Good Girl

Our trip to DC wasn't all work and misadventure.
We had lots of fun too.  For one thing, hanging out with our hosts was fantastic.  They were amazing to let us stay with them, and they spoiled us to the best of their ability.  I ate so much injera- Little One did, too- that it almost made up for my deprivation of it these last few months.  (Because no. No there is NO Ethiopian food in our little Florida town.  A tragedy).  I loved playing with their much missed little girl and meeting and snuggling the brand new one.
We also got to spend a night (two, for Little One) with some of our dearest friends.  You all remember O?  O, the longtime love of Little One's life?  They are still quite the item, long-distance though their love may now be.  They had an absolute blast together, and I loved listening to them speak sweet nothings to each other like this:


Little One: "O. You are my BEST FRIEND!"

O: "You MY BES' FRIN!"

Little One: "O. I WUV YOU!"

O: "LOVE you! HEEHEE!"

Little One: "O, I wuv you much of a RAINBOW!  I wuv you much of a BUNNY!  I wuv you much of a choo. choo....TRAIN!!!!!!"


And O did give Her a car from his much beloved (by both of them) train set, which Little One did not let out of Her sight for days.

It was great to see them reunited, great for Little One and I both to hang out with his wonderful parents, and O's mom and I stayed up until midnight talking, despite both being super tired.  I miss these people too much.

Another highlight was the evening after the event was over, when "Zashy"'s family and the Littles and I went out to the Mall.  We tried to go see the giant train display at the Botanical Gardens, but they were closed....except.  In a holiday miracle, one of Santa's elves (guessing) was in charge of locking up, and offered to sneak us in.  Amazing!
This place usually has hour-long lines to get in and is jam-packed.  But there we were, getting our own private showing!  Little One was dead asleep, not trains nor planes nor a tuba to the ear could wake Her.  So She sadly missed out.  But Miss was far more interested that I'd expected! She LOVED the trains.  They made Her wiggle and bounce and squeal with delight. EVERY time they passed.  It was adorable. 
Afterwards we wandered down by the White House to see the National Christmas Tree all lit up with the trains zooming around.  Little One did get to enjoy this lovely scene.  There was a giant bonfire to warm hands by, a big creche that Little One had quite a lot of questions about, and then the highlight for Her.
We walked through Santa's Workshop, seeing to toys and shiny packages, and the naughty/nice list.  And at the end- we saw....SANTA.  Little Ones eyes were saucers.
She climbed up, shyly flirting, and whispered, "Hi, Santa".
He asked Her what She wanted for Christmas and She was SO ready to tell him.
"Oh!  I want to have a teddy bear!"
Santa Said ok, and they posed for a picture.  But before hopping down, Little One clasped Her hands and looked up earnestly at Santa's bespectacled eyes,
Little One: "E'scuse me, Santa?"
Santa: "Yes?"
Little One: "I....I'm a good girl, Santa."

Which, of course, She is. 

Now She's put Her Foot in Both Their Mouths

Little One watched from the tub as I dried off Miss and got her ready for bed. I was brushing Little Miss's two pearly Stubbs, when Little One thoughtfully mentioned,

"you know. One time I used this Miss's toofbrush." 

"you did??" 

"oh, yes. I used it to brush some sand off mine toes."

AFC Benefit

Our rough trip home was the end of an exhausting trip altogether. 
We stayed with the AFC director, making it two toddlers and two babies in a two bedroom apartment that is also fundraiser command-central.


And because chaos and insanity and last-minute fiascoes and slicing brochures with Miss on my back at 11pm and then OMG 100 brochures are printed half-upside-down and where is that thing we can't find and who is in charge of picking that other thing up and the staple gun is running because we're still stretching art at 1am and Little One is running around like She's in a minefield screaming "mom! Ah! A cookie is on the floor-mom! AHHH! A orange peel is on the floor! I can't touch anything!" and what did the baby just put in her mouth, is our style guys, (deep breath) there were about two dozen moments in which I seriously reconsidered my sanity.
And mothering. And decision-making skills.
And swore to myself that this was nuts- nuts! and it's not like I could even be that helpful, what with always needing to save the babies from mortal dangers at the last minute, and I am never. Never doing this again.
In past years, even without kids, I have said to myself; 'I don't think I'm doing this again next year'. 
THIS year, after driving Little One an hour to have a sleepover (thank you thank you dear angelic friends who watched Her!) and then wearing 20lb of Little Miss in a carrier, while on my feet in heels for seven hours, I really swore to myself that this had to be my last AFC event.

But the thing is.

Next year, when World AIDS Day rolls around?

....I will probably sell my right kidney to do it all over again.  Every year since my first, I have been there in the middle of it as much as I can.  What kind of crazy is this?!
I thought about it.



Sitting at a big Ethiopian breakfast the day after the event, looking around the table at some of the most completely amazing people I have ever met or likely ever will, I thought about why, despite the stress and the exhaustion, I felt so utterly grateful to be there.

For one thing, of course, it's the AFC kids.  You can't meet those kids and not want to die fighting for them.  That's just a fact.

For another thing, it's those amazing AFC team members.  A whole room full of really good people who do really good things for the right reasons and mean it, and are also incredibly fun is hard to pass up.

But the crux of it, I think, is that life is so shaded in grey.  So much is contentious, or controversial, or open to interpretation.  So often bad comes with the good, things are complicated; subject to opinion or interpretation.  It is a rare, nearly impossible thing in this world of harsh realities to have the opportunity to be involved in something that is so clearly and definitely Good. 

The Auction Rocked.

Sometimes charities are run by well-meaning people who have a mission that's kind of meh.  Sometimes the mission is really important but there is corruption and ulterior motives or piper-paying or whatever. Sometimes one man's "right" is another man's crime.
Rarely can you find something so inarguably important being done so honestly and with so much love. 
Rarely can a person be involved in something that is just. Plain. Good.
It's more than fair to say I get more out of my 'volunteering' than I give.  So even if part of what i get is a few gray hairs, I am so happy that I got to be even a small part of putting on this event-which came together beautifully and was a great success, as always- and so grateful to be a part of the AFC family in general.
Of course, since I feel about it the way I do, I can't end this post without reminding you all that it's a family you can join too, if you want to. And, trust me, you do.

