TX- Big stupid pain in the woo hoo.

Way back when my last computer committed suicide in North Carolina, all my pictures up till then were trapped inside the old hard drive, like little workers in an imploded mine. Sad. Recently we tried to rescue them and assimilate them into the brave new world of iLife by uploading them to my new computer. They seem to have gone wild from having to survive in the dark so long. They went all Lord of the Flies and killed off all of the photos I have taken since last June! Intense search and rescue missions have determined that thankfully, all 2hundred million pictures of Little One (well, not all. But most) are in there somewhere, but it is a big (insert bad swear word) mess. I tried once to back up my photos, and that was a mess also, so I have no back up. Just a big (swearing again) mess. Every time I open iPhoto, the mess is bigger and swear-wordier. So no photos. Sorry. Just very unladylike language, and this:

We had lots of fun in Texas. We did fun things. We had lots of bonding. We took lots of (swear word) pictures.
We left. We are sad. VERY sad.
We are apart from J again. Also sad.
Little One and the doggies and I went on a road trip. We made it. We are in Arizona!
Little One is in love with Her toy dog.
She is in love with bananas and rice cakes.
She is starting to say clear words.
She is testing limits. She is having tantrums.
Even when She does this, She is ridiculously cute. Its true. There are (hopefully, somewhere) pictures, to prove it.

Be My Valentine

Happy Valentines Day, Peanuts.
It's not about chocolate* and candy and $5 grocery store cards. It's not about glittery stuff or having a date. Or not having a date. It's about love. Love! We don't need dates for that, or little pale blue boxes. We can get it from our siblings! Our parents and aunties and friends and pet fish. Here! Take some of mine! I have extra! (So do you. Just saying). Better yet we can gift it for 100% off the price of a card! And not just to a date. To co-workers and neighbors and- what the heck. Just start throwing it at random people! Get crazy- it's a holiday!
The best holiday, really, because you do not have to be religiously affiliated or on the winning side of a political war or anything! Valentines Day is the most inclusive of all holidays. Group hug! Here's some mushy, sappy, squishy, totally un-observant-of-your-personal-bubble-space-Valentine-loves from me to you. Now go celebrate!


*ok. It's also about chocolate.

Little One Finds Her Valentine

Whoa! Stop everything! I think I just found my valentine.







It ain't you, bub. Don't flatter yourself.












Now you on the other hand!










You look hugable!














Kissable!










Yep. The search is over! This puppy is my perfect valentine!

TX- Big Pretty

One of the most famous sights in San Antonio is the fabulous Riverwalk. It's a stretch of the San Antonio River which has been made the centerpiece in a living painting, with stone paths all along the banks and lovely shops and places to eat lining the way. It's sunken down so that all you see is the water, the shops, and the terraced gardens and bridge arches. We've strolled along this landmark several times now, and it keeps getting prettier. J and I even went there on a date (giggle giggle).


Little One and I also met up there with my mom and some of her good friends from waaaaaaaaaay back. Waaaaaaaaay (is that enough a's, mom?) back. Back when I used to play tea party with their daughters.

Jeni here is already a fan club member. She's still as fun as she was when I was a kid and she let us color on the wallpaper and eat raw cookie dough! Good times. Little One should have some of those fun experiences! She should have them at Jeni's house!

In the meantime, She had lots of fun watching boats, trying to jump in the river, and chasing pigeons until collapsing from exhaustion. Both of us.

Floods have caused this extreme depth advisory. Do not read if you can't swim.

