girl at large

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Today was a Bed Day. For every three to four Doing Stuff days, I have one Bed Day. I’m working hard to suppress the bad feeling about staying in bed all day (thanks a lot capitalism, Lutheranism and midwestern mythology). I’m working on accepting my “new normal”.

The best part about the new normal is Mama’s Bed Time. It’s my favorite time of day. 

Tonight, I had them both laughing and squealing at cat videos I had saved for them. They LOST THIER SHIT. I haven’t heard them laugh like that in months. 

So, now I’ll be staying up all night tonight saving stories and reels and TikTok’s of all the funny cat things. 

Abortion Made Me A Good Mother

I’ve written and rewritten todays post, alternating between feeling bold and feeling uncomfortable. Here goes bold:

Abortion made me a good mother. When I was 17, my birth control failed. I knew immediately that abortion was my choice. I knew I was supposed to feel bad about it, and I did some performative dramatics about it, but truly all I actually felt was deep relief. And a little embarrassment.. I WAS careful, I did know how to prevent it, I thought I did everything right. It still happened.

But what didn’t happen, thanks to a legal abortion clinic in my state, and a wonderful doctor and nurse team who cared for me with respect and kindness, was the implosion of my life. Or my boyfriends life. He went to college, I went and did my thing. We avoided poverty, disrupted education, coerced marriage and a handful of other negative things. Also we didn’t have a child. Because we didn’t want one. And that was my right. My choice, and the absolute right choice for me.

Ten years later, it was the right choice again. Again, I was careful, and it happened anyway. This time was harder, I was older and “should” have been ready, but my boyfriend was not supportive, and I was broke, drinking a lot, and suffering with depression. I felt a little bit worse than the first time, but mostly because I loved a guy who didn’t love me back the same. I knew, again with relief, that I made the right choice. I couldn’t parent then, and not with him.

Another ten years after that, I have a wanted pregnancy that ends in a miscarriage almost immediately. Then, quickly after that, a successful pregnancy and my family begins. The family I knew I could support, knew my body and mind could handle. The family I could never have had if I was a teenage mom or an unstable parent. 

Why do I even need to explain or defend myself? Self determination, the ability to decide if and when to reproduce, was fundamental to my life, to my growth and ability to be a contributing, stable person in this world. It was my body, my life, my health, my path to choose.

That has been taken from us, taken from our kids. I thought it couldn’t happen, but here we are. I don’t know the path ahead, how we restore our full rights. I know that I am grateful for the people who fought before me, and I am indebted to them, for the realization of my full potential, and for my beautiful family. 

Birthday Season

Marking time can be a delicate and dangerous thing for me; as another season passes and annual events return, my emotions range from contentment to despair.

Felix once asked me, at about the age of five, the meaning of “bittersweet”. After I explained it, he said “Oh, I know that feeling.” And I know that he did, my old-soul son. 

This October holds both the anniversary of my diagnosis and the birthdays of my loves Paulie and Felix.  My loves are so beautiful. The leaves are golden, the ground is damp, and the very air is bittersweet.

Little Consolation

This is Nibbles. He was lost yesterday, sometime between daycare and Nonna’s house, somewhere between backpacks and car seats and playrooms.

I found him late at night, just in time to take bedtime from tears to tucks. 

And that’s about the only thing I managed to feel good about this week. I’m feeling defeated. I’m in the last long stretch of active treatment, or so we presume, until the next scan reveals my future, if I have one. The chemolite™️ side effects are accumulating, making my energy sputter out by 2pm, and introducing a new hell of intense joint and muscle pain. Work is no longer the reliable escape it once was; as people leave for better jobs and the economy has fits and starts, it feels too precarious. And Covid is roaring back, making the recent brief joys once again scary and risky for me with my damaged immune system, and of course my kids are still vulnerable. 

Most distressing, Paul’s Dad, Rocky, my children’s stalwart grandfather, died two weeks ago after suffering a year of congestive heart failure. I will write a tribute to Rocky another day, and it may be private. It’s not entirely my place. But I do want to share that we are grieving, and I’m struggling to help my kids understand.

Sometimes it’s all overwhelming, and I just can’t do much more than scroll, or sleep, or cry. 

Some nights, you are just inconsolable until Nibbles is back where he belongs.

