One moment in a million that I don't want to forget

For several days Grace has followed her father around with questions about Santa Claus (several months ago she asked similar questions about the tooth fairy after reading a book in the school library). He pushed the questions off, worrying that I would be hurt if not included in the discussion. Finally this morning she wrapped her arms around my waist and said, "Mom, I keep asking Dad about Santa, can you talk to me about it now?" She asked me this 15 minutes before school started, so I put her off one last time, "We'll talk about it tonight, okay, before you go to bed."

She had come to her own conclusion, of course, and hoped against hope that somehow her Dad and I might be able to extend the illusion a little bit longer. Oh, how I wanted to extend the illusion. Nearly every day I almost gasp at the passage of time. Where is my wee toddler, the imp, the squirrelly little Grace who made me want to scream in exasperation and kiss her all over at exactly the same time? Now she's seven year old Grace--smart, inquisitive, thoughtful--when she tilts her head in thought, concentrating on her homework, I catch a glimpse of the Grace she will be years from now. Talk about heartache.

So tonight, as her sister slurped on a popsicle in the kitchen, the three of us cuddled on the sofa. Craig opened the conversation, "So you wanted to ask us about Santa?" Her eyes said everything, and Craig and I started to squint our own eyes to keep the tears from falling.

"I think Santa maybe isn't real."

"Have kids been talking about this at school?"

"No, no they haven't."

"So what made you wonder?"

"Well, the tooth fairy made me wonder since I know about that."

Her voice was starting to quiver at this point, and I asked her "how does that make you feel?"

Tears trickled down her cheek, "Well, it breaks my heart because I can feel the imagination going away, because Santa is part of my imagination."

In tearful chorus, Craig and I answered, "yes, yes, we know, we know." And then we went on to confirm her suspicions and to talk about the spirit of Santa Claus and how this knowledge won't change the contents of her stocking. But I don't think she was too worried about her stocking. I remember all too vividly that feeling--that the ability to lose myself in an imaginary world was slipping away. I didn't want that to happen, and neither does my girl.

She will take this confirmation in stride, as most kids do. At fifteen, I still remember running down the stairs to check my stocking, wondering aloud at what Santa had brought. He never really went away completely, and I hope he'll stay for her too.

Pain in the neck.

Lit-er-ally. The last ten days have been about pain, more pain, and even more pain in my neck. How it started is still unclear. Was it craning my neck to talk to a friend at a restaurant? Was the workout I did the night before too strenuous? It doesn't matter. What I know is that a week from last Thursday, I felt a searing pain light a fire from my neck into the base of my skull. A thinking person, a practical person would have slowed down, taken a break, but not me. I had school shopping to do, and a birthday party to plan. I wouldn't take a break, so my neck gave me the finger and made me slow down. It enlisted my shoulder and upper arm to go on strike. I couldn't move easily or well. I spent a lot of time lying on the floor until Craig said, "you really have to go to the doctor."

Which brings us to today, a full three days after I crawled in to see a doctor, and the drugs she prescribed have finally brought me some relief. I don't have to lie down every ten minutes, hooray! Cervical sprain is the term the doctor used, though I could have cared less. I cared about the words "muscle relaxant" and "pain killer."

But enough about me. There were other important things going on in our lives, like...



the first day of school.

Both girls are doing well. Grace likes her teacher and her teacher likes her. WIN. On Julia's second day, she brought home this gem, "You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit", which really only works if you say "get" like "git." That's my Georgia peach.

All in all, life is okay. My neck will be alright. My freelance job will get done (damn you neck). And we'll prepare ourselves for the next unexpected twist (I put my money on a kid getting sick).

7 on 7

Happy 7th birthday, darling girl, on this 7th day of August, 2011. For fun, let's review:


Here you are the day after your birth. However did the nurse tie that bow in your hair? To this day I swear it was superglued.



Here you are at the house on Lake Michigan, the morning after your first birthday party. We spent the day before on the beach watching you crawl after seagulls.



What a serious face on the day you turned two. We had just moved to Macon the month before and both sets of Grandparents traveled to see you for your birthday. You had also just received your first ever haircut.