Sometimes,
All I can see is how much I have. I look at Little One smiling and running at me, too fast too fast, top-heavy with momentum because She knows I'll catch Her, and the incredible light of that moment fills my mind so that all I can see is how beautiful the world is.
All I can do is notice how warm our meal is and how cozy the fire is, making the winter air somehow sweet and friendly in the window glass. All I can smell is the baby shampoo-curls under my chin, and my husband laughing with family rings in my ears and everything sounds like music.
Isn't the world a beautiful place? Isn't the sky so big and always putting on a show, just for us? Aren't all the tiny moments of being a parent, a person, alive and awake just so precious and so lovely in a million microscopic ways?
Yes.
I'm glad that I'm lucky enough to be able (most of the time) to see past the laundry pile and the bills and enjoy all these treasures. I'm glad that I have so much in my bubble, my personal little realm of existence, to luxuriate in, and that I see a beautiful world because that's what I happen to have been given.
Sometimes I can just take happiness and feel it and let my heart fly around on it. But sometimes I can't. Sometimes I have to remember that the world is only this beautiful in patches, like spots of sun filtering in through a forest canopy. Some of us are in the shadows.
There are mothers, just like me, who know that they will not live to catch their child every time it wants to run to them. There are children just like Little One- millions of them, millions- who have no one to hold their arms up to. There are homes with no fires, where the winter air turns nefarious and creeps into the lungs of babies and grandparents, stealing them away in the night.
There are families for whom consuming terror is as constant a part of daily life as running water is to me. What a paradox.
What's the answer to that reality, Peanuts? We all become Mother Teresa? We fester with guilt and shame until we are miserable despite our happy circumstances? Just ignore it all for lack of a better idea?? I wish I knew. I don't. I don't know anything. But I'm pretty sure the last one is the worst of all the options there are. What do you think? What do you do?
I think (not that you asked) that to not take the full amount of joy and appreciation for the multitude of wonderful things in my life would be insulting to those who don't have enough prayers to even wish for what I have. It would be insulting for those who have hard lives, but don't want what I have. So I try to.
I catch my running child and I fall over laughing, calling out "I love you!" I stop to stare at my husband, exhausted from a long day, and to notice how handsome his eyes are, kiss him because I can. I tell stories with my mom and sister and friends, and laugh about silly things until my ribs ache. I cuddle the dogs, ignoring the fur on my dress. I walk in the rain, because I can feel it on my skin and its wonderful, because I can walk free and safe on the streets and its wonderful, because I have a change of clothes and a cup of hot tea at home.
But in between those moments, I try to read the news I don't want to. I hold the gaze of the man with the cardboard sign in the median, I smile at him. I close my eyes and imagine mothers like me, sharing the same globe, but living in different worlds. I try not to forget them. And I wish I could find better answers. I'd be happy to hear yours. Maybe they could help me to have something better to pass on to Little One, someday.

TX- Big Stink

My poor dog, X. He got sick.
Maybe he ate something at the park. Like a twig. Maybe he got too close the the diaper pail. But he got sick.
My poor dog, E. She is so sweet. She empathizes. When X gets sick, why, bless her little heart, E gets sick too.
Luckily, this has happened before, and I know the warning signs. X, standing like a pointer at the back door with his elbow (knee?) aimed at the exit, and E arching her back like a modern dancer, got them a quick trip out back, even if it was past their bedtimes.
I left them to sort themselves out, while my mom and I continued with a serious decorating project.

C: "yes, that will be perfect! Lets move it to the living room."
Mom: "great! I'll ge.....(sniff)....(sniff sniff). Do you smell that?"
C: (sniff) yes! Eew!
Mom: Smells like a skunk!
C: Eww! haha! It does. (sniff)... Definitely.
Mom: (sniff) Oh my. Yes it is a skunk....wow that smell is strong...
C: Gak! Wheeze! Ahaarrg!
Mom: Yes, it must be in the back yard. ....where..... (Both of us suddenly freeze, open our eyes really big, and stare at each other in horror) ....where your dogs are.