Happy and Lucky

Felix is a name that stems from Latin meaning "happy" or "lucky".

It is also the name my oldest son has chosen for himself. 

We are so happy and lucky to be supported and surrounded by love; and to be the parents of the most stoic and hilarious straight-man kid you’ve ever met.

Happy Happy Happy

You turn five tomorrow. Your arms and legs are thin and strong, your eyes are so round and large that in my dreams you often appear as an owl. A loud, slightly bossy owl.

As every second born knows, you will be burdened with the story of being the baby, being the squawker, the pesky little brother. My hope for you is that you get to break free from that some day and write your own story.

And it will be hilarious. The amount of energy you can summon to greet “morningtime!” is amazing, the house rings with your cheerful chatter. When you are excited, you get so animated that you literally pat your own legs with a little drum roll, as if your body cannot contain the feeling and it must be released. Charlie, you are the happiest being I have ever known. 

And, as my mother says to me each year, I’m so glad I had you.

 

Big Thoughts for a Little Guy

“Firefighter Dan came to our school Mama and we sat outside and he put on a funny mask and we got to talk to him and ask him questions after he gave us badge stickers”.

Oh, what question did you ask Firefighter Dan, Charlie?

“I asked him about the Great Chicago Fire”.

Wait, what? You asked about what?

“Yep, but Firefighter Dan didn’t know too much”. (shakes head)

Mama’s Little Acorn

Charlie is at my favorite age (so far). He wants to be a helper, his language is exploding, and he still wants to cuddle. He is also a smart ass.

I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to understand what a “cat load” is and why the absence of one would cause so much distress and so many tears. Catalog. He wanted the catalog. 

After that was resolved, and our Sunday morning was once again peaceful, I asked him to clean up his playroom:

“No, Mama, I’m not available”.

Still Life with Fake Poop

It’s hard to have the energy at the end of a work day, when you’ve given all your “nice” to everyone else, to listen to a toddler tell a story. It’s impossible to remember the cute thing a kid said a day later. I’m hoping my camera lens and a few zingers we managed to capture on paper will be enough to remind us years from now (should we survive that long) of that time the kids did that thing once with the stuff at that place.

Also, it will always be “Butt Lightyear”.

Traffic and Weather Together on the 8s

Charliepants: "Mama, can you put on your talking show?".

Mama,smiling and thinking: See, all the NPR will pay off. Screw Paulie and his Arthur and his singalongs and his knowing all the names on Paw Patrol. Little kids DO like the things I like. I AM a fun mom.

"Oh honey, do you like mama's talking show?" 

Charliepants: "No, YOU do."

 

The Days Are So Long, The Years So Fast

When I give him food that is hot, with the predictable parental warning—“wait for it to cool down honey”, Charlie says “Warm, Mama, warm. I’m going to wait for it to get WARM.” 

Happy Birthday Charlie.

You adorable little shit.

 

Yellow Flag

The ruckus was terrible. Stomping feet up the stairs, the sound of the high pressure shower setting splashing water everywhere, the unmistakable whine of a resisting toddler.

What on earth is going on?

After some intervention, my best soothing voice and a little triage—it was poop. 

“Honey, poop is not an emergency”.

”It is when it happens during qualifying!!”

Point taken.

Totally Under Control

We’re on hour two of Easter basket amusement. Who says kids don’t like post it notes and twist ties? Also, Paulie is barfing downstairs. In the bathroom that has plastic garbage bags taped up on the walls where we ripped out the shower tile.  {Sips coffee}

And Then Everybody Clapped

Some moments with toddlers are unforgettable, some are unbelievable, and some are one hundred percent the legacy of Pat Mikkelsen’s child rearing.

Me: “Oh Charlie, you are so fucking beautiful!”

Charlie: “Mama, you’re fucking beautiful every day!”

Baseline Overwhelmed

I have a sheet of stickers. Charlie comes over, asks for a sticker, gets a sticker and waddles in to the next room. In that room, he folds the sticker. A minute later, he is back, waving his hand around with the half folded sticker stuck to it and proclaiming that the sticker is broken. He asks for another sticker; I oblige.

We have passed an hour this way. And it is just about the right speed of activity and responsibility I can handle right now. The house construction starts on Tuesday. I am not ready. My brain is broken. Can I have another?

