Rachel speaks Spanish?!?!?

Last night at dinner Rachel astonished me by counting almost perfectly to 10 in Spanish! Turns out they are teaching her some words and numbers in Spanish in preschool.

The other night when Drew made some comment or other about speaking Spanish, the conversation went like this:

Rachel: Corduroy speaks Spanish! (Corduroy is the stuffed bear in the beloved kids' series in the 1970s that I remember reading as a kid. One of the best things about being a parent is you have a perfect excuse to re-read all those great books you read as a child!)

Drew: I think he speaks English, doesn't he?

Rachel: Well, Lisa (Corduroy's pre-teen owner) speaks English and Spanish.

Drew: That's right, she does!

Rachel: What do YOU speak?

Drew: I speak English, and and some Spanish, and a little bit of French.

Rachel: Say something in French!

Drew: Ou est la salle de bain?

Rachel: What does THAT mean?

Drew: It means, "Where is the bathroom?"

Rachel: Oh. (Pause). Can you say it in Hebrew?

As Drew says: She keeps us on our toes, that one.

Rachel's a Crimson fan!

Tonight I was reading Rachel "Knuffle Bunny Free," and I started crying (as I usually do) at the part when Trixie gives her Knuffle Bunny to a wailing baby on the plane, then gets a thank-you note from the baby's parents, and then her daddy writes her a letter to be opened in the future, about how he hopes he lives long enough to see her get married, start her own family...and then one day get a package (Knuffle Bunny) from an "old friend." I'm tearing up as I write this.

Anyway, while I was reading and crying, Rachel said, "does this book make you sad?"
"Yes, Rachel," I sniffled.
"It makes me sad, too," she said, getting visibly distressed.

I explained to her that most parents are sad when their kids grow up.

"You can come to college with me!" she said cheerfully.
"Where are you going to go?" I asked.
"Harvard College!" she answered, and I burst out laughing.
"What are you going to study?" I asked.
"Chocolate!" she said, grinning.

***

Perhaps she really will go Ivy League: While I was cleaning up from dinner and making my salad for lunch this week, I heard a strange little noise from her room. In the course of trying to open her door to investigate it, I bumped up against her body. I assumed she was trying to open the door to the bathroom.

Imagine my surprise when I saw the pages of her Fairy Tales book open next to her night light! "Are you trying to read by the night light?" I said. "Yes," she answered meekly.

At first I told her she really couldn't read this late at night and asked her if she wanted to take the book to bed. "It's too heavy," she sniffled, and got into bed and started crying. Of course, I gave in right there.

"It's OK, sweetie," I said. "You can read a little while. But don't stay up all night, OK?"

"OK, she said cheerfully through her little tear-stained face. The last thing I said before shutting the door? "I'm so proud to have a little girl who likes to read!"

Drew has competition

In case you couldn't tell from the last post...Rachel has totally fallen for "Uncle David." That's because he patiently showed her endless pictures on his iPhone, introduced her to a cool airplane flying game, and pulled up old You Tube videos of Tweety Bird cartoons.

Yesterday after breakfast, all the girls in the house -- Anne, Jean, me and Rachel -- trooped to the soaking pool near our house while David did work and Drew got gas for his car, recycled a bunch of cans and read the book he's reviewing for the Seattle Times. "No stinky boys ALLOWED!" we all said as we left the house, and the excursion turned out to be a great one for the females. I thought Rachel would be freaked out by going in the water in the cold and rain outside (especially when the raindrops kept plopping on our heads) but she was fine. She loved the pool, and I hooked her arms onto my shoulders and we swam slowly from one end to the other, and we hung by the bubbler, and sat on the steps going in to the pool and watched some kids around her age swim to their parents.

"This is so nice and relaxing," Rachel said at one point.
"Yes it is, Rachel," I agreed. "I like to come here when I'm stressed-out and tense."
"Me too!" she agreed.

When we got back, Drew built us a fire(the fourth one of the weekend; thank you Anne and Dave for bringing the extra cord of wood! We really needed it!) -- and Rachel and I snuggled on pillows on the floor, turned out the living room lights and watched the fire. Anne was on the loveseat working on her computer; Jean was sitting on the big couch and David was sitting next to her. Drew left to get groceries; Rachel, discovering he was gone, started crying because he'd promised to take her with him.

"Come here, sweetie," David beckoned, and Rachel climbed into his lap. Within minutes, she was asleep.

