November is National Blog Posting Month or NaBloPoMo. You might remember that I participated in this non stop blog fest last November and the November before. It was a challenge I thoroughly enjoyed. It helped me develop a rhythm of posting, and it required that I came up with more than one topic. I also met other bloggers, and I read some really good stuff.
I didn't join this month. I knew I had too much on my plate, and if you look my archives, you'll see I've only managed to write seven posts this month. That's a fair bit shy of the 30 required for NaBloPoMo. If you actually read those entries, you'll also see I had very little to say except "I'm sick, my kids are sick, boo hoo". Compelling stuff. What I've come to understand is blogging is a habit that requires practice. The less I write, the harder it becomes to write.
There are times when I think about giving this up, joining facebook, and reducing the amount of text I put on the internet. There will come a time when my kids won't appreciate the stories I've told here, and there will also come a time when I should respect their privacy a good deal more. There are stories I shouldn't tell after all. Not to worry however (as though you were), I'm not quitting yet. I'm just slightly bummed that I'm so damn boring these days.
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NaBloPoMo. Show all posts
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The End
Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Ellen. She lived in the great white North of Michigan. She dreamed of growing up to be a single, independent, woman who traveled the world and lived an utterly fabulous life. The End.
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Ellen. With a college degree under her belt, she got a job that paid just over peanuts and traveled the world collecting fossils. She met a penniless graduate student, married him within a year, and moved to the less than fabulous state of Georgia. The End.
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Ellen. One day she woke to find herself married with two children, a mortgage, and a minivan. Her days were spent with laundry and diapers and temper tantrums. Her vacations were spent traveling to and from her parents or in-laws with two, understandably, cranky and overtired children. In the midst of these--what some might call excruciating--journeys she would find herself glancing at her husband, bent over the steering wheel, pressed to get his family home, and she would wonder at how lucky she was to have a mate, the love of her life, beside her for every mile of every trip, every important moment of her life. While she listened to her children crab at each other in the backseat, she would reach for her husband's hand and think "what an utterly fabulous life". The End.
......
And so ends NaBloPoMo. I did it. The End.
Once upon a time, there was a young woman named Ellen. With a college degree under her belt, she got a job that paid just over peanuts and traveled the world collecting fossils. She met a penniless graduate student, married him within a year, and moved to the less than fabulous state of Georgia. The End.
Once upon a time, there was a woman named Ellen. One day she woke to find herself married with two children, a mortgage, and a minivan. Her days were spent with laundry and diapers and temper tantrums. Her vacations were spent traveling to and from her parents or in-laws with two, understandably, cranky and overtired children. In the midst of these--what some might call excruciating--journeys she would find herself glancing at her husband, bent over the steering wheel, pressed to get his family home, and she would wonder at how lucky she was to have a mate, the love of her life, beside her for every mile of every trip, every important moment of her life. While she listened to her children crab at each other in the backseat, she would reach for her husband's hand and think "what an utterly fabulous life". The End.
......
And so ends NaBloPoMo. I did it. The End.
Saturday, November 29, 2008
Day 29: This is all I have
I'm really going out with a bang. The holidays have sucked the life right out of me, so I'm going to let the blog slide with a photo post. I had grand hopes that I might pull off a post longer than a paragraph, and now that seems unlikely.
She's too cute, right? At least it's a good picture. Other photos here.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Day 28: Sedated
It's not such a good thing that the day after Thanksgiving finds me searching for words like tranquilizer on the internet. Possible side effects for mild tranquilizers:
Okay, so I like the first, second, and fourth effects. Numbers eight and nine sound pretty good too. Problem is that I'm already suffering from a reduced attention span and mental confusion, so maybe tranquilizers aren't the way to go.
Hope you all aresurviving enjoying your holiday.
