Montecito Mama

In December of 2005, I became stuck in marshmallow fluff. Or so it seemed at the time. Grayson was engrossed in a movie, Rob was changing the oil in the car, and I was going to spend the afternoon embracing the holidays. I had constructed the perfect gift wrapping station for myself: a large square table in front of the couch, tape and scissors within arms reach, and "Holiday Inn" on the TV. Perfect. The movie had just started - I don't think the opening number had ended. I hadn't even wrapped a single gift when I thought I heard the first call from outside. "Janice!" I relunctantly pushed away from my perfect gift wrapping station and hauled my 5-month-pregnant self off the couch with an eye roll. Before I was on my feet, it came again. "Janice!" And I knew. I don't know how, but I knew from the sound of Rob's voice that something was terribly wrong. I knew with such absolute certainty that I immediately started shaking, and stumbled

The girls and I have discovered a wonderful multigenerational art/music class that meets once-a-month in a luxurious retirement complex around the corner from our house. It's super-mellow, non-competitive, fun and free. Residents and kids participate in the classes together; sharing paint brushes, peeling stickers, twirling with scarves, singing, holding hands and tickling bellies. We usually arrive like a hurricane; me, the crazed working mom, trying to straddle two worlds at once and not doing a very good job in either of them. Lucie, bouncing into the room ahead of me, fearless, full of noisy energy, and posing a serious threat to hips everywhere. Violet alternates between going limp on the floor because she didn't get to put on her shoes by herself and hanging from my clothes and demanding "Up! Up! Up!" thirty-six times. And then. I flop down and stare as Lucie shuffles around the circle, picking up the hand of each resident and, stopping just short of a curts

Lucie has suddenly started questioning things. And by things, I mean eternal things. It all started when she asked if I would read her a bedtime story from the Bible storybook. The book opens innocently enough with the story of creation. There are lions and tigers and bears, and naked people being created from dust. (At this point in the story you’d think questions would arise, but no, kids just seem to go along with it at face value. Which is exactly the reason I've had to work so hard to convince Lucie that turtleneck shirts are not actually made from the necks of turtles.) Anyways ... "Do you know why Adam and Eve are sad?" I asked, pointing at the picture of them sorrowfully leaving the garden. "I sure do, " Lucie assured me. "They are sad because they don't have any parents."  Impressive, huh? Clearly, she’d been processing and following along. "Well there is that," I prodded her, "and also they have to leave the

Picture by Grayson (our 9 year-old) Last week we reached another one of those parenting milestones. At 27+ months of age, Violet said her first real words: "Mama! Me go!"  Three little words so beautiful, so stunning and unexpected, they stopped me in my tracks. Even the other kids dropped their activities and ran out to verify that, yes, Violet had spoken. We hugged and touch-down-danced and, of course, Violet got to "go." When you have a child who is the tiniest bit developmentally delayed, small accomplishments are met with big celebration. Lucie insists on accompanying me on simple errands? I need to figure out a way to sneak out the door more efficiently; Violet suddenly says that she wants to go? Hot dog! Get the video camera and your shoes on kiddo! Therapists have been coming to the house since the first week of January, evaluating Violet's delays. At her last check in, she had about 15 simple words in her vocabulary -- about 100 words u