http://artistsforcharity.org/new/projects/

A Long Trip Home

A tale of misadventure and redemption, of misfortune and rescue! A tale of traveling with two tiny children all alone.
To make things "easier" in DC, I rented a car.  But see.  When I went to return the car, the "return spot" was in the middle of a desolate garage.  I pulled in, both of my babies sleeping under the weight of brand new fevers in the back, looked around, and tried to decide between laughing a crying.
Imagine, if you will, me and my high-heeled boots, crossing the loooong deserted tundra of a december parking garage while hauling-seriously try to picture it it's ridiculous- hauling a small red suitcase.  A HUGE fat green one with a broken wheel (thanks Delta), TWO carseats, a shoulder bag, and TWO sick babies.  Do not picture me doing it with one of those handy cart things, or an assistant, or even a small Mexican burro. Just me.
Any ideas I had of being pulled together or maintaining any sort of outward dignity were crushed under the smashed wheel of that infernally heavy luggage.  It took us a good half hour to get to the elevator.
Just in case you were wondering about the state of chivalry in the current age, I will mention that I toiled my way past three able-bodied gentlemen who sat in their parked, heated cars watching or rushed by without making eye contact.  One even bumped into me, knocking a carefully perched car seat and causing the whole pile to crash over, without even slowing down.
There I was, a beast of burden, lamenting the downfall of humanity, Peanuts, the downfall! When a sympathetic employee offered to take my paperwork down the staircase for me to check out the car.  Chivalry lives in middle-aged women, apparently.  And also the dude with shiny heeled boots, Armani shirt buttoned down to show off the bling and the chest hair, who helped me off the shuttle and to the check in counter.  Bless every red little hair on his chest.
And then, after toting my lighter load to security, I did the thing with the shoes and the jackets and the ipad and the liquids and the bags and then got specially selected- oh goody!- for a search, and as I went to walk through the metal-detector, Little One crying because She was already through and they would not let me get to Her, the security guy said, "you might want to take your car keys out of your pocket".  
 My car keys.
My rental car keys.  20 minutes until our flight was departing.
And I just stood there holding the wiggly baby, as Little One attempted to climb my right leg, looking stunned.
I am not proud of being a damsel in distress. But that day, I certainly was.  And this time, my knight came in the form of the great big 7ft man who offered to take them back for me.  Bless him too.
We barely made it to our flight. 
The one with the water pouring down from the ceiling.  The one that got delayed, and then cancelled and then -wait! we fixed it!-uncanceled and then delayed and canceled and uncancelled again.
We were stuck on the plane while they tried to fix it- back open to the chilly rain, no access to the bathrooms, when Little One, a good 102 degrees by then and having waited for 2.5 hours, said the words every toddler mom stuck on a plane fears.  "Mommy.  I pee-peed".  
At any rate, we got our connecting flight re-booked, we finally took off, and we landed at the exact minute-what are the chances?!- our new connecting flight took off.  It was the last one.

Miss fell asleep exactly 6 minutes before landing

Little Miss was wearing Her last. Diaper.  Why in h-e-youknowwhat don't airports sell diapers?!
We were offered a hotel room but told we wouldn't have our suitcase (with the clothes and toothbrushes and DIAPERS) and would be waking up in less than 5 hours to catch the morning flight. 
So instead, we flew into a neighboring town and poor J drove an hour and a half in the middle of the night to pick us up. 
Our luggage was lost. We got into bed around 2am.  But (after 14 hours) we made it. 
After that day, and this trip, and the one right before it which is a whole other story, you will understand, my darling friend Lordy, won't you, why when you sent me a message proposing we change our planned girls trip in March to a trip to Disney with my kids, I didn't answer. 
Sometimes, no answer is better than "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!"
That's all. 

For You, For Now

After a long, I mean LOOOOOONG Thanksgiving trip, we had a lot to be thankful for.  I want to tell you about it, but today I have been busy busy doing laundry, doing work on the computer, and packing. All in preparation for our next trip, tomorrow. We are going to DC for the AFC benefit! 
Today is World AIDS Day.  IF you were sitting around, thinking of all you had to be Thankful for, and wishing you could express that thanks by giving back, AND at the same time thinking, hmm, what to do for World AIDS Day, well GUESS WHAT!
I have just the thing for you.  It's right here: http://artistsforcharity.org/new/about/who-we-are/.

Heads. Tails.

When you think "Florida", maybe you think of retired people in Hawaiian shirts, cruising around upscale golf courses.  Maybe you think of Miami, and neon nightlife and young men in rather tighter Hawaiian shirts, strutting their chihuahuas through the shopping district.  You might think of a booming Salsa culture; you might think bikinis and surfboards. 
We are not in that Florida.
The "Florida" of our town here is nominal.  Culturally? We are in South. 
There are a zillion reminders of that here.  The groups of people in red shirts on corners, a part of the scenery like any other landmark, hoisting up signs about Satan and salvation.
The number of pigs who have met their demise in order to support the local cuisine.  The tendency of vegetables to be cooked until they are nearly transparent. 
Some things are true in life.
One of those truths is that we exist in a world of dimension.  There are at least two sides to everything; to every story, to each of us. To a place, even. Like a coin.
And here is like anything, it has heads, and it has tails.
There are some lovely things about the expression of the stereotypical "Southern culture"; things we see here all the time.  A warmth and friendliness even from complete strangers that we can feel to our toes, especially after 5 years of cold DC shoulders.  The employ of manners in a way that is so automatic you think people here must drink "ma'ams" and "pleases" through the tap.  A willingness to go out of the way to lend a hand, say a thank you, adore a baby.  The propensity of 5-minute errands to stretch into 50 minutes of chatting at the cash register.  (I count that as a plus, since I'm a born stranger-chatter.)  There are a lot of things that feel comfortable here, welcoming.  Idyllic even.
But every coin has two sides.  Or, as Mark Twain put it, "each of us is a moon, and has a dark side we never show to anybody". 
I have also heard a woman refuse to take her children into a park because there were "sketchy homeless guys" there.  Who were not at all homeless, with their expensive shoes and shiny bikes and iphones.  But they were black.  I've noticed a lot of stratification at local events, almost like a middle school dance where the girls all stayed on one side of the room, and the boys huddled in the other.
And then yesterday, I walked my daughter to school. 
My daughter is three; she has a pure heart and innocent eyes, and on the way to school She saw flowers.  And pigeons on a phone wire, and a calico kitty cat.  She didn't notice yet, but I did, the emblems on the pavement, black and glaring and two feet tall. 
K.
K.
K.
She didn't notice, and so I ambled past, pointing out some morning-glories.  I made sure there was honey in my voice, but my heart was frozen over.
Now look.  I try to keep out of contention on this blog, for the most part.  One of the most important things about my friends, I think, and people in the world around me in general, is how they occupy spots all along the vast spectrum of opinion and values and personality.  Sometimes I most appreciate those with views who contrast my own, because it helps me question my own predjudices and pushes me to see from new angles.  And out of respect for the right of everyone to choose their spots on that spectrum and stick to it, I try to keep my own spot more or less to myself.
But those three letters froze my heart, and I don't care who knows it, or who agrees or doesn't.
And I don't care who saw me that day, in the middle of the road, in the full sunshine, on my knees in my high heels scrubbing the damn pavement. Twice. (Because it is as hard to erase from the road, I guess, as it is to erase where it came from.)
This is my neighborhood.  My children live here.  Go to school here.  It was written right at the corner of the Christian school next-door to Little One's preschool.  We pass that spot twice a day. 
So I don't care how many people slowed down to stare at the crazy lady, I don't care if venom rose up in them when they saw what I was up to, I don't care if all the other mommies noticed and think I'm nuts.  That was something inside the boundaries of my home life which I found to be too ugly to allow. 
Even after scrubbing with a stiff brush and solvent until my knees bled, the shadow of those letters are still there if you really look.  And in all the world try as I may, I can never erase hate altogether.  I'll never be able to remove it completely from my children's world, and even when it isn't spelled out, I know.  It's there.  Out there, hiding behind manicured lawns and smiling faces as much as it lurks in the shadows.
It was just some paint, or shoe polish, or something.  But it was a tangible reminder of all that darkness, a reminder that even in our own safe places, I can't protect Them always.  A reminder in my nice, middle-class white complacency that there is hatred and anger out there in the ether, so strong that it can coalesce and congeal and turn solid and take shape right under my nose.
A bunch of letters on the ground can't do anyone any harm.  But where they come from, what they are there to remind us of.... that can.  And it does.  Almost all the harm out there comes from the same deep chasm that those three ugly letters crawled out of. 
And so I'm shaken.  The bright light of this sunshine state has taken on a slightly duller cast and I find myself wishing I could see through people's hearts to know what's really inside them. 
I guess even if I did all I would find is heads, and tails. 
None of our souls are flat.  We all have this human capability to love, and also to hate.  Each of us has this potential to achieve wonderful things, and every single one of us has the ability within us to do horrible, ugly things.  We're all two-sided coins, just like the moon, just like Florida. 
At the end of the day I can't change that truth and I can't hide my babies from it; I have to accept that.
It won't do any good to throw the whole coin out; the good and the bad are stuck together. 
I guess all I can do is look for the heads and tails in my own heart, and decide which one to show. 
It upset me to be reminded of that chasm of darkness and how deep it runs, but I can say this.  That even if my three year old had noticed the writing on the ground, it would have meant nothing to Her.  It would have been of far less interest than the kitty and the morning-glories. 
It's true that there is an ugly side to all things.  But as long as there are little children, there's hope.  