1. reduce emotional reactions
2. reduce mental alertness
3. reduce attention span
4. produce a sense of relaxation and well-being
5. produce a"floating" sensation
6. depress heartbeat
7. depress breathing
8. induce long periods of sleep
9. reduce feelings of anxiety
10. cause drowsiness
11. cause mental confusion
12. cause physical unsteadines
Okay, so I like the first, second, and fourth effects. Numbers eight and nine sound pretty good too. Problem is that I'm already suffering from a reduced attention span and mental confusion, so maybe tranquilizers aren't the way to go.
Hope you all are
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Day 27: Giving Thanks
My list of thanksgiving remains largely unchanged from that I wrote a year ago. Instead of recycling that post however, I'm going to switch things up and highlight just one person for whom I am thankful. This change, of course, doesn't reflect the degree to which I am thankful for my friends and family. You all know you are loved and adored by me, every day of every week, whether or not I tell you so explicitly.
On that note, I give thanks on this day for Whitney Elizabeth, the newest member of our family.
Whitney, though your heart labors to sustain your young life, your presence has enlarged my own heart. You have increased my capacity for love and for understanding. You have taught me a new language, one that transcends my old ideas of disability and limitation. I see a new world through your eyes, and I am enriched.
On December 1st, the day of your surgery, I will take a deep breath, expand my chest, and hold you close within my own heart . Happy Thanksgiving, little one. You have my heart.
On that note, I give thanks on this day for Whitney Elizabeth, the newest member of our family.
Whitney, though your heart labors to sustain your young life, your presence has enlarged my own heart. You have increased my capacity for love and for understanding. You have taught me a new language, one that transcends my old ideas of disability and limitation. I see a new world through your eyes, and I am enriched.
On December 1st, the day of your surgery, I will take a deep breath, expand my chest, and hold you close within my own heart . Happy Thanksgiving, little one. You have my heart.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Day 25: Knick of
Time?
Well, not really. It's only 8:02. I still have three hours and 58 minutes to post, but trust me, it feel like midnight. We decided to break our journey into two sections, so we are spending the night in a hotel in Tennessee. We arrived early enough to enjoy some time in the pool and gorged ourselves on take out for dinner. After some stories and a brief crying jag, Julia fell asleep, and as I type this, Grace is chilling with her dad on the couch (thank god for one bedroom suites). Tomorrow we intend to hit the road early and arrive in Indianapolis in time for lunch. Whew.
The kids have been as good as they can, which means I'm ready for a glass of whine. And wine.
Well, not really. It's only 8:02. I still have three hours and 58 minutes to post, but trust me, it feel like midnight. We decided to break our journey into two sections, so we are spending the night in a hotel in Tennessee. We arrived early enough to enjoy some time in the pool and gorged ourselves on take out for dinner. After some stories and a brief crying jag, Julia fell asleep, and as I type this, Grace is chilling with her dad on the couch (thank god for one bedroom suites). Tomorrow we intend to hit the road early and arrive in Indianapolis in time for lunch. Whew.
The kids have been as good as they can, which means I'm ready for a glass of whine. And wine.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Day 24: What day is today anyway?
Ready. Set. Go.
Leaving Tomorrow. Packing Today. House Disaster. Children Difficult. Laundry Not Done. Bills Unpaid. Teeth Not Brushed. Shower Needed. Craig Working Late. Sanity Lost.
Stop.
Indiana Here We Come.
......
The 4:57pm update.
Ready. Set. Go. Alright already, I get it.
Leaving Tomorrow. Packing Almost Totally Done Today. House Still A Disaster. Laundry Done. Bills Paid. Teeth Brushed. Shower Taken. Craig Home. Sanity Intact.
Stop.
Yes, we are almost pulled together. Craig has whisked Grace away for her tumbling class. Julia is still sleeping (probably because she didn't go down for her nap until 3pm, grrr). And I am sitting at the computer when I should be making dinner and sweeping the floors. At least the laundry's done.
Leaving Tomorrow. Packing Today. House Disaster. Children Difficult. Laundry Not Done. Bills Unpaid. Teeth Not Brushed. Shower Needed. Craig Working Late. Sanity Lost.
Stop.
Indiana Here We Come.
