J gets older. Than me!

J's birthday was a little more low key than mine, thank goodness. What can I say, I've always been the crazy party girl in this pair. To celebrate being older than me again after three tedious and endless days of my being taunted with being as old as him, J got a new bike and all day to ride it with his friends.
Little One and I waved him off and then sprinted to the car, full of giggles, to go shopping! Because the bike was the pre-ordained gift, and because J has a superpower. It plays out like this:
C: "Hi honey!"
J: "Hi C....(momentary pause, squints a little) I see you bought 2 packs of gum and 3 apples today."
He just. knows. He has monetary ESP. And USAA's banking site bookmarked on his cell phone.
Thank goodness someone pays attention to the cash flow around here. Because, as J stated in our first ever fight- over me wanting the more expensive honey in the bear-shaped bottle because it is cuter- I have these crazy rock-star tendencies.
But it does make surprising the guy with gifts a little difficult. So we waited until the last minute and raced out to get him something for his bike, and a really old Latin copy of Livy he had liked months ago but been to practical to buy. Then we raced to the asian market and back home to make him his current favorite dinner, homemade vegetarian Pho, and of course cake. Because two people definitely need two cakes within 3 days of each other. (Did I mention that my birthday gift was a gym membership?) We ate ourselves silly, lit candles, sang, and celebrated another year of the best man on earth, and also the fact that the universe is now set right again. Because he is, once again, much closer to 30 than me.
Happy Birthday J!

Potty in the USA

It's time, Peanuts. I'm sorry. But in every baby-blog, the time must come to have a serious chat about potty training. People who are not parents cringe and balk and think, "Oh, geee-eeeze, why do they have to share that? Gross! Bordering on inappropriate! Oversharer!" And they are so, so right. But you know. When you are teaching a child to do what they gotta do where you want them to do it, you have this compulsion to talk about it. Partly because it so consumes your every thought and moment that there is just nothing else to say.
"What did you do today?"
"Potty."
"and then what?"
"potty."
"... in the afternoon?"
"Clean pee off the floor. Potty."
"How are you feeling?"
"Poopy."
But also, it's just a big deal. Seriously! Because (medical issues aside, of course) doo-doo in the pants in what separates babies from actual human beings. There is a thin line of pee which, once crossed, earns a child the right of passage into the world of Persons, where you are in charge of your own self and entitled to big-kid treasures, like "personal space".
This is why it is so hard for a lot of kids to go through with it. There is this struggle between wanting to cross over and become an autonomous human being, and wanting to stay a baby and be snuggled and coddled and have people wave palm fronds while they spoon feed grape puree into your mouth.
It is why it is so hard for a lot of parents to go through with it. Because on the one hand, you could really get used to the idea of not having skin-skin contact with feces for awhile. It might kick up the glamor quotient just a scotche. But on the other hand...it's your baby. They grow up too fast! SNIFFLE!
They do. Me, though, I feel no need to hold on to my child's babyhood in any manner which also involves holding poo. I think I will save my nostalgia for things like cuddling late at night or toothless smiles, or the physical incapability to talk back. But not for wiping poo.
So just as soon as we got done gallivanting around the country and stationed ourselves home for awhile, we got the show on the road. I have read, in my pretentious baby-raising books, that children are not physically ready for potty training until they are about 2 1/2. But this, my dear friends, is, well...crap. Certainly some kids are not ready till then or later, as we've discussed, and some parents are not (which is a top notch reason in my book). But physically able? Psht.
Something J and I learned from watching babies in third-world countries where no one can afford disposable diapers is this: If you carry a kid on your back, with one thin layer of cloth separating you and the kids' bum, you are not going to let that child mess whenever it pleases for years on end. And what we noticed there is that just about all the kids we met who were capable of walking, were also able to walk themselves over to a hole in the ground when nature called. I stand by the idea of each family being ready for things in their own time. But I personally am ready for this particular accomplishment like, yesterday.
And I'm happy to say that for all intensive purposes, we are pretty much done. Little One is now exclusively in "gig gul unjies" all day! Though She still wears training pants to bed and I assume it will be awhile until I'm ready to yank those too, She does get up to go at night and has had a couple of dry nights so far, so I'm optimistic. There are occasional accidents. Rush hour on the beltway is a particularly risky business. But most days She keeps Her "unjies" dry and thanks to the heavens I have not had to touch poo in a good long while.
As far as potty training goes, I think She was pretty darn easy to teach! Which is not to say that we haven't had some interesting moments. I mean, I truly know that it's best to stay home during this whole process, especially at the beginning when "I gotta go" means "go NOW". But Little One and I get antsy. It's summer! There are splash parks! Farms! Parks! We have no time to sit around the house with our pants down. So in case you live in the DC area and you are wondering, getting more suspicious as you read this, yes.
Yes that was me. Whipping out the porta-potty and stripping my kid down and letting Her pee right there. On the red line platform, at Metro Center. At rush hour.