Three

Miss isn't the only one having birthdays around here.  My Little One,  My Little One...my Little One...went and turned three enormous years old this past month.  Something that I can tell you I never really thought would happen.  When you have a baby, you think of it like that. Like having a baby. You don't think, woo, look at me, I just had a future THREE year old! No.
While the mental concept of your babies growing up is of course implied, I don't think your brain can actually comprehend it.
This is probably not an evolutionary mistake.
If we all had future-three-year-olds instead of babies, our species would end.
Because three-year-olds say things like "No! Don't tell me!" and "you're not my friend!"
Things which are shocking- shocking!!! to the ears of someone who only wanted to have a fat little ball of pudge to cuddle with and put into precious outfits that are not all a tutu and cowboy boots.
Deep breath.

Luckily, though, the shock is greatly, vastly tempered by the hilarity of a nascent logician ("Mom, can you tell me 'bout hamboogers. Why they making it to eat out of boogers? You said don't eat boogers."), the awe of a watching a person grow a new, separate life like an appendage, and the tranquilizing effects of spontaneous, autonomous expressions of love.
Three is a whole new ball game.  Sometimes I wish I was more of a parental athlete so that I would just naturally rock every ballgame, but though this one is apparently a contact sport, it's still a lot of fun.
The difference between two and three is about like ring-around-the-rosy vs street hockey.  I imagine the next year will be developmentally prolific as well, so here is a snapshot of Little One at Three:

Body
Little One continues to be teeny for Her age.  She skims along the very bottom of the growth chart, but our little fighter is managing to hang in there and stay on it.  We've cut back Her calorie drink in an effort to focus more on actual food.  She has lost a little bit again with the last fever, but not enough to worry over yet.
She continues to be a remarkably good eater, especially for Her age, although if given the choice She would live on the calorie drink alone.  And now that She knows sugar, She is of course always angling for treats and desserts. 
Her favorite actual foods are fish, broccoli, onions, oatmeal, edamame, kale, pears, soy nuts, and craisins. The only thing She truly does not like is bell peppers in any transmutation.  And don't think you can hide those suckers.  SHE KNOWS.
That little bitty body is jam-packed with energy.  Her most natural state is Dancing.  She is always spinning and leaping around, singing and declaring "I'm a ball-er-een-a!" She is desperate to take ballet lessons.  The local ballet school tells me She missed the age cut-off by less than two weeks, and will not accept Her. I may have hold someone at shoe-pointe and try to force them to change their mind.  You wouldn't believe the heartbreak on Little One's face when I told Her.
She loves to move in general, like any good 3 year old.  She loves skipping, swinging, and sliding, and I'm told She can spend an entire recess jumping on the trampoline. 