#imnotworthy

Tonight is Charliepant’s first night in his big kid bed. While I was doing laundry or Facebooking or reading or something, Paulie made him his very own cardboard version of Bert & Ernie’s headboards.

Because, as Charlie says: ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT! ERNIEBERT!

(Also, as I write this, Viv is sitting next to his new bed reading him a night night story because she “likes spending time with him”). 

We Met for the First Time Six Years Ago Today

You are six years old today, and right now you are a humid little lump sleeping next to me in Mama’s bed. “Mama Time” you call it. 

It’s been six years, but I still don’t know exactly what I’m doing. Each time I get confident, each time I get the routine down, you go and change on me. In the proverbial leaps and bounds you make your way through stages of childhood, often leaving me behind in the cliche dust. 

But I do know these things:

Your first best friend was named Julian and you greeted each other with a hug every day and cried when you had to part.

You say Gwanma. And Nonna. And have never confused the two.

You want to be a monkey when you grow up. And also a teacher. And a race car driver.

You are 100% right when you say pants with pockets only in the back are stupid.

Charlie will never have a better guide than you.

You own your Papa’s heart, and almost more importantly, his growth from a pretty darn good person to an amazing person.

You bite your nails, out of nervousness, and I worry about that. But you also are trying to quit, of your own choice, and quitting a habit is the hardest thing a human brain can do. So if you can’t, I got you. That goes for every thing. Every single thing.

 

Makes Perfect Sense

“I want a baby but I don’t want to make one so I will go out and buy one because I’ll be be rich because I’ll work at night too. I don’t want to make a baby because I don’t want to feel the pain when it comes out or when the baby kicks me. And I know it’s not really buying, there’s an orphanage or something like Oliver. Does it have to be a newborn?”

Uh oh, I’ve Got Another One

Two-year old Charlie is talking, waddling, and goofing his way through toddlerhood.

“I love you Charlie”

“I love you too, Mama”

“Charlie, where does love come from?” (This is reference to a favorite bedtime book, I expected a hand gesture over his heart).

“Right here, from my butt”. (as he pat pats on the front of his diaper)

 

Peanut Butter and Jelly

Viv and Charlie are becoming a unit. Now that Charlie is two and finally walking as much as he is talking, they are interacting more than ever before. Viv has always enjoyed being a big sister to babies both real and imagined, but now she also has a playmate. A cohort. A co-conspirator. And another analytical mind to meld with.

Mama: “You are so cute Charlie.”

“No, I’m not cute, I’m Charlie”.

Mama: “What’s that (stuffed) puppy’s name?”

“Puppy”.

Mama: “Oh, and what about that puppy, what’s its name?”

“Other Puppy”

 

Brunch Market

Paulie and Viv are at the races all day, I already have two loads of laundry done and the sun is shining. Time to go to the farmers market, just Charlie and me. Or, because he has a boppie and is totally ignorable four feet ahead of me in the double stroller, mentally just me. Ahhh.

The Shorewood Farmers Market is packed. Packed with strollers, coffee drinkers, shoppers, a band. A band? A full honest god electric set up band. And there's the Shasta trailer selling waffles, the other trailer selling egg breakfasts, and new this year a vintage Ford truck retrofitted with taps to serve small batch brews. It is, of course, clad with horizontal reclaimed wood boards. A Tommy Haverford lookalike inspects the boulangerie's mobile wood fired oven, at least four booths have locally roasted coffee. Is someone roasting beans right here? There's Kambucha, empanadas, gluten-free ready to bake dough...it's endless, and not much of it is produce. There are more vehicles than veggie vendors, you wouldn't be crazy for thinking it's a food truck lot. If I didn't have the experience to know where to find the egg lady, and that a cartoon of her fresh brown eggs was worth elbowing through all that overpriced spandex for, I would have turned around.

Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this outing, especially the chocolate croissants. But let's call this what it really is: Portland 2005.

 

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And That's How

As Charlie says, suited up and strapped in, let's "rocknroll!"

Paulie likes to have all the things, ALL the things for any activity. Going for a walk might turn into a picnic so of course an umbrella and a bag of sandwhiches is standard. Going anywhere at all, indoors or out, requires a huge fleece blanket because you never know when you're going to get cold, sleepy or just need comfort.

