Same Adventures, Different Girl

So, after my last allergy post, I bet you think you know what this is:

Or should I say, who it is.  But since I haven't mentioned it here yet, for some reason, I bet you didn't guess.  Surprise! It's not Little One.
Never one to be shown up by Her big sister, Little Miss has had Her own allergy adventures.
 
The first hint came when I gave Her a shrimp.  She took a bite, screamed, and threw it on the floor.  I turned to pick it up, scolding Her for throwing food, and by the time I was facing Her again, She'd been in a bar fight.  Her eye was swollen up, Her lips were fat.  Hives which could nearly rival a display of Her sister's.  We had a similar adventure with a peach.
So we packed Her off to Little One's allergist, and ran all the battery of tests.  As it turned out, Missy was allergic to:
Shellfish/crustaceans 
Peaches
Eggs
These kids, I'm telling you.  They could at least agree on what to be allergic to together, am I right? At least they have eggs in common.  It's so nice for sisters to share.  
Missy's food allergies aren't quite as sensitive as Little One's, in that if She touches one of those foods She might get a few hives, but probably won't end up in the hospital.  The real danger for Her would be actually eating it.  
But we don't really know for sure.  And, as allergists explain to us, the tough thing about food allergy, especially touch-sensitive allergies, is that every time a body reacts to an allergen, it becomes a little more allergic.  After enough exposures, a tipping point can be reached after which the next reaction could be life-threatening.  No one knows just where that tipping point lies.  It's like Russian-roulette with snacks! Fun. So we are careful with Missy, just the same.  
Recently a friend sent me a thank-you card for a meal I brought when her baby was born.  "Can't wait to return the favor!" it said.  I cracked up at that well-meaning offer.  She doesn't know what she's in for!  It's not like you can just bring us a lasagna. But it is the thought that counts, right?
Seriously you can't feed us anything.  Lucky for us we are a family of adventurous eaters, or we'd just all be surviving on applesauce or something.  In some ways it's been a blessing with the kids- they never had the option to get hooked on pizza or chicken nuggets.  For them, seaweed salad or curried lentils are a treat.  Seriously. 
Lucky for Little Miss that if She had to have food allergies, at least She was born into a family that knows how to deal with them like Paula Deen knows how to melt butter.  Lucky for Her She was born to a family that doesn't make eggs for breakfast anyways, that has a freezer full of vegan muffins already. 
And, as She appreciated on Her first visit to the ER, lucky to have a big sister who has Been There, Done That, and can sympathize, show Her the ropes, and watch Her back.

It makes me both sad and happy to watch them at a party or buffet restaurant, comparing notes on what looks safe and what doesn't.  Or to hear Little One coaching Missy or comforting Her when She feels left out.  
"Don't worry, Miss", Little One said at a recent play date when I refused a friend's offer to share a snack, "It's ok of we can't have that snack.  Mommy always has a snack for you.  Look, see?  Here's some grapes.  You can have grapes, then you and your friend can still eat together.  How 'bout that? You can just eat your own snacks on the same bench together!"
Missy perked up and smiled.  "Yeah! I not 'llergic to grapees! And Littal One you not eithah! You want some? I can share it." 

There's nothing pretty about hives and epipens and worry and fear.  But, like all things, there's always a silver lining.  It's sad that my girls have this extra burden to haul around through life.  Like being my kid isn't enough! But if they have to carry it, at least they have someone to help shoulder it sometimes.  And at least when people come over and it's teriyaki chickpeas and kale for dinner, I can use them as an excuse. 

It Was Too Cold For Lemonade

As it turns out, remote start is a very convenient feature in our car.
Although.  If the car is started, and then you run inside to get something your forgot, and then forget your keys in the house....
Well the car will let you drive it all the way to preschool without them!
But!
When you drop off the Little One, strap in the Missy, and get ready to drive home...not so much.
Not so much starting.  
Oh, well. 
It was a nice, brisk, 45 degree morning to walk a couple miles (8 months pregnant in some high heels.  Ahem.)  Lesson Learned.