Mind
Little One ADORES school.  Last week She was sick with a really bad cold, but She would get dressed in the morning and come to me, puffy and pale, runny nose and hacking cough, fever and chills, saying "I'm feeling much better momma.  I'm feeling very good.  I'm ready for school! Please can I go to school!"
Last week was our teacher conference.  She's in a montessori school, so She generally gets to choose what She wants to work on each day. They told me that She stays constantly busy and is a very enthusiastic learner.  Her favorite subjects are "practical life" (practice with skills like pouring, tying, holding a pencil), art, and language.
She is a prolific little artist.  They said She paints and draws every single day.  Her art folder was fat and overflowing. 
They said She's great at counting, but only recognizes numbers up to ten, and after that names them like "one and one, one and a two, one and a three..."  So we'll have to work on that.  But even though She's one of the very youngest, Her teachers said She is at or ahead of the oldest kids in the class (it's a mixed class of 3-6 year olds) in terms of language skills.  She has a pretty big vocabulary and expresses Herself clearly and with detail. She knows the sounds and names of every letter, upper and lower-case, and is beginning to sound out small words.  She can also write most letters and several numbers intelligibly; She practices diligently on Her chalkboard at home. 
Her teachers said that She has an amazing memory (She can thank J for that) and will remember lessons after being shown only once.  They said they have learned to be careful what they tell/promise Her, because She NEVER FORGETS.  Yeah.  We've learned that at home also. She knows the first and last name of all 30 kids in Her class. 
She knows all Her colors, numbers, a lot of nouns, and several common phrases in Spanish.  She also is learning German at school and picks it up fast.  In fact, we thought for awhile how cute it was that She was making up funny gibberish words, sometimes silly songs, sometimes just using these funny made-up words.  Then I got a newsletter from school with a list of some of the words they have been learning in German...  turns out those "gibberish" words weren't made up after all.
Her teachers called Her a Montessori poster-child; saying that She never forgets to push in Her chair or clean up Her work, and that She's "a good littler reporter" when fellow students are out of order. Ha. 
As we know, they said She's an observer, who prefers to stand nearby watching another student receive a lesson, rather than ask for Her own.  She has an obvious thirst for learning, and we see that at home too.  Little One knows that letters mean something. She knows that reading is a world unto itself, filled with good things, and She's desperate to unlock the mystery.  Right now She is working Her brain very hard at figuring out how to derive meaning from those letters, and Her drive for reading books is voracious. She spends a lot of time re-arranging the fridge letter-magnates trying to form or sound out words, asking things like, "I'm tryin to spell bird.  Do I need a vowel?"
She wants to learn everything She can, in fact.  How to tie Her shoes, how to use the microwave, how to manipulate Her parents into letting Her watch Tiger Lilly dance the Ugg-a-wugg song one more time on YouTube. 

Spirit
And it is not really possible to fully understand 3-year-old Little One if you have never seen Tiger Lilly dancing to ugg-a-wugg. This is a central tenet to Her current self-identity.
Some time ago during a fever, I came across a broadway taping of the show "Peter Pan" on Netflix.  Because there was singing and dancing (we know how She feels about those things) I thought She might like it. So we watched it.
This was a defining moment in Her tiny life.  The girl who played Tiger Lilly was a real ballerina.  Truly; She was very, very good.  The dancing in the "ugg-a-wugg"scene was amazing.  Little One was knocked off Her size-four feet.  From that moment on, nothing could compare to the awesomeness that is Tiger Lilly.  Nothing.
She begged to see that dance number so much, that finally we found it on YouTube so we could replay it, and in less than a week had memorized the song and most of the dance routine.
We haven't seen the end of it yet.
I have heard the lyrics of ugg-a-wugg so many times, Peanuts...So. Many. Times.  It is laser-burned into my consciousness.  Ask me when I am 98 and steeped in dementia; I'm sure I will remember all the words.
She has spent countless afternoons dancing and stomping across the living room.  She even changed Her name.  Can a 3-year-old change Her name? She can. By refusing to answer to anything else; by instantly and emphatically correcting any one who mistakes the fact that She is NOT. LITTLE ONE.  She is: "Little-One-Lilly-ti-GER!" (She will now accept "Tiger Lilly" or "Princess Tiger Lilly", for short.) 
 She loves this song so much, that we have a Pandora station based upon it.  A station She adores.  A station which has led to the fact- which I would NEVER have anticipated in all my life- that in my home- mine- we are quite frequently going about our business (laundry, cooking, brushing teeth) to the tune of Broadway Musical Show-tunes.  My step-dad is out there doing a fist-pump and laughing right now. I know it.
A few days ago in fact- I kid you not, with J as my witness- She was out cold in Her car seat, singing "bibbity-bobbity-boo"- in Her sleep.
Music and dancing is simply the point of Little One's life.
As you might imagine, She's a lot of fun.  She is literally entertaining- putting on "shows" all the time.  She's full into the playing pretend era of childhood; creating elaborate stories for Her toys, playing dress-up all afternoon,  anthropomorphizing inanimate objects and empathizing deeply with them.  She is very concerned that all things on earth have families and not feel lonely.
I confess that we exploit this compassion. Sometimes, clothes feel lonely until someone helps them join their "shirt families" in the drawer. Toys feel lonely until they go with their "toy families" in their "toy homes" in the playroom.  Sometimes.... carrots feel very left out if only a few of them have been eaten.  They cry out to join their carrot families in Little One's tummy.
We are sick, twisted people.  But our sweet, exploited daughter eats lots of carrots.
 And She is really, really sweet.
She reads peoples emotions, and if someone is sad, She is sad.  "It's ok, Mama", She will say if I've had some bad news, "ever-thing will be ok fweetie."  She loves Her little friends with true devotion. 
She loves Her family something fierce.
This is an amazing thing to experience.  The unsolicited and unconditional love of your child.  After school She runs to me with Her arms out shouting "Mommy! Mommy! THATS MY MOM GUYS! Oh-mine-gosh mommy you're here! Aw, Fweetie! Hun-ny!" And throws Herself into my arms. 
She frequently will come over and out of nowhere wrap Her arms around me or J or Miss and tell us that She loves us SO much. 
She loves to give compliments. "Mommy, I like your pretty earrings, like a princess.  I like your stripes on your shirt." "Daddy I like your shoelaces.  I like your good breakfast you make me." "Baby Miss! I like your tiny fingers.  I like your pink jammies yes-I-do! I like you have blueberry eyes Miss. You are a pretty girl yes-you-are!"
She is a gentle, attentive, generous big sister.  She is always happy to share with Little Miss.  She is always concerned about Miss sometimes telling us, "guys, I think Miss wants up now!" or "Miss is sayin' that She is hungry!" or "Miss needs a new diaper RIGHT AWAY guys!", running to fetch the diaper.  She'll pat a fussy Miss gently, Shhh-ing Her and distracting Her with toys.  She loves to play with Her baby sister; happy to let Miss knock over Her block tower or gum on Her princess doll.  Though She is very concerned about safety, and will instantly snatch away tiny things or paper or whatever else She knows is not allowed. 
She has a game of saying "Ah-goo-ah-gah-gah!" in such a voice and with such an expression that Little Miss cracks. up.  Every time.  They go on and on like this, and we all start laughing.  Because they share a room we have many times heard Little One patter over from Her bed when Miss is crying, and gently soothe Her.  I'll peek in and see Her giving Miss Her own teddy bear and patting Her baby tummy softly through the slats.  There have been plenty of nights where a fussy Miss has been sung to sleep by Little One.
There are moments that Little One doesn't want to break away from Her own game to play with/get something for/respond to Her sister.  Moments that She feels a bit left out and might whine a bit until we remind Her not to.  But She doesn't show any animosity or resentment; She's full of sweetness and concern for Miss. 
Not that She doesn't have a fiesty streak.  Girl cracks me up sometimes; little hands on Her tutu hips, little face looking like a caricature of a teenager, spitting out things like, "Don't TELL me guys! Don't. Ever. TELL me.  I'm NOT gonna do it!"  And we had a run of a few good tantrums awhile ago. 
But for the most part, She is an easy three.  She sometimes even puts Herself in time-out, yelling on the way, "I NEED GO CALM MINE SELF DOWN! I'M GOIN' TO TIME UP!" She generally listens very well and if She knows it's a rule, She (usually) follows it.  She cleans up after Herself. She makes Her bed.  She puts Her clothes in the laundry and clears Her own dishes.  She dresses Herself.  She is getting to be quite the big girl.  She also negotiates. "Ok, mom, how 'bout five more minutes I will color, then I can put on just three stickers, and THEN I will come and take a bath." 
She loves to be read to, to pretend, to dance, to do art of any kind.  She loves to go on outings and often asks to "go do something fun".  She loves school and playing outside.  She loves helping, in any way, and She's usually pretty good at it. She loves games like hi-ho-cherry-o or memory, and anything with letters- flashcards, drawing them, sounding out small words.  She loves "the rhyming game" where we take turns rhyming a word until one of us runs out of ideas.  She loves water; baths, swimming, the beach.  She loves "treasures" like flowers, leaves, and rocks, and we gather them on the way home from school each day.  She loves rainboots. She loves tutus. She loves giggling.  She loves most of all, as She has since the day She was born three amazing years ago, to snuggle. 