What I Always Say About Birthdays

On my birthday, J gave me the ultimate gift of letting me sleep in, and making an amazing, fancy, multi-dish breakfast. While he was supermanning around, playing with Little One and French-poaching eggs, She begged him for a taste of what he was cooking with.
She has this obsession with spices. When we cook She often pleads for a little taste of whatever we are shaking into the pot, maybe because it's the only ingredient type She is routinely allowed to sample. One of Her most cherished possessions, I should perhaps be embarrassed to admit, is an empty curry bottle which She keeps in Her play kitchen and shakes vigorously over the plastic ice cream cone in the little pot. And then sticks in Her face and inhales in a way that gives me uncomfortable flashbacks to that guy in the back of the living room at college house parties.
Apparently the mustard bottle looked like "spiteses" and She begged for a try. After carefully reviewing the ingredients listed, J gave Her a tiny taste. She loved it!
And then She got a bit flushed. And then a blister popped up on Her cheek and started to grow. And by the time they got upstairs to wake me, She looked like this:

It got worse. And worse. So after hastily rinsing the worst of the copious vomit that erupted after jamming some sharp metal into Her thigh, we left the beautiful breakfast on the counter and spent a lovely morning in the emergency room. It's not a party until someone pukes and someone ends up in the ER right? That's what I always say!
And the fun didn't stop there! When we finally got home, we realized that the dogs had kept the party bus rolling while we were out. Our little beasties went rampaging through the house fighting for the right and jumping on the sofa. For instance, they are not allowed to put so much as one hairy toe into my kitchen. But yet. Gone was the lovely breakfast. Gone was the entire baked butternut squash for dinner, the pan shining and clean on floor. Bits of napkin littered the dining room like a tiny snow storm. And don't let me tell you what happened to Little One's puked-on clothes. Oh! Too late! Ha Ha.
We had just enough time to begin wrapping our minds around the evidence when Little One's voice rang out, "Uh-Oh!" And in the silence that followed. The pitter-patter of liquid on the hardwood floor. The fun never. Stopped. After Her third costume change of the day and the banishment of the dogs to the backyard we decided to eat the one part of breakfast not thieved- because it was hiding in the oven! Except it looked like this!

It's not a party until someone pukes, someone ends up in the ER, someone gets kicked out of somewhere, someone pees themselves, something catches on fire, rules are broken and a serious case of the munchies breaks out. That's what I always say!
I may be 28 now. Rounding awfully close to 3-0. But do I know how to rock a birthday or what Peanuts?

Oh yeah.

Still got it.

Later, my cousin took me to a movie, J made this beautiful cake, and Little One unwrapped my presents for me, giggling and healthy and safe. So 28 started off with a bang. But all's well that ends well, right Peanuts? Right. That's what I always say.

Smacked in the Face by an Invisible Bird

Little One loves riding high on Daddy's shoulders. This is the top tier in non-autonomous ambulation. Note the placement of convenient handlebars/steering devices. The only way to ride really.


Recently heard on one of these trips, as J was about to walk through some low branches:

J: "Little One, duck!"

Little One: "Quack quack!"

Father's Day

Holy brain-crushing love-goo-drowning, suffocatingly-warm-and-fuzzy weepy huggy squinchy mess of a thought process. Father's Day. I have way too much to say. I can't take it! I can't think about it! I'll spontaneously combust! So instead, I will just share some pictures. It's a cop-out, Peanuts, and I've been over using it. But no one has complained yet, so there you go.
Here are some of my favorite moments of Little One and Her daddy since last Father's Day. Please prepare. The cuteness is overwhelming. I will say this: ..nope. Brain crushing. Happy Father's Day! I'll leave it at that.

Good Girl

Little One is supposed to be napping. Please, Little One, nap! We have to leave in 40 minutes! We will be out all day and you will be a cranky-pants no-nap demon by 1pm if you don't!
But I hear Her voice up there. Loud! It keeps poking out over Beyonce and car commercials on the radio. What is She doing up there?!
So I go up and peek through the crack in the door. To see Her sitting up in Her crib with Her back to me, rocking Her doll. And singing. Singing Her little heart out. The melody meanders. But the words go like this:
"Ba-by, ba-by, BABY! Good girl, good girl. Baby good giiiiirl, good good baby. Da da da da doh doh, good girl good girl....Baby!".
Fine. Fine! Little One wins. She can stay up if She wants. I'm convinced (at least temporarily) that no demon could come from Her sweet little self. After all, She's my good girl baby.
At least She will be until about 1pm.