"Anne, could you put another log on the fire?" he asked after a while.

"That's your job," she replied.

"Uh, I can't," he said. "I have a little girl on my lap."

Then David added, "My life is now complete. This is WONDERFUL."

Thanksgiving weekend

Sneaking away from everyone upstairs around the fire to write this. It has been a fantastic holiday weekend so far. Some highlights:

--Thank you to Anne, David and Grandma Jean for being so flexible on Wednesday and coming at 8 p.m. instead of 1:30 p.m. The extra time allowed me to finish cleaning the house, pay some bills and further de-clutter my mail. So I was completely ready for our guests.

--Thanksgiving Day was great. David and Grandma Jean took turns reading to and playing with Rachel while Drew and I busied ourselves with the turkey, the pumpkin cocoa cake (which I really should have made Wednesday night; I'll know better next year!) and the side dishes. We sat down to dinner at 5:30 and by 9 or so, had ripped through the lemon roasted turkey, bourbon spiked yams, stuffing, green bean casserole (Anne's specialty), cranberry relish (Amanda and Jenn, who arrived around 1:30 by train) and pumpkin pie (Jenn), plus the cake. I hereby give up any attempt to make pumpkin pie ever in my whole entire life because Jenn's is cleary so superior I will never be able to touch it. I did, however, make whipped cream with powdered sugar. Color me intimidated.

--On Friday Anne, Jean and David and Jenn & Amanda and I had a lazy breakfast of nut bread and cinnamon rolls (Grandma Jean -- thanks!), cereal and bacon. Then Jean, David and Anne went to visit Doug, Linda and the kids and Amanda, Jenn, Drew, Rachel and I took a walk in Tryon Creek State Park. Rachel stole Jenn's hat and had a great time clowning around in it. We ordered in pizza when we got back and I promised everyone popcorn and homemade hot chocolate. We ate and drank while watching Toy Story 2 (which Rachel stayed awake for about half before her lids grew heavy and it was really time to put her down to sleep) and then the grownups watched "The American" with George Clooney (terrible; don't rent it). Anne, David and Jean got back about 1/4 of the way through the movie.

--Today was great, too; we all went to Kenny & Zuke's, Portland's approximation of a NYC deli, for brunch. Rachel was wonderful and so well-behaved; she impressed everyone by artfully drinking from a full-to-the-brim glass of orange juice; half a bagel; most of Drew's challah French toast and a fruit cup. Halfway through the meal she wandered over to my end of the table and asked, "what did YOU order, Mommy?" much to the delight of another mommy waiting for a table nearby. Anne, David and Jean went to visit Doug and Linda again while Drew, Amanda, Jenn, Rachel and I went to the farmer's market. We took them to the train station, Rachel and I went down for naps, and then Anne, David and Jean came back. We lit a fire and sat in front of it with Rachel, savoring the darkness, until Drew picked up our Thai takeout. Rachel snuggled in my lap in front of the fire, then brought her soccer ball-shaped pillow from her bed and insisted I cover her with her argyle blanket. When it came time for bed, she insisted, "Uncle David books!" probably because David had been reading to her all day and showing her pictures on his iPhone. (He also was impressed with her grasp of an airplaine game on his iPod; she had a great time "flying" it while she snuggled on his lap on the couch. "See, this is what having a kid is like!" I said; he sighed and Drew piped up, "She's available for long-term rental!" Anne chimed in, "When she's old enough to come visit..." and I can see long weekends she'll spend up at the San Juans, sans Mommy and Daddy, hanging out with her cool aunt and uncle).

The most poignant thing so far: David saying to me, as he went into Rachel's room to read to her at bedtime, "remember your father took a liking to me because he never had a son; that's how I feel with Rachel because I don't have a kid." Part, if not all, of the reason that Thanksgiving with family is so important to me is because I want to build memories for Rachel so she'll always know that she's surrounded by people who love her, who will read to her and play with her and tuck her under a blanket in front of a roaring fire and give her three cookies for dessert when she really should have had only one. That's why she's such a happy kid.

Out of the mouths of....

This morning for breakfast, Drew was having a bowl of Crispix and Rachel wanted to see the back of the box. She read out the letters "O," "W," and "N."

"What does that mean?" Rachel asked.

Drew explained what own means, and said we own a car and own a house.