Missy and I, though, we don't let little issues like my loss of mental faculties stop us from having a good time!  We took the long walk home, through the neighborhood with all the big trees.  We went on a Leaf Walk, gathering all the biggest and brightest and comparing all the shapes and colors.







We brought them home (eventually) and turned them into a glamorous chandelier- the glitter was Missy's fabulous idea.
 
To tell the truth, I think I'll be a bit more careful about where those fancy keys are when we head out in the future.  But, as it turns out, I can't imagine a better way to have spent the morning.
One of the greatest joys of a life among the Littles is the freedom to make lemonade out of lemons.  Or chandeliers out of leaves. 

Ears and Feet

It was raining.
Missy was concerned, because She had on Her special Kitty Ears from Halloween, and didn't want them to get wet.

C: "It's ok, Missy, it's not raining too hard. You and your kitty ears can just run to the car really fast and it will all be fine!"

Missy: "Yes! I can run! No problem!"

C: "Great! Let's go!"

Missy hesitates, "But Mom! Oh no! My kitty ears they CAN'T run! Because them hasn't have any LEGS oh Feeeeet!" 

C: "But..... you do, and they can ride on your head, there."

Missy: "Oh. Yeah.  That wuhks too."

CPD

 I have a Project Problem.  
My husband says it's like I have third-trimester nesting tendencies- but ALL the time.  It's bad enough to deserve a solid diagnosis-style acronym:  CPD- Chronic Project Disorder.
Disorder being the really operative word, since there tends to be bits of paper, flour, ribbon and thumbtacks littering my path of destruction whenever I have an outbreak of creativity. 
It's a genetic flaw.  My mother is constantly and eternally sewing and planning renovations on her house.  My father is always tinkering with something, adding raised garden beds and moving boulders around.  My sister is the worst of us all and has the etsy site to prove it.  You should see the damage that occurs when any of us are together! We tend to emerge from simple visits paint-stained, bruised, and covered in sawdust.
There's just something exciting about looking at something and seeing what it might be.  And so, in my house, we have a 1919 gas tank which is now an end table.  We have a 1970's oak file cabinet reborn as a shiny puzzle organizer.  There was the garish thrift-store prom dress

which became this tea party table

and this dress-up outfit

Not to mention the craigslist bunkbed

which became a two-story mini-bedroom suite

Or the junkyard ballet barre and used birthday decorations that found a second life.

And about a zillion other things.  As my dear J would put it, there's always something.  

My family is a bunch of can't-sit-still and let-it-be-ers.  And it seems clear that I have passed this mutant CPD gene on to my Little One.  She wants to save everything.  

The moment any object begins to travel in the direction of a trash can, bulbs begin flashing like siren-lights over Her head.  Toilet-paper rolls become jeweled telescopes, scraps of fabric become patchwork tapestries, twist-ties become beaded rings and bracelets.  

Most recently, She fought tooth and nail to Save The Oatmeal Container! because we didn't have a wastebasket in the powder room and it would be perfect.  And it would be recycling, mom.  

Well, a little contact paper and She was right.

After Her birthday Blessing Bag project, we had this big pile of protein bar boxes ready for recycling. 

Only to Little One, they weren't trash.  They were a project.  Waiting to happen.

LO: "Mom! Mom no! No DON'T throw them away! I need them for a PROject! For a-a-a...um....I know.  I know! We could use them to decorate!"

C: (incredulous look)

LO: "Jus' listen, mom, jus' listen.  We could... make faces on them! Right?  Like a Jack-lantern.  Then we could paint them orange- cuz I know you has some paint out there in the garage there and it would be perfect mom- and then they would look just. like. pum-kins,  for....HALLOWEEN!! Is that jus' perfect?!" 

As She spoke, my CPD began to itch and swell, and by the time She finished I had a full-blown outbreak.

C: "Why... Little One...it WOULD be perfect! I love it! GET THE PAINT!"