......
The 4:57pm update.
Leaving Tomorrow. Packing Almost Totally Done Today. House Still A Disaster. Laundry Done. Bills Paid. Teeth Brushed. Shower Taken. Craig Home. Sanity Intact.
Stop.
Yes, we are almost pulled together. Craig has whisked Grace away for her tumbling class. Julia is still sleeping (probably because she didn't go down for her nap until 3pm, grrr). And I am sitting at the computer when I should be making dinner and sweeping the floors. At least the laundry's done.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Day 23: Say Cheese
Whenever we sit down to take family photos, Grace decides to use her "real smile". As you can tell from the first photo, her real smile is more akin to a grimace than a grin. It doesn't work to tell her to smile. Her expression just gets worse. So instead we tell her to laugh, and more often than not, we get the result we desire.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Day 22: Real Mom, that's me
I recently started reading the blog Scary Mommy. I'm probably attracted to it for the title, which seems like an apt description of me on many an occasion. In any case, Jill (AKA Scary Mommy) tagged me with a Real Mom meme. Basically, if you're tagged, you post this list (links included) and then you choose an entry from your archive which best describes you as a Real Mom.
1. Real Moms don’t flinch when they talk about boobs. They do make you laugh your brains out.
2. Real moms go on vacation and learn to play traffic cop
3. Real moms brag about their kids
4. Real moms do not mince words when they present the truth
5. Real moms juggle
6. Real moms “resist the guilt and embrace the journey”
7. Real moms don’t give a damn to media generated Mommy Wars
8. Real moms have kids with potty mouths
9. Real moms know that real life is not like TV sitcoms
10. Real moms carry on a telephone conversation while their child vomits on the couch
11. Real Moms think farting is really, really funny.
and mine, 12. Real Moms wear crowns.
As a last step, I get to pass this along. I'm going to tag three bloggers whom I don't know in real life: Mary at Mean Mommy, Sydney at Diapers and Deadlines, and Cristin at Tiptoeing through the Tulips. If you care to play along, link to this post and let me know.
1. Real Moms don’t flinch when they talk about boobs. They do make you laugh your brains out.
2. Real moms go on vacation and learn to play traffic cop
3. Real moms brag about their kids
4. Real moms do not mince words when they present the truth
5. Real moms juggle
6. Real moms “resist the guilt and embrace the journey”
7. Real moms don’t give a damn to media generated Mommy Wars
8. Real moms have kids with potty mouths
9. Real moms know that real life is not like TV sitcoms
10. Real moms carry on a telephone conversation while their child vomits on the couch
11. Real Moms think farting is really, really funny.
and mine, 12. Real Moms wear crowns.
As a last step, I get to pass this along. I'm going to tag three bloggers whom I don't know in real life: Mary at Mean Mommy, Sydney at Diapers and Deadlines, and Cristin at Tiptoeing through the Tulips. If you care to play along, link to this post and let me know.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Day 21: Tropical Snowman and five snippets
First, the artist:
Then, the sculpture:
Next, snippets from our conversations over the last several days:
1. "Daddy, we need to go garbaging again. We haven't gone in a long time."
2. "Don't go into the kitchen, there's a dead mouse on the counter."
3. "You know, the shufflers and the mumblers, the crazy people that live in our neighborhood."
4. "I quit. I'm done being a mother for today."
5. "Is it my imagination, or does our whole house smell like a dirty diaper?"
Then, the sculpture:
Next, snippets from our conversations over the last several days:
1. "Daddy, we need to go garbaging again. We haven't gone in a long time."
2. "Don't go into the kitchen, there's a dead mouse on the counter."
3. "You know, the shufflers and the mumblers, the crazy people that live in our neighborhood."
4. "I quit. I'm done being a mother for today."
5. "Is it my imagination, or does our whole house smell like a dirty diaper?"
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Day 20: I'm a loser
Of things. Items with sentimental value.