I bolted to the back door, the smell getting more toxic with every step. When I opened it, a billow of noxious poison steamrolled into the kitchen. Oh yes. Thank you Texas. The biggest stink I have ever experienced. And I once fed my child cabbage, broccoli, and lentils in the same meal.
Here is a little known and rarely believed fact about me, Peanuts. But it is an actual fact. I am a great, or at least pretty good, outdoorswoman. Quit yer cackling! I am! Among my many naturey talents, I am a modestly capable tracker. I said shut it with the laughter! My father handed down to me a goody bag of stuff, like wrinkly indian skin and the ability to hold on to my side of an argument, whether or not I'm right, like a gila monster to its prey. He also taught me a thing or two about animal footprints.
Now my mother, curiously concerned with our eminent deaths by asphyxiation, cut my forensic research rather short. But here is what I learned from my foray into the fumes with a flashlight:

There was a skunk.
It was minding its business. Some idiot let out some dogs into it's habitat.
The dogs chased the skunk. The skunk ran. The dogs were faster.
They were mightily close to skunk and his stripey tail.
So skunk turned to his left, dug in his nail (this is what they do. If you ever see a skunk dig in his front nail, run, or at least duck), aimed, and fired.
The dogs came to an abrupt. stop. And backed off. E (in her classic style) ran her pansy arse to the back door (which I found her pressed against whimpering).
Skunk ran past the dogs, to the far corner of the yard, where X (in classic style) pursued him and was courageously trying to dig him out of the skunk hole he lives in when I opened the door. Which explains why X came running from the back of the yard when I called him, a strange place for him to be, I thought at the time. And why he hadn't had time to paw the skunk juice off of his forehead.

Peanuts I learned something new about skunks. Maybe I'll teach my dad. Skunk spray is not really the most descriptive term. I had always imagined it to be like a mist of some sort. Like a little stinky puff. Like hair-spray or breath-spray. It is not a mist. It is a gel. If you look really closely at this mug shot:

You can see a nice thick gel of nastiness glistening across X's face. And shoulders. It also ran all the way down the side of E, as her pansy arse was running away. Stabbed in the back! These two looked miserable. They must've been. They can small chocolate, in a container, from two floors away! So as bad as the skunk foul smelled to me (SO BAD, peanuts) it must have been truly overwhelming for them.

Good thing for Little One and Her tear-free shampoo, because poor X had a good dose of it on his face that night. I did an awful lot of rinse, lather, and repeating. Mom contributed by sleuthing the internet, and per its suggestions, the dogs also got bathed in tomatoes (it is hard to bathe something while it is trying continuously to eat the 'soap') and in mouthwash (who knew?). And had a post-stink slumber party in the garage. Poor babies.

Poor skunk! I tried to convince mom to let "Flower" continue to reside under the tree in her backyard. I mean, it hasn't bothered anyone until now, and it was sort of forced. If I was chased by two thugs in the middle of the night, I'd mace 'em too. But the Big Stink was too much for mom to bear. She hired some people to come set a live trap for it the next day.


So far, we have caught a grey tabby cat.