I wish I could describe even more; wish I could quite get my finger on everything about Her that makes Her Herself, right now, at three.  I wish I could freeze it and keep a piece. It's so lovely.  But every day there is something new and wonderful, and I know that the next year will have treasures in store that I can't even imagine now.  I can't wait to see.  I'm going to love the next year, I know it.  I can tell why they say good things come in Threes. 

Seven Months

Can you tell we are busy around here? In the time it took to tell you how we got here, a month has gone by.  Here we are, and Little Miss has celebrated yet another birthday (a week ago, too).
It seems like I just finished writing a birthday post, so there must not be much more to tell, right?  But then I thought about it, and you know. A month in Baby Time is quite a long while! Enough to get a lot done, certainly.  Here's what's new in the world of Little Miss:

Out:

PACIFIERS
Yep.  We did a gradual phase out followed by a cold-turkey day and thankfully the Paci-DT's were less severe than we had feared.  I'm not saying She didn't miss them.  Or that She wouldn't fall off the wagon in a heartbeat if given the choice.  But She's soldiered on pretty well.

BACKWARDS SCOOTCHING
She's finally figured out forward propulsion. It's still an inch-worm type locomotion, but it works.  And She's always up on those hands and knees; rocking, reaching, just knowing that there is something to this that is going to work out at some point.  I have a feeling that She'll be crawling by the next birthday post.  Then we'll really be in for it.

SLEEPING ALONE
Little Miss wants so much to be nursed or rocked or snuggled or at least held to sleep.  So much! When She's put down alone in bed to fall asleep on Her own, about half the time She will protest at least a little.  She feels much better about it at night, when Little One is in the room with Her.  Possibly because Little One still soothes Her when She's fussing; bringing toys, patting Her through the crib slats, singing to Her. 

THE VACUUM
We have no idea why. But Miss has decided that vacuum cleaners, most especially the Roomba, are evil and out to get Her.  This is silly, of course.  The Roomba is a Godsend and the regular vacuum is only out to get me. 

In:

TEETH!
Yes! She is so sweet-natured that we had no idea She was even teething until I happened to see a little pearly edge peeping out a few days ago.  Sadly for Miss, for all of us really, She cut Her first tooth during a terrible fever/cough/cold, and cut another the very next day.  Even this Buddha baby isn't zen enough to withstand all that. The last few days She has fussed more than in Her whole short life combined I think.  But those teeny chompers are awfully cute, though.

THE GASP
Possibly because this long-running cold has made it so hard to breathe, Miss has developed this really strange and distinctive gasping noise that She makes whenever She tries to cry or nurse.  It is really loud and kind of terrible sounding.  We're not sure if She's just found a new sound to make or if it's really unintentional, but it's a big enough part of Her vocabulary to be included here.

BABBLES
Miss has mastered the B, G, M, and D consonants, and loves to try them out with different vowels and babble away.  No real words yet, but if you ask Her She has a lot of important things to say.

RASPBERRIES
Yes, She's very into practicing all kinds of noises, isn't She? She is a master raspberry-blower.  Seriously, if there were a contest we would win big.

FOOD
It's about time, if you ask Her.  Little One had the great honor of feeding Little Miss Her first solid food, and they were both delighted by the experience.  We've continued to give Her spoons of thick rice cereal, and have yet to find the bottom of Her stomach with it.  She has consumed- in one sitting!- 3, 4....FIVE small bowls of the stuff and still wanted more.  Each time, I just cut Her off at some point, because seriously. Who eats that much?!
Solid food has done several things: confirmed Her long held suspicion that things people are eating are yummy, making Her impossible to wrangle if you are eating or handling food, because She will GET IT IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO, and either end up with it all over Herself, you, or the floor.  It has caused Her to get suddenly hungry and beg like a puppy when other people are eating. It has also given Her a fondness for spoons which is quite funny.  Useful, too.  When out to eat, hand that girl a spoon and She will be entertained for ages, just gumming it, cooing at it, and looking at it like at any moment something delicious will surely appear in it. 
I think it's safe to say She will be a good eater.

WATER
Not just to splash in, though that's now a daily dose of happy.  To drink.  Little Miss can drink both from a cup (held for Her) and a straw, and very thoroughly enjoys both. 

BOOKS
She just now starting to see the charm in sitting quietly and looking at books.  Before it was too frustrating not to be allowed to eat them.

LITTLE ONE
Miss is a bit of a Mamma's girl.  She's entirely crazy about Her dad, too, and She continues to be friendly and jovial with everyone.  But She has a special love for Her sister.  It melts my heart to see it, and it amazes me to see it in a little baby.  But truly, Little Miss saves Her biggest, most joyful grins, Her deepest, most heart-felt belly laughs, and Her most twinkling, lit up looks of adoration for Little One.  Nothing gets Her quite as excited as seeing Her sister coming over, or having Little One sing and talk to Her.  Nothing makes Her little face fall as fast as seeing Little One walk away.
Little One for Her part is 3 and has no clue the power She has over Miss's emotions. Sometimes She'd rather color with chalk than heed Miss's pleading cries for Her attention.  Something that will likely break both my and Miss's hearts a few million times in the future.  But fortunately, for the most part and so far, Little One generally does go out of Her way to comfort Miss when She's sad, to play with Her, hug and kiss Her, and to include Her in whatever we are doing.  I've yet to say, "can Miss read/build blocks/snuggle/dress up/go with us?" and been told "no" by Little One.  I almost never even have to ask Her to share with Her baby sister. In fact, I'm more often asking Her not to (when its food or too small or dangerous).  There is a special something there.   