Then Rachel began reading what OWN stood for on the box -- Oprah Winfrey Network.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"Oprah Winfrey Network!" Drew said. "Oprah Winfrey is a very rich lady who owns her own TV network. She used to have her own TV show, and then she decided she wanted her own TV network."

Rachel thought about that for a couple of seconds, and then she said:

"She should have been happy with what she had."

Catching up after a few days away

I went to synagogue on Friday night (my new resolve is to try to go at least twice a month) and ran into Melissa, our fellow NU grad, and her two kids Jeremy and Natalie. They invited me to eat dinner with them, and when I called home to invite Drew and Rachel, Rachel said, "Mommy, I want to do something with Daddy." Which meant that she wanted to play with Drew for a while, so I took that as a sign that going to dinner with Melissa and the kids was OK.

We went to a so-so restaurant in Northwest Portland, with Melissa talking a mile a minute and me missing my family. I treated her kids to chocolate at Moonstruck Chocolates (they were very polite and said thank you), and when I got home Drew was telling Rachel a story in the glider, about to put her to bed. She looked so happy to see me and immediately reached out to give me a hug and kiss without being prompted.

Later, Drew told me that while I was gone, Rachel was making little sad bunny whimpering noises, and Drew said, "are you a sad bunny?"

Rachel answered, "that means I'm missing Mommy."

I refrained from waking her up and covering her little face with kisses.

***

Today Rachel had her dance recital, and she did a great job of following directions. She seems to have mastered all the arcane-sounding ballet positions -- releve, sute, chasse, etc. -- positions I once knew but have since forgotten -- and when she was done she ran straight to me yelling, "Mommy!" I swung her off the ground and hugged her tight. "I can't believe I wanted a boy!" I told Drew.

Her ballet teacher, Sandy, said Rachel is ready for the Nutracker, but suggested we find a shorter version than the elaborate one put on by Oregon Ballet Theatre. There are a million dance studios and small theater companies that do this, so I'm going to try to find a 45-minute version that we can all go to. I also noticed a free show for kids her age about a little boy who turns into Frankenstein; it's called "Holiday Hullaballo" and I took Rachel last year with Doug and Linda and the kids, whom I met at a Thai restaurant after the show. Hopefully we can all go again this year.

Our adorable kid

Last night I went back to chorus for my first rehearsal in, oh, more than a year. The members all cheered and clapped when Ryan, our director, announced I was on the risers. It was a welcome antidote to the bad news about the job I'd wanted.

Drew had told Rachel that morning that Mommy would be going to chorus and they'd be on their own for dinner. So on the way home from preschool, Rachel said:

"Is Mommy at chorus?"
"Yes, sweetie," Drew replied.
"Are we on our own for dinner tonight?"
"Yes," Drew replied.
"Is chorus at the synagogue?" Rachel asked.
"No, sweetie, it's at a church," Drew said.
Pause.
"Does the chorus have a rabbi?" Rachel asked.
"No," Drew said. "But it has a funny little man called the director." And anyone who knows Ryan, the director of my chorus, knows how apt a description that is!

***

Drew and I were deep into a discussion of today's board meeting of the Oregon Area Jewish Committee, which I attended during a lunchtime break from working at home. Rachel said she wanted to say something, and Drew told her to wait until Mommy was finished.

Without a word, Rachel slid off her chair and started walking sadly away (at least, it seemed sad to me; now I think she was just tired).

"Want to cuddle against Mommy?" I asked. She didn't say anything but just went into her room. We finished our conversation, then Drew went in to her bedroom to do Daddy Books -- and found her on her chair reading out of the fairy tale book! (the one Richard gave her earlier this year when he came to visit us while Drew was at Columbia).

She also plays a lot with words these days; she invents rhyming games and invites us to join her, which we always do because it's fun, and a challenge. Drew told me tonight that when kids get to that level of sophisticated thinking about language, they're just about ready to read. I told him I wouldn't be surprised if Rachel can read by age 4. "I hope so!" he replied.

***

Speaking of cuddling....I slept late this morning while Drew was showering. Since I was working from home I could take my time getting dressed.