A weekend away with the kids requires an enormous amount of stuff, which we bring in the larger car we bought for the purpose of bringing stuff, and yet here we are Sunday morning with Charlie in the last diaper. Which is a swim diaper. From last year. Paulie, where is your duct tape?

Vivi is taller this spring, and as always, a helper. I assigned her to do "the sweep" this morning as we packed up. "Did you check every closet, room and drawer?" "Yes". "Did you get everything, nothing left behind?"

"Yep, all I found was that book" (and now somewhere in my car of stuff is Gideon's bible)

 

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Things I Learned In Kindergarten. Or, Why Working Parents Lose Their Shit.

 

Registering Viv for kindergarten was frustrating. I first signed her up back in June, at the appointed time, bringing a file with our residency documents her vaccination records, birth certificate and her actual self. Then, in July, there were forms to complete online and a requirement to upload the same documents. Mind you, that same information also had to be submitted (in a different format) to the wrap-around daycare that maintains a completely separate, though just as convoluted, registration system. Actual kindergarten is only three hours, before and after she's in a partner daycare program. In the same building, in the room next door, but everything has to be done over again and maintained in a separate online portal. And don't get me started on the auto pay that took payment for every single no-school day extra charge for the entire year all at once. With no notice.

In August, school fees were announced, but that portal didn't allow payment until after a certain date two weeks later. Then, I got notice that even if paid online, I still had attend something called Forms and Fees Day at the high school. At that appointed date and time, during the working day, I had to bring an additional two documents for proof of residency. It was at Forms and Fees Day, in my car afterwards, that I had a complete and tearful steering wheel break down.

Little did I know that that was not the last hurdle.

I received a message that the wrap-around daycare was having an open house the week before the start of school. Still trying to figure out if lunch was or was not served to the kids from the public school lunch system, I figured that was a good event to attend. I had a lot of questions still unanswered. (The school portal let me make a lunch program payment, but said no where if it applied to morning K4 classes, the daycare site said nothing at all about meals). We scrambled home from work, shoved a bottle in Charlie's face and walked over to the school for the daycare open house. Which turned out to also be a kindergarten open house/parent orientation. I was hoping to pop in and out, but instead got seated and then realized I was in for a lengthy presentation, without my phone to alert Paulie waiting outside with a fussy baby. I had missed one critically informative line in an otherwise obtuse letter in the packet received on Forms and Fees Day.

If you're still following this, no, they do not participate in the school lunch program, we have to pack a lunch. I'm still waiting for my refund.

Taking Viv to her first day of "school" was not tearful; I didn't "have a hard time" (but thanks again for asking everyone, and asking again just to give me another chance to prove I do have a heart). She's been going to daycare, which we call school, since she was six weeks old. She's had to change centers twice, each time was a bumpy few first days learning a new routine, but other than that, zero on the life altering events scale. Like previously, she had a pretty good first day.

The rest of us are hoping the school district administration takes a Lean course.

 

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Touché

"I'm disappointed, Charlie's eyes are turning dark.They were so light for so long, I had hopes they would be green like mine. Looks like they are going to be brown instead, I'm so bummed".

"Why so bummed?"

"I don't know, don't you wish a little bit that your kids look like yourself?"

"They do look like me, they have brown eyes."

 

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Subtleties

Me, fixing a pink Disney doll toy thingy: "Remember Vivi, 'Princess' is not an occupation".

Paulie: "Uh um, you're watching 'Say Yes to the Dress'".

Me: "Remember Vivi, life is complicated..."

 

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Don't Get Ahead of Yourself

Viv: "Look, Charlie is looking at me Mama!"

Me: "Look at that! Oh Vivi, he loves to watch you. He is going to watch you his whole life. You're always going to be his big sister, his teacher. You'll have to teach him all sorts of things"

Viv: "Will you help me?"

Me: "Oh yes of course, we will all teach Charlie together. He will have you his big sister, and me and Papa, and family and neighbors..." and on and on I went in a It Takes A Village eye-dampening soliloquy...

Viv: "That's good Mama, but can you help me with my pants?"

 

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Darkest Before the Dawn

Parenting is a nocturnal experience. We four are still in one bedroom, in our separate sections, but still all in together. Each night is a campsite of mysterious thumps and hums; something is always vibrating. Previous silence is filled with sniffles, snores and baby wheezes. We are awakened by coughs, hunger cries, dead batteries. I am awakened by my own worry, restless until I check the crib. In turns, and as often both at once, we tend to the little ones through dusk and midnight and early dawn.