Shoom

When Little One swings, She yells, "Sshhooooom! Sshhoooom!" One of the deep loves of Her live at present is to "shoom" on the playground. Today Little One tried out the "gig gul shoom". You know, the one without a front and back and leg holes. The one where you have to hold on. The WHOLE time. I kept reminding Her of this little technicality, as I pushed Her very gently.
"Hold on tight, Little One".
"Tigh!"
She so had it! I was just thinking how impressed I was with Her total grasp of the concept, when Her little friend called bye-bye, leaving the playground. And it happened, just like this:
I looked up, for a brief second. Long enough to raise my hovering-behind-Little One hand for one second to wave back. The very next instant I looked back at Little One, just in time to see Her- but not in time to stop Her from- kicking Her legs up as hard as She could, and letting go.
Peanuts. I kid you not. Not at all. The child did a full 450 degree flip in the air- hair flying, arms straight out, knees in like a perfect gymnast- and land flat on Her face in the mulch.
She cried. I helped Her up. "waaaaah!" She cried, as I pulled handfuls of bark chips from Her clothes and hair. "m-m-m-maaaamaaa! Waaaah!" pointing accusingly at the empty swing, still flailing on its chains. "waaah" as She pushed out of my hug. "m-m-maama!" as She limped, one shoe dangling from Her ankle by a strap, wood chips poking out of Her head, back towards the culprit. "m-m-m-aama?" with Her tear stained face looking up at me imploringly.
"yes, love?"
"Sh-shooom! More!"

Wouldn't you think She had learned a lesson?! Wouldn't you at least think I had? But then I thought about it, and I put Her back up on the treacherous swing, and pushed Her.
"Little One, Mommy is proud of you. You fell off the swing and it scared you, but you got up and tried again."
"try! shooom!"
This time, I watched close. But She didn't let go. Maybe we learned our lessons, after all.

Truly Terrible Two

Today at a dinner party a woman told me that Little One was a "perfect little doll".
I looked at her 2 year old, fingers and chin gummy with cheetos, chocolate smeared all down his shirt and arms, pudding at the corners of his mouth oozing around the straw of Little One's stolen formula cup. And I said, "thank you". And I thought, "and yours is my worst nightmare".

Love in the Carry-On

With Little One around, my grandparents were often reminded of times when their children were small, and I got to hear a lot of stories from when they were a young family caught up in the whirlwind of diapers and stories and steamed carrots like J and I are now. They tended to trail off into "...it goes by so fast."
Parents of all ages and varieties are always saying that, aren't we Peanuts? What is the deal with that? No one can get over it!
The thing is, when you don't have kids and you're just you, or you and some other adult perhaps, it's easy to just sort of coast around a little. You become absorbed in the things that you are doing, and you might not notice your velocity too much. I think it's because as grown-ups we don't change too much. I'm just C, and next year and the next I'll still be me, looking and thinking and feeling generally the same. Stop looking at my gray hairs. I said generally!
It's like being on a train with the window shades drawn. You read your book. Do some work, maybe watch a DVD. You have some conversations with your spouse, maybe chat with a few strangers. Have lunch take a nap. You can feel a sort of gentle hum as you go, but you you can't really tell how fast the train is moving.
Having children is like removing (permanently) the shades from the windows. You are forced into a frame of reference. Every day they are changed; taller, faster, smarter. Today there is a new word! Tomorrow they learn to climb the bookcase! By next week, they'll have outgrown all their clothes. They learn to sit/crawl/walk/speak/read/solve for x/reprogram your computer/drive. The milestones fly by.
Like looking out the train window and seeing towns and orchards whoosh past almost the same minute you spot them on the horizon, and you sort of catch your breath and grip the armrests and think, Whoa. We are going really, really fast.
It can be thrilling, looking for what is coming up next. It can be sort of sad, not having been able to stop and stay awhile in some of the nicer spots. Which makes it hard sometimes to just focus on not blinking and enjoy the ride. Especially if you have work to do and your spouse to talk to and a book or two to read on the way. I know there are a lot of things I packed for this trip that I might not have time to get to. But that's ok- I want to pay attention to those landmarks as I pass them. You can miss whole cities if you aren't paying attention!
And it is after all a one-way ride.

Something I have learned from my time here with my grandparents. Whether you have kids or not, the train is moving. However we spend our time on it, whatever souvenirs we pick up along the way...well at some point we get where we're going, don't we. At the end, we are left with the knowledge of other tracks we never followed, of things behind us that we never got to. Some of us are are left with memories of where we have been, some of us lose those along the way. We do our work, and leave that with the world. We raise our children, and leave them to the world. If we give to others, we leave those gifts out there too. But it matters that we enjoy the journey, because before we know it we're at the end of the ride and what we are left with, is our mortality. But also (if we are very lucky and take good care of it all along the way) something else, too.