And so. Little one took a marker and made spooky faces on each box.  Missy and Banana chipped in and did a few, as well.  I cut out along the lines.

Then I sprayed them with paint leftover from another project. 

We made sure the faces were oriented so that the open sides were at the bottom.  That way we could add a string of lights underneath, and get a real jack-o-lantern glow.
I have to say, for a pile of empty boxes, they do look pretty festive.  And the Littles and I had quite a bit of fun indulging in our mental illness together.

We're thinking some ghosts would be good, next.  Then We'll have a whole Halloween line up! Ghosts, Pumpkins- and the Pinterest Monsters I've created. 

Halloween

With all the surgery recovering going on, I didn't think we'd have much Halloweening happening around here. 
We were ok with that, having rocked the pre-surgery school carnival and the awesome costume party thrown by the family of the famous O.

But we did carve our pumpkins.

And then Missy recovered quickly and was all about some trick or treating.  Little One agreed that staying in to hand out candy would be best for Her, but She still felt it to be gravely important that She do so in costume.
Not just any costume.
Due to an avid interest in a particular couple of boys at school, Little One has developed an intense fondness for BATMAN.  You have to say it in all caps, you know.  It's like a rule.
While I'm not overly fond of the origin of this interest, I do have to admit that BATMAN is awesome.
Little Miss had no confusion over Her preference, either.  Have I mentioned it often enough for you all to understand how much She loves cats? Ask Her what She wants to be when She grows up. 
So the day of Halloween, I threw together some last minute costumes. 
I sewed some snaps onto the shoulders of these walmart PJs so that I could add a cape, which was fashioned out of a couple thrift-store T-Shirts.  I refuse to explain why I already had the glasses.  But they were just the thing. 

Missy got a thrift store outfit too, complete with sparkly kitty shoes, and the ears and tails were made from a felt sheet and some cotton.  A little eyeliner and BOOM.

Kitty.
It was pretty hastily cobbled together, but the girls were thrilled.  In fact, Little One was so filled with the superhero persona imbued in Her cape, that She decided to brave the streets and Trick-or-treat, too.
 
So we left the candy out with a note, and went together as a family for the first time ever. 

It was a perfect, warm night, and we had so much fun.  Our neighborhood is fantastic at Halloween.  Most homes are decorated and handing out treats, and there are some blasting the Monster Mash, running fog machines, or handing out bags full of goodies with costumed grown-ups popping out of the bushes.

We brought the stroller along to help them make the trek.  Though Little One tired out and just rode along some of the way, we all had a great time and even in our short venture hauled in plenty of goodies.
 
When we got home, the kids immediately began sorting candy into "grown-up" and "kid" piles, according to allergy contents.  Their baby brother has had quite a lot of chocolate lately.

We watched a Halloween Word World, brushed teeth twice, and ended the evening with happy smiles.   While I confess I have been consuming an unimaginable amount of chocolate since these escapades, the real treat was to watch the magic on their faces.  Not much could be sweeter.

Surgery Day

In my last post, I said I had places to go. 
The first place we all went, the morning after we lost our Bananas, was the hospital. 
It was surgery day for the Littles.
They weren't allowed to eat or drink anything after midnight, so we had a family movie night and kept them up with snacks as late as we could all stand it.  In the morning, J and I rose before the sun to sneak some breakfast before scooping them up. 
We told them both to choose whatever they wanted to wear.  Just be as comfy as possible, we said.  You can even wear your pajamas! Your pajamas, we said. 
You'd think we'd never met these two, with such a suggestion, right Peanuts?
Here was Little One's choice:

Her current Very Favorite outfit- the cherished Rapunzel dress with tights and a fancy headband-er, crown- from Tia's store. 
Little Miss chose this: 

POLKA DOTS! Polka and polka and polka polka dots!  ALL the polka dots!
Dress, tights, even the little hair bow.  All that mattered was the polka-dottiness. 
All fancied up and ready for action, we raced over to the hospital- to wait. 
And wait and wait and wait. 
Luckily, there was a fun room to wait in, with blocks and crayons,
 
and a horse and wagon to go around and around.
 