When the adult bedroom is at last habitable, it may take me many nights to get used to the quiet. Or not.

 

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47, 4, 4 months

Yes, those are birthday candles in corn muffins. October is a month of milestones. Paulie turned 47, Vivi turned 4, and Charlie grew into his 4th month. Celebrations would be nice, but an organized gathering, an organized anything (!), seems out of our reach these days.

Who can bake a cake and make dinner and wrap presents and what presents? who picks up the kids and we're out of diapers and Viv needs a haircut and am I still nursing and I have to work in Chicago tomorrow and go get milk again at Walgreens.....Mostly, we are keeping our heads above water.

But in a quiet Sunday morning, at last, I can reflect. And all three of my people are asleep. Thank god.

 

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Papa Said It

"Parenting is one small indignity after another; from my robe falling open at inopportune times, to the goldfish I just snacked on that I'm pretty sure had been on the floor". -Paulie

Add to that:

-Changing a diaper on a public restroom floor.

-An Uncle asking "Is the baby under here?" as he lifts the nursing scarf away.

-Wishing I had more of those mesh underwear from the hospital.

-Closing the bathroom door for those five sweet minutes alone.

-Shaving the left leg on Tuesday, the right leg on Wednesday.

-Seriously discussing the merits of Nurse Holly's (of Doc McStuffins cartoon fame) record keeping (the Big Book of Boo Boos) with the three year old.

-Assembling any stroller, swing, bouncy chair, or car seat together without divorcing.

-Milk in the cabinet, coffee beans in the fridge, toothpaste in the kitchen, crackers in the bathroom.

-Asking "Is this poop?" more than once a day.

 

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Babies Are Awesome and Not At All Gross

Today during lunch out at a restaurant (out of the house!) Charlie simultaneously loaded his diaper and blew milk out of his nostril.

 

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Five Weeks

Charlie is five weeks old tomorrow. I have aged five years. Some highlights:

-"Am I wearing pants? Not 'should I wear pants', but can you tell me at this moment do I have my pants on?"

-"They are so cute so that you won't kill them" (thanks Grandma)

-"The sheets were always so scratchy" (birth story from another era)

-"Your boob looks like a weapon"

-"Uh oh mama, he fell off your boob!"

-The third sling is the charm. Or the fourth...

-"What are you going to do for three whole months?" (Apparently maternity leave is a vacation)

-We have enough baby blankets. What we need is a Walgreens platinum card. That's a thing, right?

-"It goes up his butt til the stopper then you listen for the whistle"

 

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Toddler + Newborn + Fixer-upper = Surrender.

Viv dropped her doll's blankie in the sprinkler puddle. Clever girl, she used the dryer vent to take care of it. Of course, the dryer vent is missing its cover, because that's just how we roll these days. Surrender.

 

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The Ring of Fire Is Not About Johnny Cash

The second baby is both easier and more difficult. I knew what was coming, so I dreaded labor and delivery. My experience with Viv was so tough, I feared a repeat. And no, "getting a healthy baby at the end" does not erase a bad birth experience. It certainly helps over the alternative, but a crummy time is a crummy time.

The birth plan this time around was certainly more flexible (and less lengthy--"Take it as it comes") but still focused on as natural as possible. When baby was breech at 36 weeks and my conservative OB/GYN firmly announced it would be a c-section if he didn't flip by 38 weeks, I was in a panic. I saw the chiropractor every other day, did accupressure and stood on my head for twenty minutes each night. A surgeon's daughter avoids surgery like the proverbial plague.

Lucky me, it worked!

I was so relieved to avoid a scheduled c-section that I didn't see the preeclampsia coming. A few spiked blood pressure readings didn't alarm me, but sharply declining platelets and scary liver function readings did. A scientist's daughter also knows when to trust the numbers. It's a good thing I'm so organized and had wrapped up work a week before my due date, because it was time to get that baby out!

 

-When faced with an unknown, Paulie goes to his comfort zone. As we were scrambling out the door Saturday morning for the emergency induction, he vacuumed the cars. Both cars.