While my eyes were closed, I heard Rachel pad into the bedroom, hoist herself onto the bed and give me a wet kiss on the lips. "I want to cuddle with you while Daddy finishes his cereal," she said, and I gladly pulled her next to me under the covers, tucked her head under my chin, and kept giving her little kisses on her forehead and hair. She was almost asleep when Drew came in and told her she needed to get up for breakfast. She whined and kicked and said, "I wanna cuddle with MOMMY!" but Drew was firm. She needed to be at school by 9 to go on a field trip to see a play called "Pinkalicious," about a girl who wears so much pink that her daddy tells her she needs to eat brussels sprouts to even out her coloring.

Later, as she was pulling on her boots, she told me, "I wanted to cuddle with you a lot longer." I promised her she could do that when the weekend comes.

De-cluttering time!

Yesterday I found out that a really cool magazine editing/publishing job I'd applied for went to someone else. It was a blow that I'm still recovering from, and because I'd put so much off -- it would have involved a move to another city, so I didn't feel I could commit to anything more than a week or two in the future -- I suddenly felt the urge to start de-cluttering our house (also because we have a lot of people staying with us next week and I can't stand the thought of them having to weave their way through piles of junk).

Anyway...I enlisted Rachel's help tonight in cleaning out her bin of toys, the one that used to be in the living room and that we now keep in her bedroom closet. She was more helpful than I thought she'd be; I had assumed she'd kick up a huge fuss about having to get rid of her stuff but she matter-of-factly started tossing old toys into bankers' boxes. When I held up a stuffed animal or two, she'd say, "Well, that's really a baby toy," and watch it with cold, unsentimental eyes as I packed it up. It was kind of unnerving, actually -- she was wearing a cute corduroy dress with a kitty on the pocket and a pair of stockings, but her hair was pulled back by a tiny hairclip and she suddenly looked very, very grown-up to me. Enough to take my breath away, which is a usual occurrence these days.

We filled up five boxes with toys and books, and then Rachel busied herself with the playing cards covered with princesses that she discovered and told me she wanted to keep. She also said the most beautiful thing -- when I held up one of her stuffed giraffes, the one I use as a pillow when I'm cuddling with her at night, she said, "No, I want to keep it because you need it as a pillow when you lie down next to me." I was astonished at her thoughtfulness and maturity.

I thanked her profusely for working so hard, and treated her to pizza for dinner. We had a hilarious time when she asked me to sing, "She'll be coming round the mountain," and she started adding her own words -- "she'll be coming on a hot rod when she comes, vroom vroom!" which she learned at school -- and then she'd say, "and we'll all have chocolate pizza when she comes, yum! yum!" and I'd substitute, "yuck yuck!" and "no, no!" and "no way!" and "you've gotta be kidding!" and she cracked up as if I'd said the funniest thing in the world. That is the best thing about having kids -- they are so easy to entertain that I ended up thinking I'm not a total loser after all.

Catering gig

As part of a fundraiser for Congregation Beth Israel, I donated a home-cooked meal for 8, using recipes from the cookbook I wrote a few years back. Someone actually bid on it, and this past Sunday was the day the bidder and I agreed on for the meal.

That meant that I had to get up early on Saturday morning to head to a restaurant supply house and buy aluminum hotel pans and some other essentials, and pick up a brisket my co-author had helpfully ordered for me. I raced home to put the rub on by 10, because the brisket had to absorb the rub for at least 6 hours before I smoked it in my smoker for 5 hours, and then kept it in the oven at 200 degrees for 17 hours.

When I got back from the supply house, who greeted me but Rachel? She came to the garage door in her pajamas and said, "how can I help?" I promptly gave her some of the hotel pans (they were very light) and she carried them into the house, along with some of the lighter stuff I'd bought.

Then she wanted to help me pat the rub onto the brisket. At first she was hesitant because of the heavy spice smell (this rub was made of cumin, garlic, salt, pepper, ground Nicaraguan coffee and hot pepper, among other things) but then she dove right in, asking Drew to help put on her apron and dragging her little chair from the bedroom and standing next to me as I handed her the rub to pat on the meat. She did a great job.

The meal, by the way, was a wild success -- I made pumpkin soup, a pear/bleu cheese/spinach salad, brisket, a cheesy potato casserole (recipe from the book) and pumkin cocoa cake with a semisweet chocolate glaze, covered with crushed peanuts. Everyone gave a toast to me at the end; one of the couples came up to me and said, "this is some of the best food I've ever tasted!" and the hosts said over and over again how nice it was to be able to actually visit with their friends instead of trying to talk to them while preparing and serving a meal.