Bringing Presents Home

I got a lot of compliments while I was at my grandparent's house. A lot of "oh it's so good of you!" A lot of "thank you"s. It's wonderful to have people who are so nice, so appreciative. I appreciate the appreciativeness! Thank you! Oh no, thank YOU. It warms up my little heart to have all this undeserved admiration. My aunt trying to saint me and my grandparents behaving as though the shrimp casserole was a 10 star delicacy. Oh, how J would have enjoyed laughing about that. But the truth is, Peanuts, well. I know the truth. The truth is that staying some weeks and making a few meals is chump change. The truth is that I should be there, all the time, to run over when things break or people need one. I'm not there. This is my family, and I'm not there. There is no excuse for that, and not even a plane ticket and some pies can buy one.
Do you know that when I was two, my parents went to Europe and I stayed with my grandparents. And I got chicken pox. POX! Can you imagine the incredible ick-ness that would constitute a hybrid of pox and toddler? I shudder to imagine. But I remember my grandmother rocking me in the dark. I remember my grandaddy reading in funny voices to distract me from the itching. They took such good care of me. They did that a lot.
Even if my time and casseroles were some kind of gift, believe me I have a large love-and-care debt I could never pay down. And anyways the truth is that this time was so much more a gift to Little One and to me that it ever could be to anyone else. Raising children is hard, but it helps to have them around people who set the kind of example for what a person should be that I am not wise or learned or good enough to do every day. It helps to have Her walking around in the radiant haze of love that has been amplified over generations, the kind only great-grandparents can have built up over a lifetime. It helps to have someone with the patience and willingness and time to teach Her things the right way; slowly, surely, repeatedly, with care. Little One left knowing so many new things. You better believe She knows where her napkin goes at dinner time. And how to gather pinecones. And that She is cherished.
What better gift could there be than that? And me? I made some pies. I ran some errands. But I'm still a rookie, learning about this whole "married" thing, this "parent" thing. This whole crazy "life" thing. I was a student under the best of teachers. And besides, I'm the grandbaby. Love amplified by two generations is pretty potent stuff too. I soaked it in.
We eventually had to go home. I wish it was a trip around the corner and not across the country. I really, really do. But we flew home and are trying to hold everything they gave us in our pockets, taking them out sometimes to remind us that some things just. matter. more. We are feeling lucky and thankful.

We miss them. We think they miss us too. Although I'm sure they do not miss the mess. Or maybe so.

Tsunami part 2: TX2

Some more stories from our trip back in the spring...
They said "ya'll come back now". So we did! Back to TX.
But not the San Antonio Texas of our Big Texas trip. East Texas this time; land of accents thick as sweet Southern tea. Little One and I parted ways with J for awhile, to stay with my grandparents. It's been a tough time for them, and I was supposed to be helping. By the end of the first week, I had only narrowly kept Little One from destroying all the family heirlooms. So I'm not toooo sure about my prowess in the helpfulness department. But Little One and I, we had fun! We settled in and checked things out.
Their East Texas town is tiny, but it hasn't forgotten its good Southern manners; they do not have Trader Joe's, for instance, but all the ladies have perfectly manicured nails. The Almighty is big all over Texas, but especially mighty here, where alcohol is banned in the whole county, and probably ouija boards as well. My grandparents, though, they are rebels living on the edge. I was looking for Kahlua to make tiramisu** one day, and I found this:

Woo hoo. I felt pretty snickery and winky. It was like living in a Speakeasy! Maybe I didn't realize how hard-core these two are! (actually it was all inherited from a friend. But it does come in handy for tiramisu, and we did decide to make the most of it and have a margarita night!)
But besides the snickering and winking, we were supposed to be helping out. And Little One did more than Her fair share.
She did a lot of yardwork, for instance.


She even watered.


And harvested flowers.


She sorted mail. Several times a day.


She fed the fish.


And walked the fish.


And walked the great-grandparents.


She gave spelling lessons.


Swept up.


Helped with laundry.


And dishes!


Why, She even cleaned the tub.


But don't think it was all chores. Not with those two around! We also had a lot of fun.

We went for a picnic and walk through the fabulous Rose and Azalea gardens

We got to sit in on Her Great-Grandaddy's Big Band practice! She danced up a storm. She even got to bring Her own instrument and play along! Afterward She had Her first trumpet lesson. I love to see Her learning from the Master!

We went to another zoo, and I have to say it was my favorite. It's a small, private zoo, but just amazingly set up with really neat animals and wonderful enclosures. Little One positively loved dragging Her grandparents around and showing them all the amazing sights. At the end there was even a petting zoo so She could smother small goats with love and kisses. I didn't get a picture. I was busy keeping Her from dragging one home with us.

Of course one of the best parts was that we had a few visits from some of our favorite fan club members! We miss everyone so much!

** If you have never gone into a grocery store and asked a salesperson, who has absolutely no idea what you are talking about, if they have any lady fingers, you should.