-When your childcare plan (i.e. Grandma) says they are going on a winery tour the weekend before your due date, be sure to ask WHERE. Do not assume it's local. It's more likely, inexplicably, in Appleton. By charter bus.

-Intravenous Magnesium is the devil. The devil that saves your life, but the devil.

-I've never been so happy to get a catheter. Or had such a deep, meditative exchange with an anesthesiologist.

-Doctors tell, and you think you understand and nod your head like you understand. But after the doctor is out the door moments later, the nurses interpret. And then you truly DO understand. You understand that the nurses do everything. And then they also clean up your food tray.

-"Why does the window hurt so fucking much?!?" I asked Paulie over and over during transition. I had an area in my abdomen, near my hip that the epidural didn't take effect on. It happens sometimes. The nurse explained it to me, calling it an epidural "window", while Paulie was in the bathroom. As he leaned over the bed to comfort me, he was so perplexed when I grunted "No, godfuckingdamnit it's not about the blinds".

-Pushing when I felt like it, as I felt like it without the sitcom "push push push" count down was so much better. Pulling on a towel like a rope, with both Paulie and the doula pulling in the other direction was brilliant. That baby popped out in thirty minutes!

-A doc who saves your stuff (as one observer noted "She worked the hell out of it") is forgiven for all else.

-My hair looked amazing.

 

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The Joys of Late Pregnancy

Me: *sneeze*! "Honey, can you get me a tissue?"

Paulie: "Here you go my love".

Pause.

Me: "You thought I was going to use that on my nose, didn't you?"

Paulie: "I did, I really did."

Happy Anniversary darling!

 

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Charlie Prep

Getting ready for Baby #2's arrival has included lots of preparatory conversations with Viv. We cover sharing, gentleness, jealousy...all the expected topics for a soon-to-be-sibling. Turns out, as I listen to our household with my mind on adding a new baby to the mix, it may be Paulie that needs the prep talk.

He has a hard time seeing Viv as the toddler she is; he is emotionally about one year behind in her development. He is frequently stunned at her ability to do things herself. Tasks I've had her do on her own for months he routinely does for her. Come baby time, he's not going to have the time or energy for all that dotage, as I remind him often. Viv reminds him too:

Paulie, behind her on the way down the stairs: "Careful Vivi, hold the railing".

Vivi: "Papa, I know what I'm doing!"

 

 

 

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Hello Charlie

We get the set! Number two is a boy. I didn't know Paulie wanted a boy until the most recent doctors appointment. When I asked him why he hadn't mentioned his wish to me, he said "I didn't want to be 'that guy'". He was totally "that guy" when he threw his arms up in the air touchdown style in the ultrasound room.

We both agree, it's not about having a boy, it's the thrill of having the set and never again having to field the question: "So, are you going to try for another?"

 

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Holiday Hangover

It has been two solid weeks of parties, presents and baked goods. The Christmas tree is on the curb, we've binge-watched another tv series, and I'm sick of cooking. I can't wait to get back in to work tomorrow!

 

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Three

Viv is a world. She is a toddler. She has dollies and friends and likes and dislikes. She has opinions. She sings to herself. She sings to us. (We call it Toddler Opera). She is curious, she is cautious. She is simultaneously infuriating and fascinating. She is three years old.

Me, at the end of a long day: "I'm pooped".

Viv, from the back seat: "Oh Mama, in your pants?"

 

Mother of the Year

"I'll be a grown up when I drink beer and then I'll get hair on my butt". "And wine too, both of them!" - Viv, age 2 1/2

 

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Hooked

When I was pregnant, a friend sent me back a few of the crocheted things I had made for her baby. At the time, I was puzzled. I had intended for her to keep them for keepsakes. Now, nearly three years, 2 houses and zero sleep later, I understand. Thank you. Thank you for knowing I would never have the time or energy to make things for my own baby once she arrived.

This sweater has been in my stash for years. I made it in Portland, in my tiny brothel apartment with yarn from my Grandma Eileen's stash and buttons from the best Goodwill in the west. At the height of my crocheting habit, I made lots of baby and toddler things with no specific recipient in mind. I simply waited til another friend had another baby, which was happening with greater frequency. This hoodie sweater lingered.

This morning, Viv looks pretty darn cute in it. Who knew?