You turned three when we were visiting Maine. You had been a big sister for a little over two months. At age three you were a ham.



You turned four when we were in Michigan. We had a party with Grandma, Grandpa and GG. Then you went to spend a week by yourself with Grammy and Poppy.



You started kindergarten and Grammy came to visit right when you turned five. You requested a cake with mice on it.



You were missing a few teeth by the time birthday number 6 came around. We went bowling and to a waterpark to celebrate your special day.



Now you're seven, and I can't believe it. I would tell you to stop growing, but it's so much fun to see the world through your eyes as you mature. You're about to start second grade (which I really can't believe). You're kind, loving, and considerate. You're smart as a whip, and I'm so proud to be your mom. I couldn't love you more--it's just not possible.

Summer Reading is serious business

IMG_4883, originally uploaded by phocina.

We picked up our summer reading logs from the library a couple of days ago, and Grace has almost completed hers. She told me last night that her goal was to read ten chapter books in one day (her max has been four so far).

I know I'm just at the tip of experience when it comes to parenting, but this seems pretty dang great.

mix tape

In lieu of photos, which are trapped in my camera, let me share some highlights.

Number 1. The birthday.
Imagine you're at a sporting event, the crowd is eager to see the champion crowned. The PA crackles, "Announcing, our phenomenal four year old, Julia Byron." The crowd cheers.

Reporters surround the champ, "Julia, do you feel like you're four?"

With a slightly stunned expression on her face, she replies. "Um, no, I don't feel like I'm four."

And there you have it, Julia's fourth birthday. I'm happy to report that the following day she started to feel "a little bit four" and the day after that pronounced that, indeed, she feels Four Years Old!

She (and Grace) were extremely surprised when my parents arrived on her big day. They had guessed nearly every other relative (Uncle Paul, Aunt Wendy, Cousins Anne and Whitney, Quentin and David), and they were ecstatic that Grandma and Grandpa drove for three whole days to get here. We had a wonderful time, but like most events where I am intimately involved in the preparations, there are very few photos. Typical.

Number 2. A word for summer.
Last year, the word was "travel" or maybe "camping" and this year it will be "sorbet" (and later "Yooper"). If you haven't noticed the weather channel, then perhaps you don't know that it's REALLY EFFING HOT down here. 100 yesterday. 101 today. I'm not happy. Yes, we're going to the pool almost every day, but the pool is starting to feel like warm backwash. For sanity and happiness, I'm combatting this heat wave with homemade sorbet: watermelon, cherry, strawberry, YUM. At some point my love affair with sorbet will end and then I will cling to my next summer word, Yooper. We'll be headed north to the itty-bitty town of my childhood next month. One week with family where we'll celebrate (early) my parents 50th wedding anniversary.

Number 3. Speaking of anniversaries.
It's number ten for us on June 30th. Months ago, as I contemplated No. 10, thoughts of a romantic weekend away flitted across my mind. Then reality set in, so we adjusted expectations and plans. The Byrons of Georgia will spend a week together in the mountains of South Carolina (with a cabin on a lake). My sister, who hasn't yet experienced the joys of coordinating romance when you have children, was slightly horrified that we are taking Grace and Julia along. As I described Betsy's response to Craig one evening, Grace interrupted "But Mom, Grandma and Grandpa are taking their kids with them on their anniversary."

Right you are, Grace. We're going to have a blast.

So that's us. It's hot. I'm cranky, but we have sorbet and plans for lots of fun. I hope everyone is enjoying their summer.

swimsuit season

One would think that a post like my last one might open the flood gates. Nahh. Okay, so I've wanted to post, really, truly. I've just been busy (and by busy I mean going to the beach, attending end of the school year festivities, and playing at the pool--you can say it, I suck). Anyhoo. Here's life in some pictures (with more to upload after I go through all 394 of them, yeesh).

Let's start with Folly.


The water was rough, but that didn't stop these three.

We traveled to South Carolina to attend the wedding of a dear friend (from Michigan whom we met in Augusta). He and his bride decided to tie the knot on Folly Beach.