Mission Gone A-Stray

Ever since coming to the nation of Texas, my madre and I have been all excited to go see the famous Spanish missions along the San Antonio river. Yet here we are, over a month later, still lacking in historical significance. Because. Every time we plan to go, someone is stricken ill. Or Nature bars us with flooding rain. Or a plague of locusts eats the wheels off the car!*
Fate seemed to have a problem with our big plans. So one day, we banded together with Little One and said, "Fate, forget you man! We are totally ignoring you and doing our own thing! We give you the what-eva hand, Fate!" And we made it our mission to go see the missions. We almost made it 3/4 of the way. When Fate stepped up with the A-game.
I saw some cars get all swervy off to the right there. My mom did not see this (focusing on the road and all that), so it was an enormous vote of confidence that when I shrieked, "MOM! STOP! Stop the car!!" in the middle of a four-lane freeway, she actually did it. Thanks mom! Your utter faith in my rash decisions is both flattering and slightly scary!
What happened was that between a bumper and a fender, a little flash had caught my eye. A little flash of a tail. I hopped out and there it was, attached to an absolutely terrified pit bull, dodging trucks and sedans with an equally petrified husky puppy. Well, Peanuts. What were we supposed to do? Let them get made into puppy pancakes? Lucky for all of us, these two were the friendliest, loviest pups I have ever picked up on the side of the road (which is saying something, I'm afraid).
As soon as I called them, they literally leaped with joy across two lanes into my lap. I do not speak fluent Dog. But I am fairly sure I heard them saying "oh thank goodness! oh thank goodness! that was reallyreallyreallyreally scary! Please can I come with you! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!" I grabbed the spare leash I keep in my car for these occasions and roped them in, calm them down, and gave my mom my very, very best "Puh-leeeeeese???" face. It worked!
One had a collar on, with a phone number, but no one answered my 15 calls. So I looked at mom. She looked at me. We looked at the panting, wagging piles of mud in the hatch. They looked at Little One. Who said, "Dah-g! Dah-g! Heeeeeheeeeteeehee!" And we shook our heads and our fists and said, "Fine, Fate. Fine. You win again." And we drove aaaall the way accross town to the humane society.
Who were nice enough to check if anyone had reported them missing (nope), but who absolutely, positively, could not, would not even think of deigning to accept a pit bull. Even though it was so clearly the sweetest creature ever, even though it was the one with tags, including vaccination tags. And, they informed me, it was all very nice that they were not my dogs, and they were sure I was in a pickle having no where to put them but my trunk and all, but, if I left them there, they would have to consider it animal dumping and have me arrested. Wow. That is so humane! What a benevolent little society you've got there. Halos all around!
So. Waggly mud piles back in the car. We drove aaaaalll the way across town in the other direction to the only place open that would accept a pit bull- the county pound.
Now. When we lived in AZ, I volunteered for a long time in the county pound. I know what goes on there. I asked and learned that in San Antonio, the pit would get five days of shelter because he had a collar and a tag. After that, he would get dispatched. The baby husky, because she had no collar and no tags, would get 2 days. Two!
I have a lot of trouble with this. Surely two days is better than being smashed to death immediately, but.....well not by that much. But I was pretty sure that dogs that trusting of strangers, with such clean teeth (you can tell so much about dogs and kids by their teeth) must belong to someone who was looking for them. So while they processed the intake papers, I stalked the heck out of the phone number on that tag.
And thankfully, Fate finally threw us all a bone, and my phone finally rang back. 30 minutes later Rocco and Mia were back with their person, the person was hugging me, and my mom and Little One were waving bye-bye to our new friends.



I just LOVE a happy ending, don't you?!
One mission down. One to go.

*ok, maybe not that last one, exactly.

Progress, or Problems?

So. If my Little One stuffs all of Her kale into Her water glass, but then proceeds to eat it all, very delicately, using Her fork, do I count that as progress or problems in terms of table manners?

If She breaks a rule repeatedly, but then puts Herself on time-out, is this progress, or problems in terms of discipline?

And if this lovely toddler walks Her nekid butt all the way to the bathroom, picks up Her special on-the-potty book, and the squats Herself down right next to the potty and proceeds to pee on the floor, do we count this as progress or problems in terms of potty training?

Hmm.

please click on "comments" and choose "anonymous" to vote. (write your name in the comment, if you choose).

TX- Big Memories

The first thing Little One and I did in Texas was visit the top VIPs in the state: Her great-grandparents. She had a fantastic time playing and cuddling with them, and attempting to demolish their lovely home.
Some of my best memories from when I was little are of visiting my mom's parents, and playing with all the toys they had saved from her and her siblings childhoods. These things are famous (some infamous) among my sister and cousins and I, and part of their charm was the knowledge that our parents had played with them once too. So it was extra fun when my grandfather surprised us upon arrival with having brought all the old favorites down from the attic for Little One.