 

 

 

 

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Play Time Out

The play area yesterday was crawling....with parents. The kids hardly had room to move, much less swing and jump. I remember French playgrounds where parents sat on the sidelines and had coffee and adult conversation while the kids sorted it out. I love you Vivi, but I find the playground incredibly boring, and I won't hide it. I brought a book to the park when I was a kid, I'll do it again now. You'll deal.

 

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Favorite Strangers

Spring came early this year, or so it felt as we were on the road heading south. The trees along the side of the road were nearly green when we made it to Berea, KY. Asheville, NC was our trip destination, but Berea became our favorite stop that we had made along the way.

The Boone Tavern Hotel (http://www.boonetavernhotel.com/) was perfect...historic, warm, comfortable. Though our room faced a rooftop, we didn't notice because we were outside in the cobblestone courtyard among the daffodils or on the front porch rockers watching Berea college students go by. The people of the hotel and the town were friendly.

At breakfast in the restored and sunny dining room, another traveling family stopped to chat at our table with my charming toddler. When they asked "his name", I had to do the apologetic

"Her name is Vivienne".

Strangers immediate response: "That's ok, it will grow out!"

My startled reply: "It's on purpose, I prefer her hair short"

She carries on: "...It could be worse, when my youngest got ahold of the scissors..."

Me again, literally head in hands: "No, I PAID to have it done"

Have a good day!

 

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Oops

Viv: "I saw your trunk today Papa"

Papa: "You saw my what?"

Viv: "You have a trunk like an elephant!"

Exit bathrobe, enter pants.

 

 

 

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Just Like Versailles

Just like Versailles, our favorite time at Biltmore was the gardens, not the house. And like every trip of my childhood, the warm sunny cobblestone courtyard with coffee and croissant was where we spent most of our time. I can't recall how many museums and chateaus we never did enter...well, because we didn't! But I do remember the legs of wrought iron cafe chairs, the color of espresso foam, little white cups and tired feet and conversations with my brilliant mother in the sunshine.

 

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Explain This

I enjoy getting Viv gussied up to visit Nonna...no one appreciates the cute tights, nice jackets and Italian baby boots like a Sicilian seamstress and shoemaker's daughter.

Last Sunday, when we dropped CiCi off for an afternoon with her, Nonna was in her morning duds. When we picked CiCi up in the afternoon, there was this chummy matched pair!

Only later did I notice in the photo that they were looking at last year's Little Book of Viv album, and randomly at a snapshot of Viv in similiar (but smaller) polka dotted tights!

(Jacket by Target, tights by Boden, shoes by Premigi, jumper by Oshkosh b'Gosh) (Nonna's necklace by Rocky)

 

 

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Almost

Viv, with her pants off and a scarf on her head, carrying Papas belt, singing:

"Jingle bells, jingle bells..."

Papa: "Viv, that's my belt."

"Jingle belt, jingle belt...."

 

 

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Merry Christmas!

Following family tradition, Viv has developed a cold and fever on Christmas Eve. Nothing serious, just enough to dampen her spirits a bit. On second thought, maybe a fever-mellowed toddler is a Christmas blessing!

 

 

 

 

 

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Christmas for Beginners

Viv doesn't "get" Christmas yet, but she does understand that something is in the air. She says the lights are pretty, wants to open pressies, and has stated cookie preferences.

Just like her Papa.

Quotable

Viv : "I'm unhappy."

Me: "Why are you unhappy?"

Viv: "I want chocolate milk."

Paulie, pouring: "Is it supposed to be lumpy?"

Uh oh.

 

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Happy Birthday CiCi

So much for Viv's special birthday dress...she left for daycare all dolled up and returned as the true ragamuffin she is. She's two!

I do most of my parenting, feel most like a "mom" in the early morning hours before she is awake. Packing her lunch, making her bottles, laying out her outfits with matching socks is how I start the day.

Hazy mornings in a quiet house with coffee cup and formula can. Doing my quick-step, coordinated feed-the-dog-put-the-dishes-away-write-a-note-to-daycare-pack-my-work bag-empty-the-garbage dance in the cramped kitchen...that will be what I remember. She can't see me doing it, doesn't know the thought put into little containers of fresh veg and homemade pasta, has no idea how important the daycare bag pacifier double check is. She's sound asleep, all curly-headed, sweaty, puffy-cheeked baby in her toddler bed.

It's the best time of day.

 

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