MUSIC
Little Miss has started to really notice music. The the better beat, the more She's into it.  The most thrilled I've seen Her yet was the other day at the fair, watching some drummers perform.  One of Her favorite things is listening to Little One sing.

SMILES
Still Her natural state of being.  Despite the sickness/teething fussiness and the loss of the pacifier and the new decision to be insulted by sleeping alone, Little Miss is still altogether the picture of a happy, easy baby.  She laughs and smiles so often; it's just hard to get this girl down.  And She still smiles when She meets people, smiles when you talk to Her, smiles when She sees the camera.  The best overall description of Miss would be: A smile, punctuated by toothlets, surrounded by cheeks, accessorized by baby. 

CUDDLES
This girl so loves to cuddle.  She's still not the quiet, pressed in, all-day-long kind of snuggler that Little One was (and largely still is).  But She wants very much always to be held, and to have Her arms around your shoulders so She can every so often lay Her head down and sigh.  She loves to grab my cheeks and dive in giggling to give me slobbery baby kisses.  She loves to grab onto us when we're within reach and yank us over to bury Her face in our shirts.

CHUBS
Miss keeps growing, and growing, and growing.  She's not actually a giant baby.  In fact, holding steady around the 30th percentile, as babies go She's actually on the smallish side of normal.  But that still puts Her only 10lb behind Her big sister, and has me ever unsure what drawer to put things in, since so many clothes fit them both. We are thrilled to see Her growing; so happy, and so healthy.

We are thrilled with Her in general! At seven months, I know we have begun the slide down the back of this first year, gathering steam as we roll away from Baby and into Toddler.  I'm so glad we have a few months left before we arrive.  I am eating up every chubby, cuddly, cooey, gooey baby moment I can!  But I'm also loving watching how much She grows and learns each day, and finding out more and more about Her personality all the time.  You know, seven is my lucky number!  And looking at Miss this month, that is just how we all feel.  Lucky. 

Moving On- Finale.

We were feeling very content after all the Kumbaya.  We'd had a long, long day, and the night was so calm and cozy that we all fell into a deep, complacent sleep out there by our serene little lake.  Aaaahhhh.
Have you ever been jolted out of a deep sleep?  It's very disconcerting.  Your brain can't quite put together what is going on- are you dreaming? Are you waking? Can you move yet?
And it was this kind of disorientation that accompanied the gut reaction of complete alarm when we were ripped from unconsciousness by a blindingly bright light and an extremely loud roaring, crunching noise coming right at us- and fast.
J and I went bolt upright, fumbling with the covers, as our little green tent was flooded with light and sound.  Instinctively my arms went out over my sleeping babies like a mother hen; as if they could protect them from the force of a large SUV flooring it down a steep gravel hill.
Because that's what it was.
The music was blaring, the tires were spinning.  It skidded down by the dock and doors slammed.
J and I, still reeling from the surprise, peered out of our little mesh window.  The lights were on inside, and all we could see was thick smoke.  The air pulsed with base; someone was wondering around the dock. We could make out voices but not words.
It was a Friday night.  Probably, a bunch of teenagers had come out here to hang out and drink from whatever was clinking and were nearly as surprised to see us as we were to see them.
Later J would gently joke, "how many poor old people do you think you scared like that, C?" And I would groan, "Oooh, Karma! It was you!"
But just then it wasn't funny.
We whispered in the tent as we patted the babies back to sleep that probably that's all it was.  Probably they were just minding their own business and would pay us no mind, probably they would leave soon, probably there was nothing to worry about.
Probably, all that was true.
But can I tell you something, about having little children?
Who depend on you, who are helpless but for you?
Probably doesn't cut it, folks.  Probably means nothing.
I was shaking. My heart was in my throat, I kept shielding my babies even as the car was parked yards away.  What if they decided to bother us because they were drunk and just fooling around? What if they were not harmless? What if they had hit us coming over that hill; what if someone else came along and did? What if 50,000 things which would probably never happen- but might. 
We debated in whispers; should we pack up and leave? No that's crazy. Should we just stay? But what if...?
Before too long the dark figures piled back into the car and roared away.  We went back to bed.  My heart had just stopped racing, I was just drifting back to sleep. Then another car came swerving and rumbling down that hill.  We shot back up, the adrenaline came surging back.  This car was certainly not expecting us; they held our little tent in their headlights a few moments, then swung around and raced away. 
Looks like our serene spot by day was a party spot by night.  And probably it was all harmless teens just hanging out.  But maybe not.  And even if it was, who can stand to go through that kind of wake-up call all night? And what kind of idiots let their babies sleep at the bottom of a blind hill that people are zooming over in the darkness? 
Call me crazy. Call me over-reactive, call me over-protective, go ahead- call me a mom.   I don't care. 
We packed up that camp so fast we should get some kind of boy-scout badge.  We tenderly lifted our sleepy angels into their car seats, and we set off on Huckleberry's trail in reverse, navigating by moonlight. 
At about 2am, we came into Birminhgam.  We were kumbaya-ed OUT.  We rolled down our windows in a vacant lot and J said, "what do you want to do?"  I told him I was too tired to think. You decide, I said. 
So I will tell you what he did. 
He took his girls to a suite at one of the nicest hotels in town, and put those poor sleepy angels to bed in soft cushy beds with big fluffy pillows and clean sheets.  We all slept in. We took hot baths in a clean tub, ate a big, hot breakfast.  And splashed the morning away at the pool.  

 

We washed all our clothes (which turned out to be a very, very good thing later) and all our dishes. And finally, when we felt like it, got back on the road- the biggest, fastest, most direct one- and got to our new home as fast as we could. 

Did we sell out at the end? Completely? I suppose so.  Or maybe we could just call it a grand finale to a very long, winding, sometimes rough but mostly fun adventure.  After all. Kumbaya can be found anywhere.  Maryland beaches, Kitty Hawk monuments, Smokey mountain ranges.  Long, scenic roads and small country rest stops. It can be found in a ditch, around a campfire, in a beautiful hidden lake.  It can be found in the middle of nowhere.  It can also be found, believe you me, at the Hilton.