And they all asked if I was available for future gigs. Of course, I said, passing around the cards I'd just ordered the day before. So maybe someone will call "The Smokin' Gal: BBQ, baked goods, and other culinary delights" over the holidays and I will earn some extra money, which we really need.

Rachel's bravery

Impulsively took Rachel in to the clinic this morning to get her a flu shot. I've been meaning to get us both flu shots but haven't had the time, so today I decided we needed to because the last thing I want is for all of us to get sick next week when I have a household of people here for Thanksgiving.

We got to the clinic later than I wanted to, but we got in fairly quickly and I noted to Rachel that we would be able to sit together on a wide enough seat to get our shots. I also didn't give her the option of an inhaled flu shot -- I figure that she'll have to get lots of shots in her life so why soften her up too early? When the nurse asked who should go first, Rachel was no dummy -- she said, "Mommy first."

The nurse swabbed my left shoulder with alcohol, unwrapped the needle and gave me a shot. I winced; it hurt.

Then it was Rachel's turn. And...nothing! No crying! No whimpering! Not even a wince?

I was astonished. "You didn't even make a peep!!" I exclaimed. "You were SO BRAVE!" (It's true; I had a bunch of treats in my purse just in case she got upset, but she never needed them).

She caught on to the "you didn't even make a peep!" and on the way to the car and all the way to preschool she kept saying, "I didn't even make a PEEP!" We also decided that since we'd gotten OUR shots, it was time to nag Daddy to get HIS shot. "Time to get your flu shot, Daddy!" Rachel practiced saying.

I reminded Rachel that when she was a baby, she hated shots. She cried and cried..."WAAH!" I said, imitating her.

"Yeah, I was so startled!" she said, and again I was reminded of her amazing vocabulary.

When she got to preschool, I told Rhonda, the receptionist, that we had gotten our flu shots that morning.

"I didn't make a PEEP!" Rachel told her. "I was braver than Mommy!"

Yeah, kid, you were.

More cute sayings from Rachel

Tonight at dinner (a pasta, sausage and tomato soup that I introduced to Drew, who quite liked it; Rachel loved the macaroni but tried the soup and said she didn't like it) Rachel suddenly said, apropos of nothing:

"Sometimes Mommy cooks, and sometimes Daddy cooks!"

"Yes, Rachel," I said approvingly. "In this house, both Mommy and Daddy cook!"

***

Sometimes she sounds like a college professor.

"How was your day?" I asked when I got home.

She was drawing a rainbow on her easel upstairs.

"Well, I didn't have quite a good day," she said, then went on to say nobody wanted to play with her. Need to talk to her teachers about that.

***

Rachel ate a whole plate of macaroni, probably because she knew if she did, she'd get to have a piece of Halloween candy (we are doling it out, one at a time, only IF she has a good dinner. Now she goes around saying that Drew, I and other people can only have a treat if they have a GOOD DINNER). She said:

"I'm so proud of myself for eating my macaroni!"

Drew and I cracked up.

Occupy Portland

My last digital editing class was last night, and the instructor let us out about a half-hour early. Instead of going straight home, I impulsively made a stop at Occupy Portland, our version of the Occupy Wall Street movement (yes, I think we can call it a movement now), sweeping the country.

I've lived in two developing nations and all over the United States, and I've never seen anything like this.

There was a mass meeting that started at 7. (Every day the participants hold mass, general meetings to form consensus on the most mundane to the most important things. If you agree on a point, they call for "twinkles!" and you're supposed to hold your hands up in the air and wiggle your fingers to signal you like the idea). I got there around 9:10, and they were talking about how to prepare for when the Portland Police evict everyone at 12:01 a.m. Sunday. (I should say that the encampment encompasses two parks, Chapman and Lonsdale, across the street from City Hall).

The people who spoke sounded really quite sensible. They all stressed the importance of nonviolence and brainstormed ways to to keep the movement going -- hold a mass rally, occupy another park in Northwest Portland, make signs and ride the transit system, and encourage people to ask about their signs -- there was none of the "police/politicians are evil" talk. Just the practicalities of taking down the camp -- arranging for nonviolent opposition, sitting down when police try to drag them away -- and regrouping somewhere else.

I noticed a lot of middle-aged, well-dressed people in the audience. Some wore trench coats and ID badges. Some wore comfy down jackets. Not everyone was the Portland caricature of long skirts, backpacks and dinky little caps. And everyone was respectful of the speakers, who were reading their suggestions from sheets of lined notebook paper at a microphone, while behind them, someone on a laptop projected their ideas on a giant outdoor movie screen. High tech meets low tech.