When I was twelve my mom gave me a sapphire ring. I think it had been hers or perhaps another relatives. Within a year it was gone. As a teenager and young adult I went on to lose many more items. Some of them jewels, some letters and cards I had carefully set aside to read over and over again, cashmere gloves--the kinds of things one would want to hold onto.
As an adult I've become quite phobic about receiving gifts, especially small ones, those that pack a sentimental punch. Within the drawer of my bedside table, I have packed small boxes with mementos, jewelry, letters, and a scarf knit by my mother. She made it for me before Craig and I departed for Paris. She wanted me to have something beautiful for the trip. I couldn't bring myself to pack it for fear it would be lost in the city streets or on a bench in a museum.
Even with this sort of freakish vigilance, I still lose items. Only now I lose my children's keepsakes as well. This morning, I took Julia shopping with me. At some point, in irritation, she pulled off the little strawberry hat she wears in cold weather. It's a hat Grace wore, knit by one of my mother's oldest friends. Somewhere, perhaps in Target or another store, the hat was lost. Once I realized it was gone, I scoured the stores, one by one, Julia in arms, in search of the hat. Nowhere. Lost. Not Found. Not Turned In.
I'm heartbroken with this loss. I can't explain it. Perhaps my habit of loading items with enormous sentimental value sets me up for great disappointment. I broke down in tears when I told Craig it was gone. He tried to soothe my grief, but he can't change my achilles heel.
I'm a loser.
Of things.
Items with sentimental value.
When I was twelve my mom gave me a sapphire ring. I think it had been hers or perhaps another relatives. Within a year it was gone. As a teenager and young adult I went on to lose many more items. Some of them jewels, some letters and cards I had carefully set aside to read over and over again, cashmere gloves--the kinds of things one would want to hold onto.
As an adult I've become quite phobic about receiving gifts, especially small ones, those that pack a sentimental punch. Within the drawer of my bedside table, I have packed small boxes with mementos, jewelry, letters, and a scarf knit by my mother. She made it for me before Craig and I departed for Paris. She wanted me to have something beautiful for the trip. I couldn't bring myself to pack it for fear it would be lost in the city streets or on a bench in a museum.
Even with this sort of freakish vigilance, I still lose items. Only now I lose my children's keepsakes as well. This morning, I took Julia shopping with me. At some point, in irritation, she pulled off the little strawberry hat she wears in cold weather. It's a hat Grace wore, knit by one of my mother's oldest friends. Somewhere, perhaps in Target or another store, the hat was lost. Once I realized it was gone, I scoured the stores, one by one, Julia in arms, in search of the hat. Nowhere. Lost. Not Found. Not Turned In.
I'm heartbroken with this loss. I can't explain it. Perhaps my habit of loading items with enormous sentimental value sets me up for great disappointment. I broke down in tears when I told Craig it was gone. He tried to soothe my grief, but he can't change my achilles heel.
I'm a loser.
Of things.
Items with sentimental value.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Day 19: Useless
You might think that with an animal such as this
the local rodent population would be too scared to enter our house.
You would be wrong.
the local rodent population would be too scared to enter our house.
You would be wrong.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Day 18: Trades
I have an ongoing disagreement with my biology. Each month hormones saturate my brain in an attempt to confuse my rational mind.
I have baby urges.
This scares the crap out of Craig.
I don't really want another baby. There are times, however, when I would like to recapture those newborn and infant moments, when I could cradle my girls with one arm, when their legs didn't drape down the length of my body. I miss the euphoric and heady days which follow the birth of a new baby.
In order to combat these urges, I've been practicing a transfer of desires. Now instead of waxing fondly about new baby skin and smells, I tell Craig, "I want a puppy." This statement also frightens him--he is a rational sort of fellow after all. All he can see is the mountain of dishes and laundry, not to mention the incredible amount of cat fur which seems to grow on every surface in our house. His reply varies:
"Ummmm."
or
"Really?"
or
"Is this about your hormones again?"
I think he's beginning to wear though, and this scares the crap out of me. If we were to get a dog, then a baby is definitely out. But I don't want a baby, right?