There's something you realize I think, when you travel like this with your family. 
Between homes and in close quarters, making your way on the fly and seeing where circumstance and the addled GPS lead you.  Kumbaya is just like Home. 
It's wherever we're together. 
And so, after a week of Moving On, we stopped and planted it, for a while, in Florida. 
When we got to the house it was hot and dirty. For a few days there was no AC, no washer/dryer. no refrigerator, no hot water.  No furniture or clothes or Stuff of any kind.  There were gulf zombies and we were all still sleeping on the floor.  It was perfect! We were all there together. 
So it was home. 
 
Kumbaya. 

Moving On- Treasure Hunt

Al-a-ba-ma.
Such a pretty place.  Such a lot of wide, open space.  Such a lot of nothing but wide, open space.
We enjoyed our drive through here, too, but we continued to have problems finding places to camp.  It's the dogs, you know.
The irony is that one of the top reasons we decided to camp on this trip was to make it more dog-friendly. But while one might surmise that the wilderness would be a welcoming place for animals, it turns out most campgrounds to do not allow our furry friends to join in the s'mores making.  Go figure.
Since we'd had trouble searching for places after it was really too late and we were too tired for that to be any fun, we decided to stop early this time so we could have a nice relaxing evening hanging out with nature. We decided to just go to the nearest campground!
Where would that be, though...exactly? Hmm.  Google it!
Right. You know what happens when a couple of yuppie DC city-slickers dependent on technology get out into the very thick of Al-a-ba-ma?  Well their hybrid cars start to feel a little self-conscious around all those big rusty trucks.  Their GPS navigation kind of shrugs and goes, "dude. I'm not from around here."  And they get lost. Using GPS in middle-of-nothing-Alabama is like trying to graze your cows in Dupont Circle; some things don't mesh.
So we did something crazy!  We stopped and asked someone. Apparently you can do that.
We stopped at a gas station.
J got out and approached the only person in sight with shoes on.  He had galoshes, up to his hips.  He was not tiny.  He had blonde hair poking out from beneath a camouflage hat; he had on a tank top. And suspenders.  He had a huge blue truck, on gigantic wheels, with one bumper sticker of the confederate flag, and another with the image of a pistol and the inscription "I'm your Huckleberry".
J, in his Yankees T-Shirt, walked over from his prius, and introduced himself.
Well Huckleberry was extremely friendly and helpful.  He spent a long time explaining to J the only place he knew nearby where "people sometimes camped".  The directions were long and contained key phrases such as "where it forks", "don't turn by the gate go the other way", and "there's two roads take the dirt one". It included one very skeptical survey of our two-wheel drive caravan followed by "you can probably make it up that hill."
We did our best to follow this verbal map, and soon we were bumping along through plumes of red dust; barely making it up several hills.  Do you want to know where we were, guys?
I can't tell you. We've no idea.  Here is what the GPS thinks:

Take a look at that right screen there.  It is fully zoomed out.  We are the arrow.
Do you see where we are?
In the middle of ABSOLUTELY NOwhere Peanuts.
That's where.  And after a couple of HOURS of crunching gravel out in Nowhere, we seriously considered just setting up camp on the side of the road and getting it over with.
"What could happen?" I asked. "It's not like some park ranger, or probably any human being at all, is going to come strolling along and kick us out".
"True," answered J, "but we are surrounded by "private property" signs, and I'm more concerned about squatting on someone's land whose idea of justice might be a sawed-off shotgun".
(I would have to give you a better explanation of our local observations to fully justify the consideration of this possibility, but just trust that it was not based purely on speculation.)
So we turned around, following our tracks in the dust like a breadcrumb trail, and slowly crawled back to the pavement.
But on the way back, J decided to try one more turn.
The landmarks started to make Huckleberry's descriptions make sense.  We were on the right track!
Now look.
A lot of time had been wasted and we were starting to be a little, well, over it.
There was too much driving and too many posted restrictions and not enough communing with nature and catching marshmallows on fire and such.
This camping thing was not turning out to have enough kumbaya in it, guys. You know? 
So we were getting a little Over It when we came to the peak of a very big hill, and plunged down the other side-
and found this:

Kum.Ba.Ya. People.
Right there.
The pictures don't get it.  It was this beautiful, pristine lake surrounded by hilly forest. There was no one else around, it was like a secret paradise.  The air was warm and perfect, there was a little dock just for us.

We cooked a good dinner and swam in the lake.

Jump!

The water was the perfect temperature.  It was so clean, when we got out there was no algae smell, no slimy skin...it felt like we'd had an actual bath. It washed all the red dust and the Over It away.

Little One played fetch with the dogs- who were in complete heaven, by the way- and chased fireflies on the grass.

It is one of the prettiest, most peaceful places I have ever been.  It was so relaxing and lovely that it was-stunningly- worth the ridiculous trip to get to it.  We had such a nice time that it was worth camping all the way across the country just for that one zen evening of blissful family/nature togetherness. 

We tucked the kids into bed and had a glass of wine on the dock.  We dipped our toes in the water and talked about what a nice place it was.  We cozied into our tent with a cool breeze whispering through the warm air, and the crickets humming us to sleep.  Kuuuuumbayaaaaa.
Yes guys.  It was perfect.  Perfect, perfect.  Almost...too perfect....

Ode-or

A song composed by Little One, crooned to me from a tight cuddle at bedtime:

"Moooommy, moooomy, you-are-a fweeeeety! Moommmy, mooooomy, I like you!
I love you my mommy, because you are not stinky! You are not stinky you are just a pretty maaammaaaa, I! Love! Yoooooou!" 

Moving On- Touring the Smokies

We woke up to a glorious day.  We had a long way to go, but we decided to make the most of it.  If we had to be in the car, we decided, we could at least enjoy the ride.  No more big interstates where all you see is the backside of a semi and some gas stations.
J and I had gone old-school with a pen and a map and picked out our own route through the Smokies.  We decided that even if it stretched our trip out a bit longer, we were taking the scenic route.
Starting with a road that climbs way up the mountains and skims aaaaall along the ridges of the mountain range, we drove through some of the most beautiful views I have ever seen.

It sometimes seemed unreal, it was that gorgeous. 
We took our time at first, stopping for a coffee in "Little Switzerland" (a town about half a block long) and playing fetch with the dogs at an overlook.

We watched jagged peaks melt into soft mountains, we watched those fade into rolling hills and finally give way to the flat topography of Alabama.

Too bad it couldn't last forever.
But it couldn't. Because at some point, you have to sleep.  And for the second time in a wouldn't-you-think-we'd-have-learned-to-call-ahead-row, the campsite we thought we were headed towards was nowhere to be found.  We decided to buy some dinner in a place where we could consult our phones for a back-up plan. 
Since we were going to eat out instead of by camp-grill, we thought we should at least go local and try the endemic cuisine.  We were in Alabama, you know.  So we ate here:

Oh.  It was special.
After that culinary experience, we were not feeling high-spirited enough to go searching for campgrounds in the dark.  We gave up and crashed at a hotel.  It wasn't fancy, but we had hot baths and showers, and a nice early bedtime.  It was a nice, quiet end to the day.  It's good we got our rest.  We had some adventures left to come. 