After a while my butt got cold sitting on the brick steps (I was freezing, in fact), and I decided to take a stroll around the camp. The smell hit me as soon as I crossed the street -- the smell of raw sewage, of garbage and probably human waste (although I didn't see any). But then I walked further and saw the most amazing sights: people gathered around a drummer, all chanting softly (Native American chants, perhaps?), a food kitchen doling out salad and lentils even at 9:30 p.m.; a medical tent (closed); a lending library (no one there at that hour), two guys playing chess in a tent labeled "AFCSME Local 88," with one guy wearing earbuds; tents upon tents upon tents upon tents. I passed a pregnant woman in a heavy sweater with a girl about Rachel's age on her lap, wearing a warm coat and clutching the same stuffed Curious George monkey that Rachel has.

I could have stayed there all night, observing and talking to people, but I'd promised Drew I would get home so he could go to the gym. But as I got into the car, the following thoughts tumbled through my mind:

--My daughter really, really needs to see this. (When I got home I begged Drew to take himself and her there, but I don't think he will)

--What purpose am I accomplishing in my life? What am I DOING?

--I could feel a palpable longing of everyone I saw -- a longing to belong to a cause bigger than themselves

--Americans will have no trouble surviving a terrorist attack or nuclear war. Mini-societies like the one I saw at Occupy Portland will flourish as soon as everyone realizes what's happened and that their former lives are torn to shreds, never to be mended

---I used to secretly chide my parents for not doing more during Vietnam or the Civil Rights movement (a former boyfriend of mine told me this great story once: His girlfriend asked her parents what they were doing during the Civil Rights era and they answered, "raising YOU."). But they were raising kids and doing all the normal things people do in the midst of great social change. Now I'M in that position, raising a kid and worrying about money and wanting a bigger kitchen and wondering if I'll ever get a raise -- and I'm not doing a bloody thing to make the world any better.

I've gotta work on that.

Late dinner tonight

Got home late tonight -- very late -- because I had to make up emergency business cards for a charity event I'm catering this weekend. It's a fundraiser for our synagogue; a couple bid on my offer of a homemade meal featuring recipes from my cookbook. So I'm preparing them smoked brisket and a bunch of side dishes. Drew suggested I get business cards made up just in case someone loves the meal so much that they want to hire me for a real gig.

Anyway, I got home to find that Rachel had made a cute necklace at preschool, featuring an acorn with a smiley face on it and fuzzy orange hair. It was adorable!

At dinner I was expressing my fury over the scandal at Penn State (assistant football coach raped young boys over a 15-year period; head coach, athletic director and president responded completely ineptly. As of this writing, the legendary head coach Joe Paterno is OUT, as is the university president and others directly involved in keeping quiet. This is especially interesting to me now because I work for a university) and Drew was talking...and then Rachel said sternly, "Less talking, more eating!" We laughed, stopped talking, and finished eating.

Then Rachel wanted me to read to her. She has a new trick at night: She begs and pleads and teases, "ONE more book. No. ONE more book. ONE more book!" So, of course, I always give in, even when she started the conversation saying, "I wanna read TEN books!" We worked our way down to two, and I let her get away with a third, albeit short, book.

Sickness in my house

First I got it, then Drew, now Rachel. Altogether we've all been sick since Halloween. Got a call from preschool yesterday to come pick Rachel up; her little forehead was burning up and her voice sounded like a little frog's. She perked up just a bit when we got home, but then said she wanted to cuddle after I took off her dress and told her she could eat dinner in her pajamas (only because she was sick). She fell asleep, completely asleep, leaning against my soft black turtleneck sweater. I fell asleep, too!

Today she was well enough to go back to preschool, but I worked from home just in case her temperature spiked again. She was fine when I picked her up, although she started crying after a friend of hers named Tessa told her not to jump, or yell, I don't remember what it was.

When we got home she wanted to play upstairs, and we decided to build a tower and a prince and princess out of Duplo blocks. When I made my prince say hello to her princess, Rachel burst into tears again and stunned me with what came next: "Your prince is better than my princess!"