Its a bit surreal to watch my child in a way re-living pieces of my memory, and to know that those memories belong to my mother and grandparents as well. I am so grateful for those times.
We were lucky enough to not only be with them on Christmas, but also celebrate their gajillionth anniversary with them! This has been a very hard year, since my grandmother took a bad hit to her health. Now more than ever, these two are an incredible example of commitment, devotion, strength, and the really really real kind of love. The kind I'm too much of a rookie to even understand fully, but can only hope to aspire to, as I aspire to be so like them both in so many ways.

You know, Peanuts. Being married is hard. Being a parent, and a part of a family, it's hard. Trying to be a good person in the world, trying to forge a Good Life, whatever that is, it's all not for sissies. Being around my grandparents helps me see, though, that it all can be done. Even though I'm all grown now and I feel like my memories are dusty and worn off on the edges like the toys, saved all these years, the truth is that my grandparents continue pressing their thumbs into the bits of my character that are still malleable. Making me a bit better and bit better, a bit smoother and more refined, making imprints all over.

I'll never forget being allowed to play with the Shirley Temple paper dolls my Grandmother had saved since she was little. Or pushing the big firetruck with my Grandad from when he was a boy. But being around them-especially with Little One- reminds me that some of my best memories of my grandparents, and some of the most valuable things I will learn from them, are still happening.

TX- Big Sick

Little One stayed up past Her bedtime for the Big Party, so we didn't think too much of it when She slept in the next morning. Well, other than: "Hallelujah we all get to stay in bed! Woo hoo we get to linger over coffee! Thank goodness She's resting up, She'll be in such a good mood!" Ha.
Eventually we thought we'd get Her up before She slept right though nap time. The second I touched Her sleepy Little One body I thought, "uh oh".
Here are some numbers, to demonstrate what happened next:
103.4-degrees radiating from my Little One.
And then, 105.
1- trip to the ER
1 -torture chamber device for an X-Ray, with Her body encased in a plexi-glass contraption that pinned Her arms over Her head and left Her feet dangling in the air.
5- wires attached
1-catheter
7- times it was explained to us that it was vital to start an IV because of Her heart rate.
2- parents who took turns holding Her down while
5- nurses tried
dozens- of times with
6-needles to start an IV. Which they never did.
3- People who asked me to leave Her so they could try again.
0-seconds either of us left Her alone.
1- J who never gets upset telling the staff not to touch his baby again or we'd walk out.
212- how high Her heart rate got.
4- flavors of pedialyte brought to us
2- flavors sent back because She is allergic to them.
10- hours altogether before we took Her home, for
5-Days of fevers vascillating between 102 and 105.4
6-sleepless nights
1-more trip to a doctor- peds clinic this time.
30-seconds it took the nurse there to draw blood and get the band aid on. Amazing.
7- days from start to finish, until She was back to Herself again.

Little One was so traumatized by this whole experience that for days after anyone holding Her arm- say to put it in a sleeve, or to wipe oatmeal off of it- caused little tears to flow while She shook Her head and pleaded, "No-no! No-no! All done. All done!"
She's a little leaner, tipping the scales at the same exact weight as She was on Her first birthday, which puts Her back into 6 month-sized clothes. But She's better, eating, singing, playing. One of Her new favorite toys is the pretend-doctor set, which She uses to look in everyone's ears and give Herself lots of "shots". Sort of interesting.
It's sobering when a baby gets sick, especially if things go sort of wrong, and I realize how fragile they really are. At the same time I realize how brave, and how strong She is. She never did get an IV, never did get anything but Tylenol, and Her teeny little body fought off the Big Sick all by itself. In the end it was just a virus. A really bad, nasty virus.

In Texas, even the germs are bigger!