Moving On- Room at the Inn

all those black dots are teeny vampires

We had planned on a nice morning at the beach.  But the vengeful relatives of the mosquitoes we had swatted were waiting for us in the morning.  So we packed up lickety split and got the you know what out of there. Now we know why they call it Kill Devil Hills. 

 We skipped our campfire oatmeal and sold out for a nice breakfast at a diner in town.  Then we decided that we'd run into a patch of not-great luck there in NC, and we should get away from it!  So we drove.
And drove.
And drove.
We drove the entire breadth of North Carolina, until we found ourselves in the foothills of the Smokey Mountains.

 It was so breathtakingly beautiful that we forgot how tired we were.  We forgot how tired we were of driving.  We oooohhed and aaaahhhhed and were distracted with amazement.
Until the campground we were going to sleep at turned out not to exist.  And in fact, no campgrounds seemed to exist, anywhere, for miles and miles.  We drove and drove and drove. It was starting to get dark,  and we were all hungry, and suddenly remembering that we had been strapped in the car for 12 hours. 
We backtracked to the only thing we had seen for hours, the "family campground".  It was an RV park.
We talked to the lady who owned it; she came buzzing out to us on her golf cart. We asked if there was anywhere we could pitch our tent, please. Please, please, please.  The baby wailed.  Little One whimpered.  The dogs cowered before the "no pets over 25 lb" sign.
I thought of Mary, going from inn to inn in the Christmas story, and never finding a place to rest.  The keeper who let her crash in the barn must have given her the same "I pity you, fool" look this lady gave me.  We don't take anything but RV's here, she said.  But well... if we wanted to, we could find a spot and camp for the night.  She charged us practically nothing.  At that point, I swear, I nearly went for another group hug.
We set up camp, fixed a quick dinner, and put all the babies and pets to bed just as the rain began to fall.  J and I sat out by candle light and opened a bottle of wine. The air was cool and smelled like pine trees. There were NO mosquitoes.  All's well that ends well, isn't it?  It was a long couple of days.  But it's a good thing to learn that while most of the time we can count on ourselves, when we can't (and we crash the car and plan poorly and drive around cluelessly) there is the kindness of strangers.  Kind of a nice thing to come upon in the messy world. Something I love about adventures like this one; finding treasures along the way. 

Moving On Day 3-The Stinging Beach

After Kitty Hawk, the girls and I met J for our second night of camping.  He had picked out a gorgeous spot right on the beach of the Outer Banks.  He had picked up fresh local fish to grill.  We were excited!
But it did not go as planned.
J forgot the tent poles in my car, so camp was not set up when we got there.  He had been waiting for us outside. When we pulled up to this man- on the beach in lovely weather, sunset just beginning- you'd think we'd find a relaxed, happy sort of fellow, despite the lack of tent poles.  Right?
Uh, nope.  He did NOT look happy.  He looked....bumpy.
And he was.  Because it turns out that this particular beach had mosquitoes.  THOUSANDS of them.  They had to compete with biting sand flies for your flesh, but they seemed to be winning out, overall.  There were thick clouds of them.  They were everywhere.  They were hungry.
So were we, but there was no way we could let the babies be devoured while we cooked.  So I took them out to the water while J got those blasted tent poles out and made a refuge.  The water was just a quick walk across the dunes.  Just a hot, sweaty, mine-field of CACTUS, carrying two unhappy children while trudging through sand up and down hills and being EATEN ALIVE along the way, stroll to the water.
Once we got there, the ocean breeze blew away the clouds of biting bugs and Miss gasped and giggled in the salty wind.  Little One splashed into the surf in Her sun dress screaming "This is so much fun! This is so so FUN!"  She got soaked, I cooled my bites in the water, we watched the sky get pink.  It was the eye in the histamine hurricane. Then we headed back. 
This beach hates people.  It must. There were:

mosquitoes
biting sand flies
stinging nettles
cactus all over
Stickers and goat-head thorns

Our idyllic spot wasn't working out.
The kids were miserable; little cacti and stickers kept getting lodged in toes, and the welts on both girls were swollen and angry looking.
The dogs were miserable- their freshly-shaved coats did little to protect them, and they were rolling and scratching as they were covered in bites too. They ran away and came back limping, with cactus chunks in their paws.
We were miserable.  Because all our babies were miserable. 
It had been a hot, sticky day, so we decided to brave the "rustic" showers, even though the mosquitoes were worst there, with all the water pooling on the ground.
It was a special shower.  A wooden stall on a little hill, with a spigot at the top. You had to hold this metal bar above your head to keep the water on.  The cold water.  Which gave you one hand for washing and swatting mosquitoes.  There were no lights.  Which meant you had to do it more or less in the dark, which was just as well.  That way I didn't realize until I opened the door and the moonlight came in that I had been showering all cozy-like with an enormous spider.  TMI alert.  But please imagine- not in too much detail- but for your amusement, the idea of standing starkers in a wooden shack, in the dark, with one hand stuck above your head, soap in your eyes, hopping around like a complete loon because you are a a slicked-up smorgasbord for dozens of biting insects.  Hopping around in the icy water slapping yourself all over and laughing like a nut because seriously. Is this really happening.
Now.  Imagine jumping wet into your PJs and tearing down the hill holding your pants up with one hand and flying back to your campsite, followed by a cloud of demonic insects.  Imagine us all- dogs included because we couldn't leave them out in that mess- fleeing into the safety of the tent in the early darkness.
Whew.  Safe.
And then. Flicking on the lantern.  Looking up.  At the ceiling of the tent.  Black. Moving. 
Realizing that in the moments it took to open the door and go in, DOZENS of mosquitoes had swarmed in with us.  How cozy!  Forget bedbugs, people.  Can you imagine sleeping like a sitting target with dozens of mosquitoes in close quarters?  We'd be sucked dry by morning!
So now picture J and I.  Again, like total lunatics, hopping around.  With flapping, flailing arms.  Swatting at tiny black flying flecks in the shadowy lantern light until we had smashed every. last. one.   I'm telling you- many dozens and we squashed them one. by. one.  It was disgusting. Our babies and dogs watched us with awe, unsure whether to be impressed, amused, or concerned.
After the swatting frenzy J and I settled in, worn out, and finally went to sleep in the hot, thick air.
J pulled up the blanket. "This is sooo fun."