Apparently I'm a Nog

My dear friend Ariana is in Norway for a year. First off, I miss her terribly and it really sucks that she's gone, especially since her daughter and mine are best buddies and Bailey misses her friend terribly too.
But - silver linings - I am learning about my heritage. I am half Norwegian, from my father. And while the country is beautiful, apparently its people are not so lovely. "Nogs" (a slang term for Norwegians, and I suspect a pejorative one) are reportedly as a whole dour, unfriendly, slightly xenophobic, averse to fun, suspicious of joy, and rather lazy - knocking off work at four every afternoon and taking the entire month of July off.

According to my source, for a Norwegian I am cheerful, accepting and optimistic. (Break while all who know me pee on themselves from laughing so hard). See? My bad attitude is not my fault. It's cultural. Don't discriminate, y'all.

One more thing - all my life I have thought my father was a grouchy, mean-spirited, arrogant, judgemental, pessimistic, Puritanical horse's ass. Turns out he's just Norwegian.

Warrior Princess

We call my daughter Bailey the Warrior Princess. She is the most incredible combination of frilly girly-girl and total badass. She loves dress-up, ballet, singing and dancing to princess movies, tiaras and high heels, lip gloss and nail polish. She dreams about her "marrying day" when she will be the center of attention in a beautiful gown and ride off into the sunset with her handsome prince.

(The fact that after your marrying day you actually have to live with said handsome prince and try to get along is something that slaps all us princesses in the face sooner or later).

But the pink lace covers a will of steel, and an incredible physical strength. And a remarkable ability to get her own way.

Bailey is the most sunny, sweet-natured child I have ever seen. She greets every day with a smile, and every person with a hug and kiss and kind compliment (Oh your hair is so lovely! I like your beautiful shoes! You're so sweet!). I have absolutely no notion of where that came from - I am a grouchy misanthrope, especially in the morning. She is on a constant quest for flowers so she can bring one to me and present it with an exchange of kisses. Everyone loves Bailey, because she loves everyone. She has the most joyous, generous heart.

But my God what a challenge. Everything is a struggle with Bailey - getting her hair washed, her clothes on, her food eaten. She is a climber, a wanderer, a questioner. I swear she is talking and asking questions every single minute she is awake. In restaurants she shouts, wiggles, and refuses to eat. In the grocery store she touches everything and usually knocks it off the shelf. She's a spiller, a destroyer - ruins every new white T-shirt the first time she wears it, loses or breaks her toys as soon as the package is opened, squirts her juice box all over the inside of the car. She questions every statement and looks at instructions as an invitation to negotiate. And Oh the drama. When she is thwarted it's an immense tragedy. When she's been too long without attention she manufactures an injury. And she can't stand for there to be conversation around her that's not about her - she will totally invent a story so she claim a place in the discussion - become the star of the show, as it were. I find myself losing my temper and speaking harshly to her way more often than I would like, especially since she really does have a true desire to be good.

Everyone says that Bailey is just like me. Appearance-wise, that's certainly true - she's mini-me, and it gets more obvious the older she gets. But personality... I disagree. We share some traits - stubbornness and a quick temper come immediately to mind. But she is so much her own person. And I enjoy her so much - except when she's driving me crazy.

Oh, Cooper

Oh, Cooper. I sent you off to your first day of Kindergarten on Monday. You took to it like a champ, as I thought you would. You've been in school for several years now and you were excited and not at all scared. Meet the Teacher night was last Thursday and we met Miss Tharnish, a kind and lovely girl who graduated from Texas A&M three months ago and is determined to excel at teaching. The school is brand new, beautifully appointed, with a principal who is, by all accounts, the best in the business. You love riding the bus home and eating your lunch in the cafeteria. You climb out of the car in the morning and find your classroom without help.

My dear son. When I look at you with your cool new Power Rangers backpack - with attached lunchbox! - and your new shoes and your gap-toothed smile, marching bravely off into not needing me anymore, you look so big to me and yet so very little. I carried you under my heart and fed you from my own body and cherished and loved you more than I every knew it was possible. I am so proud of you, my little man, so strong and independent and determined. But it tears at my heart that you don't really fit in my lap anymore. It's the fundamental contradiction of parenting and it will only get worse - we want them to be their own persons, to manage on their own, to be all right without us. But oh how hard it is to let go. I must learn to live with wanting to follow and keep watch, because I've come to understand that feeling will never go away.

Someday my son will be taller than me. He will get in his car and drive away and not look back. He will make all his own decisions and order his own life. Someday he will have a wife, a woman he loves more than he loves me, and I will be a place to visit instead of home. But then he will smile and I will see in his face the moment he was born, when he was so completely mine, my whole world swaddled in a blanket, his tiny hand wrapped around my finger.

Sort of his first day of school

My son Cooper is starting kindergarten in less than two weeks. It's a big day, right? He seems kind of underwhelmed. He gets that it's a new school (as it happens, it's a brand-new school building) with a different group of kids, and that he'll be staying all day, but he's not worked up about it at all. I'm glad that he's not scared or anxious but I regret that he's not more excited.
Maybe that has to do with the fact that he's been going to some sort of school since before he turned two. He doesn't ever remember not being in school and he doesn't like vacations. He likes the routine and seeing his friends and having his brain stimulated.
My first day of kindergarten was my first day of school EVER. I had no idea how to manage myself away from my mom and brother. The whole "sharing, listening, taking turns" thing was definitely not a skill I had cultivated previously and it was rather a rocky time for me.
So is it better for Cooper to not be scared even though he's losing a little of the excitement? I think so.