And around.  And around.....  He's a very good-natured horse.  
Little One got to bring Her special puppy with Her, and they both got their bracelets and game faces on.

 And then, just as I was forgetting to be nervous about my baby going under general anesthesia and a knife, it was time. 

J went with Little One, and I took Missy over to wait for Her turn.  It was almost 2pm before She was called, a loooooong time for a two year old not to eat or drink.  I had braced myself for at least one of the minor circles of Hell this day.  However, surprisingly true to Her name, Missy was an angel all the while.  I talked the anesthesiologist into letting me stay with Her until She was asleep, and so She went peacefully.  In Her polka dot dress. 
Then there were about 20 minutes in which both of my babies were under and I felt uneasily as if all my eggs were in one basket.
Soon enough, though, Missy was done and I went to welcome Her back to the world.  She was slightly less than pleased. 

Some cuddles helped. The offer of some juice did a lot to repair Her mood, as well. 
Soon J was texting me that Little One was awake, screaming "like a banshee" and could I please RUN to the pharmacy to pick up Her pain medicine. 
My poor Little One.  My tough, brave, strong girl.  She was a crumpled little ball of misery. 
A couple hours later, though, She was less-miserable enough to take home. 
The nurse called Her an Old Soul.  She said Little One was tougher than most adults. 
Little One felt terrible, but She was very brave.  And we knew She was going to be ok when, before She would allow us to take Her anywhere, She insisted on changing back into Her Rapunzel outfit.  Complete with tights and crown.
On the way home, Little One had Her first chance to hand out one of Her blessing bags.  The reaction of the gentleman She handed it to did more for Her than the oxycodone.
We never did torture our Littles by eating in front of them while they were being starved.  So with the exception of a power bar I inhaled during the brief period they were both under, this pregnant Mama had nothing to eat for 12 hours.  When we got home, I promptly ordered two pizzas and ate SEVEN slices right in a row.  It's amazing the things one learns they are capable of under unusual circumstances.
The next week and a half was a blur of long nights, popsicles, tears, and cuddles on the couch.  But Missy recovered in a couple of days, and even Little One did pretty well during the day when Her medicine was in full effect. Slowly, the good stretches stretched out and the teary ones faded.  She even started back to school a couple days ago.  
The good news is that we received the best possible results from both girls' tests, and are very relieved for them both.  The bad part is that I've never seen Little One suffer quite so much, and that is rather something considering that Her medical history has been slightly less than charmed. 
But the good news again is that we have this hope that it's a sort of a lump-sum, quota-filling pain; that it will mean that years of drawn out, frequent suffering will be avoided.  We can only wait and see, and hope it was all worth it. 
In the meantime, at least it's all over. 
And, lets be honest here, I can't pretend that anything involving this level of cuddling and ice-cream eating could ever be all bad. 