Bryan works the shalwar kameez.

What a great excuse for a beach weekend (with the added benefit of renting a condo with my best friend and her best baby).


With my best babies, all dressed up.

I don't think I can ever get enough of this baby.



And neither can Julia (or Grace for that matter).

Then it was back home for the end of the school year. Our 1st grade girl came through with FLYING (best reader in class) colors.


With best teacher (trademarked) ever.

And our other girl rocked the 3K stage.


Singin' about Jesus. Apologies for the low quality picture.

What's an end of the year without dinner out at their favorite restaurant (parasols optional).




And, drumroll please, sleeping on the Star Wars sheets from their daddy's youth (thanks, Grammy, for making the night special).




Now we're in summer break mode, which means swimming lessons in the morning and the Mercer Pool in the afternoon. My house isn't clean, my hair feels like a bristle brush, and I don't care. Julia's 4th birthday is this Friday. Give me a moment while I suppress a sob. My parents are due to arrive on her big day (SURPRISE, SURPRISE), and you are guaranteed more pictures to come.

Army men

Discovered in Dad's closet. Battle ready in the living room.





Last two photos by Grace.

Lean.

In one month Grace jumped an entire shoe size. Her pants skim the tops of her ankles, and her long sleeve shirts now have 3/4 length sleeves. If there is any remaining baby fat on my baby, I simply can't find it. She is long, lean, and muscular. Thank goodness Julia still has some chub on her cheeks, my computer doesn't do well with mommy's tears.

Heat Seeking Cats (and Cookies with Noah)

I caught this picture of Zuzu earlier today. Our cats move from sunspot to sunspot as the day passes. With this most recent cold snap, I've caught both of them basking in a ribbon of light on the kitchen counter. Normally they would jump down at the first sound of a human. In a testament to the chilliness of our house, the last time I caught Ollie he looked at me sleepily and then buried his nose under his paw and drifted back to sleep.

Yesterday Grace had her regularly scheduled play date with Noah at our house. I didn't want the two of them canoodling upstairs, planning their elopement, so I baked gingerbread cookies for them to decorate.





By the end, my new kitchen floor was covered with sprinkles and many surfaces (in and out of the kitchen) had a veneer of frosting. After cookies, the kids went upstairs to play unsupervised. At one point, Grace locked Noah out of the room for some transgression, and he only gained re-entry by serenading her with "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". It was so sweet I almost cried.

Hope you all have a great weekend.

Practice makes perfect

I constantly find little scraps of paper with the five letters, J-U-L-I-A, written on them.

child bride

Every Thursday after school Grace has a play-date with her friend Noah. We switch back and forth, and today they played at Noah's house. The kids love this ritual. They are very similar (highly verbal, artistic, and bossy--what a combo) and play together, perhaps surprisingly given their similarities, quite well. Noah has expressed his affection for Grace to me a number of times ("I love my Mom, my Dad, and Grace"), so I suppose I should have known when, soon after her arrival home, Grace declared that she had something very important to tell me.

Hmmmm. Now what could that be?



Do you see what I see? Yes, that's my personal invitation to Grace and Noah's wedding (and not the wedding of Noah, Ellen & Grace, which I don't think is legal in Georgia). Furthermore, they have chosen a date (well, a month really): December 2020!

Fair warning, people, mark you calendars for the wedding of my sixteen year old to another sixteen year old (which, I'm almost sure, is legal in Georgia).

Unexpected

Tonight at dinner Julia announced that she wants a princess computer for Christmas. This started a longer conversation about who wants what, and from whom. As Grace prepared to tell us her wants, Julia piped up:

"Are Mommy and Daddy Santa Claus?"

Craig looked at me out of the corner of his eye, and I could see the words "DIvert, divert!" crossing his mind. We talked right over her and pretended she hadn't uttered a word.

This is a question I would expect from Grace. I know we're on borrowed time with her, as far as Santa Claus goes anyway. I never imagined Julia would be the first to ask.