What are you supposed to DO at these moments?? I took her in my lap and told her that different people are good at different things, and that she'd discover that she did things better than other people, and that she hadn't even finished building her princess yet, for heaven's sake! We finished both, and they got married and lived happily ever after -- and then we knocked the tower down.

***

Over dinner Rachel got weepy again when I told her she needed to eat big sips of her chicken soup before she was able to get dessert. I took her in my lap again and she explained that Sadie, one of her friends at school, never wants to play with her. "She says, 'I don't want to play with you. I want to play with DEVIN!'" Rachel said sadly.

"Why not ask other kids if they want to play with you?" I replied.

"They all play with each other," she said. "No one wants to play with me."

"How about reading a book?" I said.

"There's nowhere to read," she replied.

We left the issue unresolved, but I had a heavy heart as I tried to soothe her. I thought we were years away from the exclusionary nature of cliques. I had a nightmare of a childhood trying to fit in, and I hope so much that Rachel doesn't experience that.

Dinner with friends

This morning I had to attend a new members' orientation meeting for the Oregon Area Jewish Committee that lasted until 1:30, and I had a bunch of errands to run before we headed out to our friends Melissa and Steve's house. They live in Lake Oswego, so it was a bit of a drive to get there but totally worth it (even if I was hung over from the nice evening out Drew had treated me to on Saturday night).

Rachel was a total champ, as usual. She hung out at the kitchen table with the big kids, eating a little of the lasagna and being a friendly little person, while Drew and I talked with Melissa, Steve, and their high-powered guests, one of whom is a classics professor at Reed College and one of the world's experts on the Sparta monarchy and met her husband at Oxford. I brought a homemade fig cake with buttermilk glaze that the classic professor adored and immediately demanded the recipe for.

After a while I went into the kitchen to check on Rachel, and all the kids (there were three other pre-teen girls and one pre-teen boy who wandered in and out of the festivities) had left the table. Guess what they were watching? The Sound of Music, my favorite movie in the whole world (which I of course told Rachel), and her legs were tucked under a big blanket just like the other kids and she looked so adorable I wanted to cover her little face with kisses. One of the dads had come in and told his 13-year-old it was time to go home, and she pleaded with him to stay, and then Drew and I joined him, and Rachel looked up and said, "Go away, Mommy and Daddy! Go join the other grownups." Really, it's hard not to laugh at her sometimes.

Playdate PDX

Well, the day didn't begin very promisingly. Somehow I lost the earpiece to my Smartphone, the one I use to talk to all of you when I'm driving (about the only free time I have these days) as I drove from work to synagogue. Checked the car, my coat pocket, my pants pockets, the street, the sanctuary, the room where the Oneg Shabbat was -- nothing. Very frustrating, because I'm extremely careful about knowing where my Smartphone and earpiece are at all times.

This morning I was preparing to head to the Verizon store to replace the earpiece when Rachel said sternly, "you need to have breakfast."

"I can't, Rachel," I said, firmly. "I have to go out."

"Well, you're going to be hungry," she said sadly.

And she was right. By the time I got home at 11, calmer (the earpiece cost less than I had dreaded it would), I was ready for a piece of homemade strawberry bread, bacon and tea. And I took Rachel on my lap as she was changing into her stockings and leotard and said, "thank you for caring that I'd be hungry. That meant a lot to me." She smiled.

***

When she got back from ballet class, I took her to meet my friend Sarah and her 4 1/2 year old son, Noah, at Playdate PDX, a great indoor playpark with an awesome play structure (complete with slides that are scary fast even for grownups) and really good food (my hot chocolate was excellent). Sarah and I were a bit dismayed when we arrived since the place seemed way too crowded and we were annoyed by all the big kids who kept crashing into our kids and the staff's uncaring, unconcerned response.

After 2 or so, things cleared out a bit and Sarah and I got to talk while we sent Noah and Rachel to play. They handled themselves really well, racing back to our table once in a while to check in, but otherwise they were on their own and seemed to like the independence. When it came for lunch, Rachel was a CHAMP. She ate a whole hot dog (minus the bun), apple slices dipped in caramel, and milk, with goldfish crackers for dessert (after I talked her out of a cupcake). I had only ordered hot chocolate because I figured I could eat whatever Rachel didn't want to finish. Result: No lunch for Mommy! Hard to believe I ever worried about Rachel's eating habits. She's still disdainful of vegetables (I made a point of noting that Noah likes peas and carrots) but otherwise she really seems willing to try new things.