Bananas In My Heart

Little Banana likes to sing her ABC's.  She sings her own special, rather abridged version of it, and I love it because her voice is so sweet and it comes just from her.  The only song she seems to know without copying line-by-line from Little One or Missy.  At least I thought so, until we were riding together in the car a couple of weeks ago listening to the radio.
Suddenly a tiny voice began to swell up from the back seat, singing right along with Rihanna.  It made my heart beat more quietly, made me hold my breath so I could listen.  It was just by chance, I suppose, that she happened to like and remember this particular song.  Just because she is small and sings her own version of things, I suppose, that she had altered the words just a tiny bit, just so.
But even though it was a random incident, I couldn't help feeling my eyes sting just a little as her baby voice spun the words out softly, "I want to staaaaaaaaaay!  I want to stay-staaaaaay!" 
As she crooned the words to the ballad, I listened and glanced at her innocent face in the rearview mirror.  "Oh, little sweetheart," I found myself thinking, "I wish you could stay, too." 
The song ended, she stuck those two fingers she's so fond of back in her mouth, rode quietly home.  We went about our days.  But the moment would sometimes materialize in my mind, like a mirage.  Like a premonition.  The thing about foster care is that when you open your home and your heart, it's always a false promise.  Because they can't stay.  Not forever. For us that is particularly true, since we are only supposed to be approved for short-term placements, two weeks or less. 
But then these Bananas came and the the plans for their permanent home fell apart, and the system was stuck with these two children and nowhere else to put them.  So they stayed an extra week.  Some weeks.  We went through ups and downs, we all became attached to one another.
Once the social workers called me out of the blue and said they were coming in the morning to take the kids to a new place.  In the morning! I called everyone and their supervisor and made such a fuss I was told I'd better calm down before I went into pre-term labor.
But they relented.  The bananas stayed.  Well, they stayed a little longer.  But it couldn't be forever, we knew that.  There would have to be a day when they moved on to a place they could stay, at least for a good, long while.  That day came this week.
There were meetings and planning and packing up.  The new family came and I handed over the novel I'd written- what they like, how to tell Little Banana is upset, how to read her body language when she can't speak, what time to feed the baby, all the medical information, all the everything I could think of.  The kids met their new family.  We hauled out bags of baby clothes, bags of toys and books.  Little One kept running back to the playroom and bringing something else- "Here! Take this one! Take it with you!" Missy gave the new folks the evilest evil eye she could muster.
We gave hugs and kisses and stood at the end of the driveway waving.
And then they were gone.
They went to a really nice family, specially certified to take care of high-needs kids.  Which these two turned out to be.  Between routine social work visits, volunteer child advocates, services for developmental delays, and many doctors for many medical issues, we had become a traveling circus.  Throw in the health issues of my own two kiddos and we were spending most of our days in waiting rooms and in the car. 
Before these Bananas came to us, I confess I had become nice and cozy in my routine- laundry and the library on Mondays, baking our breads and tortillas on Tuesdays, cleaning Wednesdays, playgroup Thursdays, art project or outing Fridays, family time on the weekend.  Sundays I planned the meals for the week and made up my grocery list. Ok it was a little 1930's housewifey, but I liked to feel that I was on top of things.
But with all the appointments all that went out the window.  Dinners became whatever could be cobbled together just in time to feed hungry mouths.  Cleaning day moved to Sundays, our only day home, laundry was a constant and eternal process, and the grocery store got to do all the baking.  Juggling appointments, phone calls, naps, and illnesses became our whole day.  Every day.
Hauling 3 or 4 kids, diaper bags, snacks for everyone's special diets, strollers, toys for long waits...got only harder and harder as hauling Little Mister began to feel like it's own full-time job.
Baby banana was always throwing up all over everything, there was continual intestinal drama to contend with. Learning to communicate with Little Banana was a constant mental effort.  It was an altogether exhausting experience.
But they are such lovely, precious, adorable little people, though.  They added so much laughter and sweetness to everything.  They fit so nicely at the dining room table, in the little playhouse, on our laps.  It seems that they were here so much longer than a couple of months.  At times it seemed they had been here always.
Now that they are gone, it is quiet.  I have the time to sit here and type this ridiculously long post.  Now that they are gone, I can get to the actual bottom of the laundry pile; I see days of nothing but walks through the leaves on our family calendar. 
Now that they are gone, I have my life back.
But part of my heart is gone forever.

