Category Archives: Natasha

About our oldest

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First Wedding

Our family went to a wedding tonight, and on the way home we had a genuine (as in, exchanging ideas not just continually repeating the known) conversation with Natasha.

She talked about how pretty the bride’s dress was, and how the bridesmaid dresses were “just a little bit pretty.”

And at least twice (maybe three times) she used the phrase, “When I get married…”

She says when she gets married she wants a pretty dress with flowers on it (like Heidi’s), and she wants little flowers to hold– and some big ones. The bride tonight had big ones (lilies). You get to hold flowers when you get married…

It was such fun to talk about something. Many times one of the girls will want to talk, and what is most likely to make me impatient is their not having anything to say.
Melody has started repeating the first half of a line, almost like stuttering, while (I assume) she’s figuring out how/what she wants to say, and both girls will ask the same question over and over (I don’t mind loads of questions, it’s the broken record bit that get to me), just to have something to talk about.

I know this is the reason, because if I can find something “real” to get them started on instead they’ll chatter on with both of us being much happier.

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Every time Natasha would say, “When I get married…” Jay would squeeze my hand and just scrunch up his face and grin at me. She sounded so matter-of-fact and grown up.

“I just can’t imagine a little boy doing that,” is what he finally said (in a low voice). “Wow. Girls and their dreams. It all starts so early. I had no idea.”

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Victory! (We think…)

Natasha hasn’t had an “accident” in over a week, is entirely self-sufficient in the bathroom, and is (proudly) wearing panties today.

Grandma Florie came home last night, and she and Natasha picked out some colorful new underwear, first stop from the airport.

We are all very pleased.

Melody wanted some of the “Curious George” character panties, but not enough to be interested at all in using the potty. One funny thing, though. Last Tuesday she wanted candy enough that she went and used the potty all by herself. So we know she knows how. She just isn’t interested yet.

If her older sister is any indication, though (and I think it’s fair to assume that), if I “don’t care” long enough with her, it will only be she who is potty training, not both of us. Which, honestly, is more my style.

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Flu shots and more talk

We have a new plan for family-wide shots (if we ever do them again):

The biggest child goes first. That way, if the remaining child(ren) is(are) distressed by the reaction of the first it’s a smaller body to restrain.

Natasha told the story to Mom this way: “Dad, and Mom, and I, and Muddidee all got shots. Elisha was too young.”

The two things that caught me out of that description were her use of I and calling Elisha young, rather than “little.”

There were free flu shots at Pioneer Park (I still want to call it Alaskaland!) as part of a emergency/disaster preparedness practice thingy. Anybody over 6-months could get a shot, and Jay came home over his lunch hour to help the whole family go over for it.

Jay went first, as we had (as a family) discussed. Then Natasha held back, and Melody was willing, so she went first of the girls. Of course she cried (I observed to another mother that somebody offering doses of children’s Tylenol for 50-cents a pop would make good money here. We sure didn’t think to bring any).

Natasha continued to resist, and ended up having to be restrained, and was teary and (I’d dare say) resentful for quite a while afterwards. That is, until nap, and then again after nap until dinner time. She wanted us to know her displeasure.

Fortunately she lightened up by bedtime, and we had a sweet snuggletime.

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Puppies

The kids and I went to North Pole to look at some whippets this afternoon.

If you didn’t know, I’ve been doing my homework on different breed types, looking for a good match for our family. There’s a lot of attractive things about the breed, but a couple drawbacks too…

But I found there was this lady with a half-dozen in her home (along with as many shelties!), so we went out to see what they were like in person. (The short conclusion is that they are just what I thought they’d be like, only softer.)

She also had a litter of 4-week-old puppies, and Natasha was just smitten. I wished I’d brought the camera. That first five minutes of her holding the little white dog was priceless. I’ve never seen that look on her face before. Here was a real, live baby that was the same size to her that Elisha is to me. She could hardly stand for me to hold him. She wriggled almost as much as he did, begging, “Can I have a turn now?” before I’d pet his soft head twice.

Very fun.
It never ceases to amaze me that puppies look like puppies no matter what breed they come from. No matter that the parents are long sharp and lean, these babies were still rounded. Maybe not as pudgy as some puppies I’ve seen, but I’d never have guessed their type looking at them.

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Kids are so fun

When the kids say something I want to remember, I try to write it down. So here’s a clearing of the white-board:

The girls are playing nicely together and Natasha turns to her sister.
N: You’re a great sister. I *love* you.
M: Yup.

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We harvested from our garden Friday evening and Jay let the girls be the curriers. Melody came running in with a respectably-sized “Cuzinni,” eager to make bread.

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The girls playing house:

M: Mom! [I’ve learned not to answer this call when they play this way]
N: I’m the baby.
M: Oh. Baby!
N: I can’t talk.

