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March 16, 2007 Frances Friday: Thanks, Kid 
I've managed to convince Erik to practice joint custody in advance--not that I framed it with those particular words, but I advocated strongly for us not pretending to be a happy family while awaiting the official separation, a point of view he saw the wisdom in almost immediately, though not happily. Anyway, it means I am spending a nice chunk of time alone with Frances. Which is lovely. On Sunday, Erik left for the bookstore; and Frances and I roughhoused in the master bedroom. I tickled and chased her and held her upside-down by her ankles, after the last of which she lay, dazed, on the floor and said, "I'm sick." "Uh oh. Did being upside down make you feel sick?" "Yeah." This is a lingering reflux issue; the sphincter at the top of her stomach still doesn't work all that well, and it doesn't take much for food to re-enter the esophagus. A bad cough will do it. Or her clueless Mummy, hanging her upside-down. We snuggled and I petted her and apologized, and I thought we'd made it through. (You can hear the ominous music, can't you, Dear Readers?) Until thirty minutes later, when she projectile vomited her half-digested cheese and pasta all over the kitchen floor. And herself. And me. It was no more than I deserved (and far more than she did, poor poppet), so I cleaned us up, got our clothes in the laundry, got her in the bath, re-dressed us, put Frances in her blue kitty-cat robe (which, Kim, Frances absolutely loves), and we sat down to watch a bit of TV while drinking a bit of juice and eating some arrowroot cookies. All clear. Except the guilt. "Mummy, you held me upside down. It made me sick." "I know. I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again." "Then I made pukies. I puked on the floor, and I puked on my pants, and I puked on your shirt!" "I know. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry." "It was pretty gross." "Yes. Yes, it was." Not that she seemed upset about it by this time, but of course I was. And it was by far her favourite topic of conversation for the rest of the afternoon. I cleverly distracted her later on by calling my parents to schedule a visit next weekend--I put them on speakerphone, so Frances could talk too. "Hello, Frances!" said my Mom. "It's Mumms!" said Frances. "Mumms, Mummy held me upside down, and it made me sick!" "What? What did she say?" asked my Mom. I couldn't answer. I was laughing too hard. ~~~~~ I think I have a performer on my hands. I know a lot of kids are hams, but this is different. For instance, she loves to pretend to be Ruby (the rabbit), pretending to be a magician. She puts on a paper crown and a paper-clip a tea towel to her shoulders for a cape; she wields a shiny pencil as her magic wand, and seats me on the ottomon as she begins, with a flourish. "Ladies and gentlemen!" she cries. "Now it is time for our grand finale!" Then she comes to pull me to my feet, and grabs a leg so she can steer me to her stage. "OK, Mummy; you can be my volunteer from the audience." "OK. What do I have to do?" "Just stand here. No, not there. Right here." She backs up a pace or two, waves the wand and says, "Abwacadabwa! You've disappeared, Mummy!" "Have I? So I have. Wow, that was fun." "Yes." Then she grabs my leg and steers me back to the ottomon, races back to the stage, and begins again: "Ladies and gentlemen! Now it is time for my grand finale!" You are not convinced; so, for exhibit B, I present "Where is Thumbkin." Frances begins by putting her hands on her hips, smiling, and saying, "That's a good choice." Don't ask me why it's a good choice, or what the other options are. It's just the first line in the performance, and it cannot under any circumstances be passed over. Then she begins, holding her two pudgy fists in front, index fingers extended, and wriggling them on cue. (The wriggling fingers! Those tiny, twig-like index fingers, squirming out the lines: "How are you today, sir?" "Very well, thank you.") Once it's over, she puts her hands back on her hips, smiles again and awaits the applause. Nothing like the euphoria of applause from the audience. I'm going to have to sign her up for dancing or music lessons just so she can have the recital at the end. I think, if she could do it, that she'd find it--the costumes, the routines, the applause at the end--magical. Posted by Andrea at March 16, 2007 6:58 AM under Frances Friday EMAIL this entry (comments fields are below this section) Comments Oh, the cuteness! Puking must be somewhat traumatic for kids. Ivy also recites her vomit stories again and again. Her incident happened months ago, and she still asks me if I 'member when she fwew up onna bett. Yes, I remember. She will never let me forget it. Posted by: Casey at March 16, 2007 7:09 AM
A very thoughtful and conscientious approach to sharing time with mummy and daddy. Ergh.... I'd hoped Frances had grown out of the reflux thing -- that doesn't sound like very much fun. At least she wasn't too traumatized by it! (How are you doing?) Love the natural desire to entertain that children have. Let me know when she's got her first stage gig! Posted by: Miche at March 16, 2007 7:47 AM
A-dorable. My little one decided to do a little milking this morning, too. It's amazing how they can push your buttons. Posted by: NotSoSage at March 16, 2007 8:50 AM
If you lived near me, I'd have the perfect dance studio for you! Since you don't, let me say this: Posted by: elsimom at March 16, 2007 9:07 AM
How in the world do you keep from eating her up every five minutes? Posted by: liz at March 16, 2007 9:30 AM
Oh, and you are so smart to not pretend everything's fine right up until the day you separate. It'll definitely help the transition. Posted by: liz at March 16, 2007 9:31 AM
Liz, I do eat her every five minutes. Fortunately, she's self-regenerating. elsimom, thanks! I was thinking she might be too young for it, but you've inspired me. :) Miche, she's grown out of the worst of it. She no longer spontaneously vomits. THere has to be a trigger. And now I know another one. Something tells me we'll be avoiding roller coasters for a while yet. Casey--LOL. Oh no. Posted by: Andrea at March 16, 2007 10:43 AM
OOOH a little performer indeed! I heart Frances. Posted by: yankee,transferred at March 16, 2007 11:12 AM
She is adorable!! "Then I made pukies." that is the cutest description of projectile vomit, I've ever heard. Posted by: Kyla at March 16, 2007 12:09 PM
She's self-regenerating! I wonder if she'd like tap dancing? She might get a kick out of making so much noise. My sister and I did tap dance for two years starting when we were just a bit older than Frances. Posted by: Jennifer at March 16, 2007 12:11 PM
I've done a few things that have caused M pain and she is also sure to tell me (I tripped the other day while carrying her, and to save me from landing on her on the concrete, I stumbled around like a fool and hurt her - while much less than the hurt I was avoiding - still hurt. And she made sure to tell me, her dad, and others all about it. And there have been others that were more avoidable but due to non-thinking...and it's always, always the mirror, isn't it. It keeps me on my toes. Lovely story about F. Posted by: jen at March 16, 2007 3:44 PM
What a doll. Posted by: fluttercrafts at March 16, 2007 8:18 PM
Re: Ballet/dance for tots - sorry, Self-regenerating Big Senior Girls like Frances, whom I Would Also Eat Every Five Minutes if She Were Mine I enrolled my daughter (will be 3 in June) in a 10-session ballet class with a small class of other girls her age. Her group does not have a recital at the end, and for now that's just fine because she's learning to listen and to try the moves. A similar set-up might be a nice low-stakes way to find out if Frances would in fact love it and then you could enroll her in one with a recital at the end. Our dance studio is fairly low-key, so the recital for the littlest tykes there perform for the parents who sit in chairs lined up in the practice studio. It's not exactly competition or professional accomodations, but the little kids don't seem to notice. Posted by: amy at March 17, 2007 9:00 AM
Oh, my gosh, what a vocabulary she's got! She is so smart, isn't she? It does sound like she's got a performing bug, between this and her singing at Erik's work. I'd think she could do a dance class - I know I did when I was three or so, and I loved it. Posted by: Abbey at March 17, 2007 5:20 PM
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