I've been asked a lot how I feel about it.  I've been given a lot of well-meaning comfort from good friends.  To be honest, I feel sad.  We all do.
To be honest, I appreciate the kindness, but I don't want to be told that I was the best thing that ever happened to those kids.  I'm not.  In actual fact, I am a byproduct of the very worst thing that ever happened to those kids.
I don't want to be called an angel or a saint.  Yikes. I'm far from that.  There were days I was short on patience for everyone, times I had an unnecessary edge to my voice, times I tried to do the right thing but got it completely wrong.  I'll never think I did a wonderful job taking care of everybody; I know in my heart it was a good day I managed a half-decent job of it.
I will always be sorry I didn't have the strength or wisdom to do enough for those kids.  I will always be sorry that in the end I was just one more adult who abandoned them. I will always be disappointed that I couldn't manage those couple of months with more grace than I did.
I'll always be selfishly happy that I had the opportunity to know them, to see my own children make room in their hearts for them, to be called "mommy" by more babies than I really deserved to be. For all the hugs that fell into my arms and the toothless baby grins I got to catch when I walked into a room.  But I'll always be sad about my failures, about the tears on the Little's faces and the way Little Banana's arms reached for us from a strangers car, as it pulled away.  I'll always miss them the way you miss anything that becomes a part of you and then has to be torn off.
I don't need to hear that in time it will be ok.  It will not be ok.
Something I have learned over years of caring for children is that loving a child- for years or for a day- and then letting them go, can never be ok.  Worrying about a child, especially knowing that odds are stacked against them, wondering if you made things better or worse for them, knowing that you will probably never find out if they are All Right... can just not be ok. 
Some things in life are not ok.  They can't ever be.
But I am a mother. 
I was made to lift and to carry; loads of laundry, bags of diapers and jackets and milk, babies, children.  Other Things.  My arms and my back, and my heart, are strong.
So I have this grief, and this guilt, and this sadness.  So there it is.  I will cry about it a little if I want to, sure.  Then I'll breathe.  I'll lift it up, I'll put it in my heart with other burdens, and I'll start walking.  It will go where I go, it will always be there.  I'll be carrying it, moving forward.
Because like our little Bananas, off on their own path of adventures now, I have places to go.  

One Up, Two To Go

Well we have one little angel all safely through anesthesia.  Luckily our little Banana needed only imaging and no procedures, so once the effects of deep sleep wore off we didn't have many after-effects to worry about.  The hardest part for her was being taken from my arms by a stranger to go back to the anesthesia room.  I really, really do not understand why I can't stay until they are asleep. 
But, I am told, I can't.  So She went crying and calling "mamamammamama MAMA!" and my heart fell apart in little pieces. 
But she woke up almost immediately in the recovery room.  Looked right at me with hazy, droopy eyes, and said, "I. Want. Appa-sauce."  As I was unprepared for this request, she slurped down a juice instead and then tried unreasonably hard to put on her own shoes.  Watching a drunk two year old is both slightly comical and rather disturbing. 
She was confused about whether to be combative and tearful, or snuggly and sleepy.  She alternated between the two until I got her home and properly fed.  Then she took a good nap and was more or less her old self again. 
Sadly for her, she will surely need to go under again pretty soon to have her problem treated.  But happily for her, now we will know that there should be applesauce at the ready.
 

It's Not Every Day You Nearly Murder Your Child

But it did happen last week.
After a long, long day, I stayed up late finishing some chores. Missy had a string of nightmares and incidents involving too much water before bedtime, resulting in practically no sleep.  In the morning my fuzzy brain was distracted, thinking of the day ahead, rushing to get everyone fed, dressed, snack-packed, pottied, shoed, and out the door; worrying about too much other than the tasks at hand.
I went through the motions of the morning, swept the crew into the car, and dropped Little One off at school with Her snack bag and a kiss.  
Back at home, I started pulling together the Stuff I needed for a day out with Littles.  I reached into the cabinet to make a bottle for Baby Banana.  And froze.  My brain was still sluggish, so it took a few seconds for it to send the proper message to my heart.
Which was: STOP BEATING.  THE WORLD IS ENDING. 
In the cabinet, Little One's calorie drink powder sits next to Baby Banana's formula powder.  In cans just the same shape and size.  The labels are different, so it's not hard to distinguish.  But as I reached for the formula, I noticed that the other can was missing.  I remembered I had run out of it the night before.  Which means that, in my haze and haste, I had reached for the only can in the cabinet.  And mixed my horribly milk-allergic daughter a drink of milk-based formula.  I had basically sent Her to school with a pink plastic cup full of poison.
I called the school in a panic and they pulled the poison from Her bag.  Thank goodness I realized my mistake before snack time.  I brought the right drink right over, and other than the teachers probably questioning my sanity, there was no harm done.
But there could have been.
Aren't those haunting, as a parent? The could-have beens? 
It was one heck of a good reminder to slow down, breathe and focus, and take things one at a time.
My goodness, parenting is such a ride.  Some days you craft and cook and go to the museums; you feel like you're doing ok.  And then some days, you nearly kill your children. 
Or maybe that's just me.  Yikes. 

