’s how you would feel if I tried to put your big brother into his room for being a shit.

So, I just lied there beside the baby, listening to Lucas’s tantrum run through its predictible phases and thinking how pissed off I was that he took us to this place and, damn it, I should have handled it better. Somehow. See, there’s really not all that much you can do to a child when he decides to be an ass—that is, there is not much you can do if you’ve already decided that spanking isn’t right. Lucas may not be a big kid yet, but he’s plenty powerful and when one of his blows connects—damn! It hurts. I thought about how convenient it would be if there were a lock on his bedroom door so I could ensure that he stayed put, but then I remembered a friend’s story about how her parents used to regularly lock her in her room.

The screaming changed from “You’re a mean mommy! I hate you!” to “I forgive you, mommy!” to “Do you forgive me now, mommy?” Eventually he got quiet and miraculously he did not leave his bedroom. I peeped in after a while and saw that he had turned off the light and gotten into bed. Another time I noticed the door open a bit, but saw him still inside.

He stayed in his room for an hour and a half. That’s the longest time out ever. I felt I had to make a lasting impression—it is unacceptable for him to hit and kick and spit at me. If it happens again, he will stay the rest of the day in his room, until 5 o’clock comes and he can apologize to me and then explain the day’s events to his father, who doesn’t take kindly to news of Lucas beating on me.

When I finally let Lucas out at 5 p.m., he was all sweetness and roses. He apologized profusely and clearly explained to me what behavior was unacceptable and why he was in trouble. He seems to have gotten the message. 

It’s been a long time since he pulled this type of shit with me.* Somehow, turning 6 has made him insane. Fortunately, the book (Your Six-Year-Old: Loving and Defiant) says it will pass in about six months.

* Since he was 4, I think.