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Political calls, forgiveness, and a 400-degree door

Oh, and we have a 2-year-old who speaks in complete sentences. How often does that happen? I really don’t know, but it seems unique.

I mentioned this to mom and she said, “It only counts if she can be understood.”

“It can be understood,” I said. “Sarah’s the one who told the story.”

“Antee-tarah, my ponytayol come out. Can oo fih it, peas?” [Tell me that’s not the cutest thing you ever heard.] “Tank-oo.”

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Yesterday Rae Ann came over and cleaned my house while I worked on the longer Obit for tonight’s memorial service. While I was working it out the phone rang and it was one of those political telemarketing calls (can something be exponentialy annoying?); Concerned Alaskans for something or other was calling.

“Mrs. Helmericks, did you know that at this moment in the State Legislature–”

“Did you know,” I interrupted with a voice not-quite-steady, “that at this moment I am writing my grandmother’s obituary, and this is not a good time.”

A gratifying amount of awkwardness ensued.

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Last week Natasha came up to me while I was sitting in our big blue chair and asked in her gentle voice, “Mama, do you ever forgive me?” After a Do I ever! laugh, I answered, “Yes, I’ve forgiven you lots of times.”

She embraced my arm tenderly and said sincerely, “I forgive you lots of times too.”

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Today I had Jay drop me off at the DMV to renew my months-expired driver’s license. I wanted to be dropped off in case I was asked (with my 4-months expired license) how I’d gotten there.

When I called to ask Jay to pick me up he said something (over our poor cell-phone connection) that sounded like “oven door came off.” I could hear the stress in his voice.

“You can’t be serious!” I said.

“I am, and I’m on my way,” he said.

As soon as I was in the car I pumped him for the story. It seems Natasha had left one of her shoes in the kitchen, and Jay, stepping back as he checked on a pizza in the oven, felt it under his foot. He thought he’d stepped on Maestro or Melody and immediately picked up the foot again. His weight had already shifted, and so he hung on to the door, trying to catch his balance– and found himself holding a 400-degree door, looking at a half-baked pizza in the open oven.

Thankfully, the door wasn’t actually broken; it’s designed to lift straight up once opened, and the angle Jay pulled it at just lifted it straight out. Discovering this it was easy enough to fix, but didn’t entirely remove the panting moment of adrenaline.

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Potty-training, revisited

Both my husband and my mother-in-law (my mom too) have made it clear they think it is past time for Natasha (3 1/2) to be potty-trained.

Jay said, “If she can change her own diaper, she can use the toilet.” And Teena said, “If she quit getting away with it [being able to wear/use diapers] she’d learn pretty quick.”

What this did was stick me in the middle: between the “It’s time” crowd and my child (and her will). I’m pretty strong-willed myself, and I prefer to pick my battles.

My take on the changing her own diaper thing was: “Great! one less kid for me to change.”

I responded–I think I refrained from actually snapping– with three points (Why I feel a need to defend myself when it’s her potty habits, I’m not sure…):

  1. If somebody wants to move in for a while and clean-up after piddles, that’s fine by me, but I’m not going to do it.
  2. I’ve never heard of a kid who trained before s/he was ready.
  3. Many of us have heard potty-training is training the parent as much as the child; I’m not ready to be trained yet.

So, by way of compromise we have moved her back into Cloth during the day. Disposies are still (Much!) better for night, but in an effort to make everybody happy (Even though I’m someone who warns against such futile efforts) I’m taking on the extra laundry for at least a few days, and we’ll see if it makes any difference.

Jay’s theory is that if Natasha is more uncomfortable, she’ll be more motivated. I won’t argue with the possibility, it’s reasonable enough, but I’ll believe it when I see it.

And I’m putting Melody in cloth too. At this point one more really doesn’t make that much of a difference. And it precludes arguments (that I know would ensue) over who gets a disposable.

Let me tell you, bed time was exciting last night: “I get my jammies and a sposable diaper now, right?!”

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When you listen…

Today during naptime Natasha was standing at the gate in her doorway, leaning on it despondently.

“My heart is broken,” she said in her ‘sad’ voice. This was one of the many moments I’ve felt my natural response (laughter) in conflict with my parenting instinct. “My heart is broken,” she said again. I couldn’t decide if she wanted to be sure I had heard her, or if she was just trying out the feel of the words. Continue reading →

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At the Party

We got some sweet pictures of Melody with her first haircut and birthday party with Mom, Dad and Grandma.

Dad got a punch of “poppers” with paper streamers inside, and some of our pictures are of various people with streamers over their hair.

Mom asked Natasha, “Am I beautiful?” Colored paper piled all over.

“Almost,” said Natasha in a serious voice.