No Hands!

Pardon my absence.  I've been busy riding an emotional roller coaster.
WHeeeeeEEEeeee!
It's been a week of fun- field trips, parties, and family time. But also a week of rough- doctor appointments and hospital visits, hand/foot/mouth disease passing among the many hands/feet/mouths in the house, and enough jerking around by the social work system to give a person whiplash.
On the upside, Little Banana seemed to make a real breakthrough in Her opinion of my trustworthiness the night we danced in the kitchen.  On the downside, we have discovered that she has a pretty major health problem which has caused a lot of rushing around and worrying.  She is now the last of my four to join the ranks of Littles being followed by pediatric specialty teams.  We ought to have our own room at the hospital and just live there!
In the next three days, all three of my girls will be going under general anesthesia.  All for fairly minor/routine procedures, but I'm a mama and can't help but worry.
I thought pregnant women weren't supposed to ride roller coasters? For now we will just take it one turn at a time and try to focus on the ups.  They always come around. 

Blessing Bags

There are three homeless men who work the corners between the hospital and the freeway.  

They are usually there at rush hour, with their cardboard signs.  We make that drive pretty often, and awhile back Little One got to wondering what the heck they were doing out there.  Didn't they know there was traffic around; that it isn't safe to stand on the edge of the road like that?

And so launched a long and deep conversation about homelessness.  A conversation which spanned days.  Weeks.  There are a lot of questions to ask about homelessness.  

One thing we discussed was why we usually don't give out money- even when people ask for it, even when they need it.  In the end, Little One said She understood.  But it really bothered Her that there were people asking us for help, and we were driving by.  We talked about how we can always give smiles, and look people in the eye with kindness. Because not being ignored is always a gift.  That helped, but it wasn't enough. Every time we made the drive, Her heart would ache over not having anything to give.  

When it came time for Her birthday, out of the blue She thought of those men and others we've seen on corners with signs, and She made Her request about gifts for them instead of Herself.  

So we talked about the specifics of that, and decided on Blessing Bags.  

We asked guests at Her party to bring things like toiletries, new socks, and protein bars instead of presents.  After the party we dumped all the goodies into a heap, and Little One carefully doled them out into equal piles.  

She packed each little pile into a gallon-sized ziploc bag, and we had a stash of Blessing Bags!

 Now we keep a few in the car, so that if we encounter someone who needs help, we have something to give. Little One thinks this is the best birthday gift ever. Now She has something Important.  A way to do something kind.  I like it too.  It really is a gift that keeps giving!

Totally Inappropriate. But Too Funny Not To Share.

We took a little road trip awhile ago.
Driving home at dinnertime, Little One asked me to hand Her some food.
But I was eating almonds and had to wet-wipe my hands first, because of Her allergy. 

Little One: "Food please mamma!"

C: "Ok! Just hang on a minute. I need to clean my hands first, because I've been touching these almonds."

Little One: "You have some dirty nuts?"

Boy Games Girl Games

LO: "I don't play with them.  They only play boy games.  So every day, I just a'nore them."

C: "Boy games?  What makes something a boy game or a girl game?"

LO: "Well, boy games is like, Bad Guys, or silliness.  Girls game is just, too fun for boys.  Stuff what's too fun for boys.  BUT! Boys like races.  And girls like races too.  So, we can all play races together with our ch'others." 

At least there's a common ground.  Even if it's only used for competition.