Even Noah decided the place was too chaotic -- "this place is too crazy," he told me as he and Sarah prepared to leave. "I'm going to the liberry" -- but Rachel was up for more play, so we said goodbye. Rachel ran off to the play structure, then came back totally unexpectedly to give me a hug. "I'm giving you a hug to thank you for showing me where all the things are," she said, meaning the different entrances to the play structure. She is so considerate, she really bowls me over sometimes.

What Drew and Rachel do when I'm not around

Last night was the next-to-last night of my digital video editing class, and Drew said he and Rachel played baseball upstairs, as well as "chicken."

"Chicken" involved Rachel sitting on one of my old donut-shaped nursing pillows and pretending she was sitting on imaginary eggs. When they hatched, Drew pretended he was a baby chick and said, "peep peep!" Then he held open his mouth to be fed, and Rachel told him he needed to go to sleep. He tucked his head under his arm. Then she woke him up and told him it was time to go to animal school.

Tonight I went to synagogue, and when I called Drew to let him know I was on my way home, he answered sternly, "We're doing a Dr. Seuss puzzle" with that don't-disturb-us tone. I laughed, but when I got home I saw it was true -- Rachel had done most of a Dr. Seuss Happy Birthday puzzle. "Mommy, wanna see the Dr. Seuss puzzle?" she demanded when I walked in the door. "Take off your coat!" she ordered, then dragged me in to the living room. I exclaimed over it and she seemed very happy.

Drew also reports that she ate a grilled cheese sandwich at school today and liked it. "Daddy makes the best grilled-cheese sandwiches in the WHOLE WORLD!" I told her, and Drew promised her he'd make her one for lunch sometime.

Oh, and tonight during her bath, Drew said Rachel pretended she was in the soaking tub at the Kennedy School while it was snowing outside. Evidently she remembered the promise I made to her last week that I'd take her there when it was cold outside and we could soak together. 

Rachel, the schoolkid

This past Saturday, we were watching a movie late at night when Drew heard the little patter of footsteps downstairs. Turns out Rachel was trying to go to the bathroom and needed help unzipping her pajamas.

All was well until Drew discovered the cache of BOOKS next to her bed. She had gotten up out of bed after he'd tucked her in, grabbed a whole bunch of books and was trying to read them by the light of her night light!

I was astonished.

Drew gently chided her for doing that, although secretly we were both extremely pleased. But he told her she needed her sleep and if he caught her doing that again, he'd take away the night light.

***

Tonight was another reminder of how much Rachel wants to read and write. I was bustling around getting dinner ready after taking the day off work because I was sick. All of a sudden I realized Rachel had started writing in a notebook of mine -- the capital letters E, O, and T! I was so proud. "What does that spell??" Rachel said. I told her it wasn't a word, but that if I added "P" at the beginning it would spell "POET." She was very impressed.

Later, I peeked into the living room to the most gorgeous sight -- Rachel, in jeans, a sweatshirt and her flip-flops (she insisted on changing into them when we got home from preschool) lying on her tummy, using one of her colored pencils to trace letters in a workbook Drew bought her a couple of weeks ago. One foot was in the air, another on the ground, as if she was doing...homework!

She stayed like that for 20 minutes. I took pictures.

***

The whole writing thing really makes me thing about letters and how kids process the act of writing. I was watching her trying to write letters and for a moment I was in her shoes, trying to decipher these squiggly lines and make them mean something --- kind of like Man's ancestors. She looks up to Drew and me because we can write, and it's something we totally take for granted, when in fact we went through the same process she did. And if a kid has anything wrong with them -- bad brain chemistry, developmental delays -- the act of writing can be agony. I feel for them and am glad we have a kid who appears to be developing normally.

***

Today's Rachel-speak:

At dinner tonight, she said she had a bad day because Devin and Sadie, her friends at preschool, didn't want to play ball with her. When I asked her if she'd asked other kids to play with her, she said she had and no one wanted to play with her, either. "I was lonely," she said sadly.

Then she added:

"Somethings Devin and Sadie call me baby and I say no pretending and no real. And usually kids don't like to be called babies, you know. Especially me."

On why she doesn't like dogs:

"The problem is, the reason I don't like dogs is I'm worried they're going to eat my food. That's why I'm afraid of dogs."

Apropos of nothing:

"Elephants are so strong. Especially Mommy and Daddy elephants."