New year, new look

Right before we left on Christmas for the country of Texas, Little One had Her first haircut. It was surprisingly hard to do, not just because of the constant wiggling and turning around. It made even J, the least sentimental of all tear-duct wearing people, wince and lament over the loss of Her sweet curls.
They were sweet. And curly. But, see. They were so looooong. In the back. And so not long, on the sides. And....I know we were on our way to Texas and everything, but.....
Well I just couldn't allow a mullet to walk among us forever, Peanuts, however sweetly it may have curled. So here She is, for posterity, and so you all may mourn the curls or cheer the death of mullet, however you are so inclined:

Before:


Going under the knife:

The damage:


And after:

TX- Big Party

My sister.
My sister graduated from college. Woo hoo!
Now the thing about my sister is, she is not me. She is not your sister. She is not who you think she is, who you want her to be, or some mish-mash of other people and confusion, which many new college graduates are. She is not anyone other than her self, and there are few people in the world that can really be their own selves as well as my sister can. My sister, she doesn't care what you think. Or if you like her Self. Because she knows that she rocks and she does it her own way.
That's what is one of the best things about Little One's Tia E. She makes her own way, and does things the way she does them, and to me she has always seemed like a person who is less about playing along and fitting into the world, than a person who creates life as she goes. Like a painter.
My sister took a rather circuitous route to get to the graduation woo hoo, because that's just how her path goes. It sort of meanders, and sometimes its not a path at all, just wilderness. Only my sister can go through wilderness and come out of it smiling, with a college degree.
Which my family decided was a pretty good reason for a party.
So we all took over a lovely little place on the river, and drove the staff crazy by getting in the way, laughing really loud, and staying way too late. So late that I had to get Little One into bed and missed the after party. (I am taking a rain check on that, by the way, sister.) Woo hoo!












Little sister E, I wish your path would lead your self a little closer to me sometimes. But I am lucky that you do, in fact, rock, and that I get to see you do it and hear wild stories about it and admire you for being you, and for accomplishing things, and for making up your own rules. Decades of trying to boss you around, and I still have to watch you ignore my advice and do what you want. Good thing you do such great things. I'm proud of you. Texas sized proud, in fact.

Nobody Expects the Spanish Imposition!

Didn't I tell you I had traveling tales? I do! It starts like this:
J was given a glorious chance. To complete two elective rotations, anywhere in the world he chose. Paris! Milan! Bora Bora! Anywhere!
We thought about it, we had many ideas. In the end, we decided that we'll have lots of chances to take trips to far flung locales*, but how often will we have the opportunity to impose upon our families for an extended amount of time?? For several reasons, I'm pretty sure just once! So we routed the family down by the Mexican border for a few months, camping the whole circus act, human, animal, vegetable, and Little One in a fabulous, free lodging that comes with occasional child-care and continental breakfast!
We wanted Little One to get to know her family. We wanted bonding, and quality time. And... oh. What a nice coincidence that we happened to go- to the dessert- during the nastiest, coldest, muddiest months of the DC year. heh heh. We chose a rotation in Arizona, which is coming up in February.
And in order to impose fairly upon everyone, we also chose one in a place that is, after all, pretty much foreign travel. Little One and I took Her 27th and 28th planes, and J and the doggies had an overnight road trip, and here we all are, in the country of Texas. Ooohh.

Texas is a strange, strange place, Peanuts. It's not everywhere that you can be vehemently damned to hell by a stranger on the street and blessed by a stranger in a restaurant in the same day. Texas is a place where the churches on each corner face off with grimacing porticos and steeple envy. A place where all the names of hospitals and schools are preceded by their respective denomination, where chaplains are part of the nursing staff in the ER, and people out to eat hold hands and close their eyes around little dishes of flan. A place so saturated with the Almighty can't help but do things on a grander, more omnipotent scale. What have we learned about Texas, Peanuts? We have learned that everything in the country of Texas is Big. The names of little stores are stamped on signs the size of my dining room, perched impressively on 60 foot posts. The vehicles on the freeway roar past my prius on gigantic tires and threaten to give it a swirlie later. The grocery store. Good gracious. It is BIG. It's all big. You will see.

The Playground is bigger...


The babydolls are bigger...


Chickens are much bigger...


And boots, well. The boots are much, much bigger.





*We have no supporting evidence for this decision. While we're at it we'd better "decide" to win the lottery and find a yaught in the back yard.