Yes, that's right. No Baby. One Puppy. Or at least the fantasy of a puppy.
I have baby urges.
This scares the crap out of Craig.
I don't really want another baby. There are times, however, when I would like to recapture those newborn and infant moments, when I could cradle my girls with one arm, when their legs didn't drape down the length of my body. I miss the euphoric and heady days which follow the birth of a new baby.
In order to combat these urges, I've been practicing a transfer of desires. Now instead of waxing fondly about new baby skin and smells, I tell Craig, "I want a puppy." This statement also frightens him--he is a rational sort of fellow after all. All he can see is the mountain of dishes and laundry, not to mention the incredible amount of cat fur which seems to grow on every surface in our house. His reply varies:
"Ummmm."
or
"Really?"
or
"Is this about your hormones again?"
I think he's beginning to wear though, and this scares the crap out of me. If we were to get a dog, then a baby is definitely out. But I don't want a baby, right?
Yes, that's right. No Baby. One Puppy. Or at least the fantasy of a puppy.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Day 17: Low Expectations
I have nothing today. My creative energies have been sapped dry. For one, Julia is not sleeping, and somehow sleep deprivation with a 17 month old is far worse than with a newborn. Two, I'm working on something for Baby Whitney (pictures much later, rest assured). And three, the only post that's floating around my brain relates to the Mercer Baseball Players who live two houses down from me. Before I publish that post I need to cleanse the document. Profane best describes my thoughts.
I will leave you now with a little bit of fall. It finally arrived.
I will leave you now with a little bit of fall. It finally arrived.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, November 14, 2008
Day 14: Theft or Flattery
There's this blog I love. No, not mine, but this one. I love it because it’s written by a Dad Gone Mad. He’s funny, erudite, and inspired, need I say more. A few days ago, this post appeared in my Reader, and I’ve gone back to it at least a dozen times. Read it. You smiled, didn’t you?
I've been thinking about my list since I first read his. What's your list? I'll give you mine.
Things I'll Never Be Able To Do Again
1. Worry about getting my period for the first time.
2. Climb out on the roof of my parents house with my brother, Paul, and watch the northern lights dance across the sky.
3. Get caught drinking beer underage.
4. Pet Bootsy.
5. Wear a two-piece swimming suit.
6. Watch Craig pull into the parking lot, jump out of his truck, and wonder "Who's that guy?"
7. Take Intro to Geology.
8. Collect whale fossils.
9. Claim I will never drive a minivan.
10. Experience the first night home from the hospital with my first child.
11. Hear my grandfather call me "Sugar".
12. Judge my parent's parenting.
13. Breastfeed Julia before she goes to bed.
14. Stay out all night.
15. After one month together, hear Craig say "I think I'm falling in love with you."
So that's my list, at least for this moment in time. It took me thirty minutes to put this one together. With another thirty, it might be entirely changed. A list like this could have hundreds of entries. I want to read your lists. If you write one, let me know, and I'll link to it.
I've been thinking about my list since I first read his. What's your list? I'll give you mine.
Things I'll Never Be Able To Do Again
1. Worry about getting my period for the first time.
2. Climb out on the roof of my parents house with my brother, Paul, and watch the northern lights dance across the sky.
3. Get caught drinking beer underage.
4. Pet Bootsy.
5. Wear a two-piece swimming suit.
6. Watch Craig pull into the parking lot, jump out of his truck, and wonder "Who's that guy?"
7. Take Intro to Geology.
8. Collect whale fossils.
9. Claim I will never drive a minivan.
10. Experience the first night home from the hospital with my first child.
11. Hear my grandfather call me "Sugar".
12. Judge my parent's parenting.
13. Breastfeed Julia before she goes to bed.
14. Stay out all night.
15. After one month together, hear Craig say "I think I'm falling in love with you."
So that's my list, at least for this moment in time. It took me thirty minutes to put this one together. With another thirty, it might be entirely changed. A list like this could have hundreds of entries. I want to read your lists. If you write one, let me know, and I'll link to it.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Day 13: Nobody puts Baby in the corner
Okay, I admit it. I blog more about Grace than Julia. There, I said it. You'd think I'd feel relieved. Nope. Still guilty.