Cue my tears

It was Julia's first day in her 3K class. It was a good thing Aunt Betsy was here--I would have moped around all morning without her. Julia walked in to class and hardly turned her head to say goodbye. We had to ask for hugs. What am I going to do with myself now.

Happy Birthday

To my mountain goat, my antelope-girl,

You are the best six year old I know. I am so proud to be your mommy. I had the best time with you this summer: climbing mountains, watching birds, and discovering new things about our world. I look forward to all the adventures we will have this year.

I love you, kiddo.

Mommy

We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming

For the First Day of School!



Not to be outshone, Julia had to get in on the action (even wearing her backpack to Grace's classroom). Grace was very excited and didn't hesitate when we said goodbye. She has the BEST teacher this year, and we are thrilled.

The first memory of the day

"Good Morning, Sweetheart, Happy Birthday."

"Mommy, am I three now?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Does this mean I'm not two anymore?"

"Yes, baby, you're not two anymore."

"Oh."

Big smile creeps across her face. She stretches out her arms to hug me around the neck.

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you too, kiddo."

Cue the tears.

Moving On Up, sappy edition

I've lost my edge. This blog is all flowers, sunshine, and sap these days. Expect more of that.

Today Grace had her Moving Up/Kindergarten Graduation (no diploma, medals instead). Each class sang a song and the entire grade sang several songs together. The medals were distributed by class, and the ceremony closed with a sweet video montage of the year. Afterwards we picnicked in the gym (rainy weather kept us from the park) and laughed with Grace while we ate strawberries. It was good. Neither Craig nor I cried (miracle of miracles).

This has been a roller coaster year. I didn't share many of our travails because while we were going through it, I couldn't talk about it. Then I didn't want to talk about it. Now at year's end, I feel peaceful about her experience. By all measures she has excelled. We've grown too. We've learned to let a lot of stuff roll off our shoulders. We've learned how to advocate for Grace without hurting her, and we've learned to let go of her (at least a little bit).

By many standards, we're parenting outsiders here. Our values don't match up with many of Grace's peers, but I'm okay with that. I hope she understands our choices (after years of therapy) because while Craig and I may be different from other parents, we're exactly the same about the stuff that counts. We love our kid. More than she can ever imagine.

Below is a tiny clip from the event, and shows Grace receiving her medal. Craig shot extensive video but getting that from the camera to the computer won't happen for awhile (and really only the grandparents want that much detail).

Field Day

Do you remember field day? Did you have a field day? Grades K-2 descended upon the park across from Grace's school this morning for all kinds of field day craziness. Craig and I were there all day long (heavy emphasis on the all day part). I would love to write more or at least post some pictures, but I feel like a slimy baton that's been passed between 100 Kindergartners and then discarded on a fire ant hill: hot, tired, and a little irritable. Still, the day was good. The girl was happy (she won't remove her stinky field day shirt because The Award Ribbons! are still clipped to her chest).

Pictures tomorrow. Promise.

And to think, the tooth fairy almost didn't make it

Can you see it? Another tooth came out of Grace's mouth yesterday while she was at school. Can you imagine the excitement! We read Ramona the Pest a few months ago, and Grace clearly identified with Ramona's longing to lose a tooth at school. Wish granted.

Of course, then Craig and I almost dropped the ball. He went out for drinks, and I fell asleep early. He assumed I helped the tooth fairy, and I assumed he did. Thankfully, we woke before the girls, and the job was done with seconds to spare. It was close. I would hate to have to put the tooth fairy on notice.

Tomorrow I'm leaving for my girl's weekend. I'm not bringing my camera because I don't want to be weighed down, so picture this: margaritas poolside, palm trees waving in the breeze, me and Sarah without worries. It's gonna be good.

Memoir at five

The stapler disappears from my desk with alarming regularity. Simultaneously handmade books appear around the house. The latest is a memoir.



Which isn't meant to be read, but rather sung to the tune of "Miss Suzy Had a Baby".



Unfortunately this memoir is quite short, with only one page detailing the author's start in the world. Perhaps years 1-5 represent a dark time (I should hope not), or perhaps she ran out of paper.

Now where's my stapler?