......
Alright, so I don't really feel all that guilty (stop worrying grandparents). Truth: I'm head over heels in love with Julia. I gush over that child.
Just not here.
In this space.
All that often.
......
To make amends I've uploaded five video clips featuring Julia from the last several months.
Clip 1: Dancing this summer
Ran to get the camera, and I missed the best dancing by a few minutes. These aren't even her best moves. Don't you love her?
Clip 2: All Done Already. Stop Asking Me.
I like the singing part (or whatever that is she's doing). How ridiculous am I though, like I can't figure out that she's finished? Yeesh.
Clip 3: Live Action Crab
I love her.
Clip 4: Say My Name
She actually says Ju-ah, just not in this clip. Grace is Gashe. I love it.
Clip 5: After The Nap
Yes, I was on the phone to my mom and Craig and Lynne to let them know that she wanted me to read her a book when she got up. She regularly signs "Please Book." Terminally cute, as Poppy would say.
......
This post will expire before Julia learns to read. If any of you mention this post to her, I will be forced to do this. It's cute when a 17 month old does it. Not so much a 35 year old.
......
Alright, so I don't really feel all that guilty (stop worrying grandparents). Truth: I'm head over heels in love with Julia. I gush over that child.
Just not here.
In this space.
All that often.
......
To make amends I've uploaded five video clips featuring Julia from the last several months.
Clip 1: Dancing this summer
Ran to get the camera, and I missed the best dancing by a few minutes. These aren't even her best moves. Don't you love her?
Clip 2: All Done Already. Stop Asking Me.
I like the singing part (or whatever that is she's doing). How ridiculous am I though, like I can't figure out that she's finished? Yeesh.
Clip 3: Live Action Crab
I love her.
Clip 4: Say My Name
She actually says Ju-ah, just not in this clip. Grace is Gashe. I love it.
Clip 5: After The Nap
Yes, I was on the phone to my mom and Craig and Lynne to let them know that she wanted me to read her a book when she got up. She regularly signs "Please Book." Terminally cute, as Poppy would say.
......
This post will expire before Julia learns to read. If any of you mention this post to her, I will be forced to do this. It's cute when a 17 month old does it. Not so much a 35 year old.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Day 12: Cats, Lunch, and Changing Rooms
Forward march with my random posts. This monthlong blogalong might be better if I followed a theme. Theme-driven posts, however, require a certain amount of discipline, which, as I've written about in the past, is something I lack; hence Cats, Lunch, and Changing Rooms. Let's do Cats first.
These poor sods. For years they bathed in the adoration of their human counterparts. Ollie, in particular, was treated like a spoiled prince. We held him in our arms during dinner, rearranged our bed to accommodate his needs, and spent a ridiculous amount of money on sensitive tummy food. Ten years later finds Zuzu hiding out in the litter box to avoid Grace and Julia, and Ollie so starved for attention that he salivates on company. The picture above captures them waiting, not so patiently, for dinner. If Zuzu could write, she would scratch "This is what starvation looks like" onto a sandwich board and march around the kitchen.
Moving on. Lunch. Grace is staying late at preschool today for her first ever "Lunch Bunch". You might think I would be the first woman in the house to enjoy a lunch out with friends, but no, it's Grace. To prepare for this momentous occasion, we had a girls night out, which involved shopping and dinner at a deli. First stop, we bought a lunch sack which she picked out herself: "It's brown with lots of pink squares, lots of them." Dinner was next. As we stood in line, I read her the options from the kids menu. She screwed up her face, clearly unhappy with the options.
"Don't they have peanut butter and chocolate sandwiches?"
"No, babe, it's not like home."
Brows furrow, and I silently curse Craig for introducing the Nutella and Peanut Butter Sandwich into our lives. Meanwhile, the cashier, who has been listening to our conversation, offers, "I think they can make that sandwich. They have chocolate sauce back there."
Face relaxes, and a small smile starts to form, first in the corners of her mouth.
"Okay, if you can do it, she'd like a chocolate and peanut butter sandwich."
"And chips," says Grace.
These poor sods. For years they bathed in the adoration of their human counterparts. Ollie, in particular, was treated like a spoiled prince. We held him in our arms during dinner, rearranged our bed to accommodate his needs, and spent a ridiculous amount of money on sensitive tummy food. Ten years later finds Zuzu hiding out in the litter box to avoid Grace and Julia, and Ollie so starved for attention that he salivates on company. The picture above captures them waiting, not so patiently, for dinner. If Zuzu could write, she would scratch "This is what starvation looks like" onto a sandwich board and march around the kitchen.
Moving on. Lunch. Grace is staying late at preschool today for her first ever "Lunch Bunch". You might think I would be the first woman in the house to enjoy a lunch out with friends, but no, it's Grace. To prepare for this momentous occasion, we had a girls night out, which involved shopping and dinner at a deli. First stop, we bought a lunch sack which she picked out herself: "It's brown with lots of pink squares, lots of them." Dinner was next. As we stood in line, I read her the options from the kids menu. She screwed up her face, clearly unhappy with the options.
"Don't they have peanut butter and chocolate sandwiches?"
"No, babe, it's not like home."
Brows furrow, and I silently curse Craig for introducing the Nutella and Peanut Butter Sandwich into our lives. Meanwhile, the cashier, who has been listening to our conversation, offers, "I think they can make that sandwich. They have chocolate sauce back there."
Face relaxes, and a small smile starts to form, first in the corners of her mouth.
"Okay, if you can do it, she'd like a chocolate and peanut butter sandwich."
"And chips," says Grace.
Dinner was good. She reached across the table and held my hand. We were on a date, a mommy-daughter date.
Finally, our third installment: Changing Rooms. After dinner, we went to Target. I had to buy some CDRs and other Target stuff. As we wandered through the aisles, Grace commented, "I have to wear orange tomorrow. I don't have anything orange." Well, okay, so we'll find something small and orange.
I have many titles in my life, including laundry lady, dinner lady, grouchy-don't-bother-your-mother-it's-called-PMS-lady, and finally clothes-shopping lady, to name a few. I can't help but peruse the baby-toddler section whenever I'm in Target (or any other store), but those days are numbered. Grace is growing. Depending on the store, I find her clothes in two sections. She's a 4T in the baby-toddler section and an extra-small in the Little Girl section. This distinction is simultaneously small and enormous. It makes me want to cry.
Last night, in search of her orange item, we ended up in the Little Girl section, where everything, according to Grace, was "very cute." She is so finely tuned to my responses that she only latched onto a few items: a sweater, a shirt, and a pair of jeans, size 4 not 4T. She knows that I don't buy things without consideration. She's never thrown a fit in order to get something because she's always known it wouldn't work.
In reference to the jeans, "These are good, mommy."
"Well, your pants are getting a little high. Why don't you try these on."
We march back to the changing room. She's been present for many shopping trips where I tried items on, but this, Grace trying on clothes in a changing room, is a first.
"Do you know you can be naked in a changing room, and no one can see you."
"Oh really." And I wonder, where did she get that idea from?
Once in the room I help her undress down to her Curious George undies. Her belly, stuffed with dinner, is round. In that moment it looks like the belly of a toddler. She pulls on the pants, turns around, and waggles her butt in the mirror. Next comes the shirt and sweater.
"This is so great, mommy."
Yes, it is. And it isn't, but only because it makes me want to wrap her up in my arms and hold her forever. As I write this, my eyes are tearing up. She's taken to reminding me that she will always be my baby: "I don't want to get any older. I like me right now. I'm always going to be your baby, right mommy?" There are times when I know she says that more for me than for herself.
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